The Best Movies of 2025 Without a Single Oscar Nomination

Always appreciative that the fine folks at RogerEbert.com let me pay tribute to the forgotten films of Oscar season. Here's my annual rundown of 10 great movies that you won't hear mentioned during the Academy Awards on March 15.

Best of 2025: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

It has become a nearly annual tradition that, over the holidays, Susan and I go on a road trip. If it's an even-numbered year, we rent a car and drive to and from Texas, where her family lives. But this year for the first time, we decided to drive home from Illinois, where my family lives. We first flew to Cleveland to visit a friend for a couple of days, then drove to Chicago for a one-day getaway, then spent Christmas week with my parents, my uncle, my sister and her family. And then for four days, we drove across America until we reached Los Angeles last night.

There are two types of people: the ones who get very excited when Susan and I share our road-trip plans and then those who think we're nuts. The two types distinguish themselves very quickly, and you can't persuade either type to see the other's perspective. But I will say that, before Susan, I was not a fan of road trips. To me, they were relationship-killers, swiftly and often awkwardly revealing in real time why my then-girlfriend and I were not well-suited for one another. But Susan loves them, and I soon came to love them, too. The arrangement is almost always the same: She drives, and I DJ. You'll know when we have a road trip coming up because, for weeks in advance, I will not shut up about the playlist I'm working on. (Because this question comes up: The playlist is not thematically organized or meant to be played in any particular order. It is merely a collection of songs spanning many styles, genres and eras that I think she will enjoy hearing — and that I will enjoy hearing as well.)

The argument against a road trip is that it takes a whole lot longer to get where you're going than if you flew there. This is also the argument for a road trip. I've never been a "Not all who wander are lost" kind of person — I emphatically always know where I'm going, thank you very much — but what I discovered about our lengthy road trips is that they have a way of stretching time and distance in a way that more traditional travel does not. When we hit the road over the holidays, our strategy is not to drive more than eight hours a day. We stop somewhere for lunch — probably for fast food, a greasy, salty, unhealthy indulgence we only allow ourselves on these trips — and we stay at a cute hotel/motel in the city where we'll be spending the night. (Also, we eat at a local place we've read good things about.) In other words, each day has its own destination that we are trying to get to. We're not pulling over every hour or so to check out this national park or that adorable-looking pawn shop. Mostly, we are zooming down the highway, soaking in the landscape and listening to music or podcasts. And, of course, we're also talking. People ask what we talk about. Honestly, everything, depending on whatever the views or the tunes are inspiring in us. Each day of our road trip, I exist in this reality outside of my normal existence. I usually don't have anything to write or review. To quote a line from Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Memoria that I think about a lot, "In here, time stops."

In some ways, I am describing the benefits of any good vacation: You mentally unplug, you leave behind the day-to-day, you reconnect with what matters. But as someone who has long been vacation-averse, always fearful that I'd be missing something important work-wise by being away, the road trips have been an opportunity to put aside my usual self and be someone else for a while. Granted, a holiday-season road trip is a little easier because it's a quiet time for most everyone — I'm not really risking missing writing assignments — but it's been good practice in learning how to actively enjoy one's life. Don't get me wrong: I love my life and love the work that I do. But turning off work mode and just being? That has been harder. The road trips teach me how to get better at it.

But even so, my brain doesn't switch off entirely. And this year during our trip — through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and finally California — I spent considerable time looking out the window at the gorgeous, changing landscape. And both Susan and I had the same reaction constantly, blurting out randomly, "God, this country is beautiful" before reflexively adding, "Well, except for ____." You can fill in the blank yourself: Donald Trump, MAGA supporters, anyone who's transphobic, etc. A big part of our love of road trips is seeing one knockout view after another. (Pictures never do the vistas justice.) And these past four days did not disappoint. But we sometimes caught ourselves mid-revelry. It's such a rich, incredible country as you drive through it. And yet.

We traveled through red states — not to mention the red areas of blue states — so we were constantly pondering the political tensions within America. The contrasts were striking. We saw endless amounts of farms, no shortage of small towns, but also big cities and baseball stadiums and mountains and cacti and truck drivers. You would not believe how many billboards there are promoting injury and accident attorneys — as well as cannabis dispensaries and guns and fudge. (Seriously, fudge is apparently a huge selling point for weary, hungry travelers.) Jesus is advertised a ton. Some places wanted you not to have an abortion. Some places wanted you to know that there was help out there if you did want one. And all the while we were listening to our favorite music — often, by American artists — and quietly noting those juxtapositions. Everywhere we went, we met friendly people at cool hotels and hip coffee shops and lonely gas stations and stunningly efficient, reliable McDonald's restaurants. But I never stopped thinking about the potential invisible divisions between me and some of the folks I interacted with. (Although I tried not to stereotype based on location: We all know lefties in red parts of the United States and Trumpers in blue parts.) 

The longer we drove, the more I thought about my work. I often quote a line from the late film critic James Rocchi: "I write about movies. Which means, really, I get to write about everything." That's very much how I look at my job, and while I write about all types of films from across the globe, it is impossible for me not to think about America when I'm writing about American films and culture. It would be foolish not to: If you believe that all movies (and music and television and...) are inherently political, then the entertainment we make says something about us — just like Jafar Panahi's It Was Just an Accident says so much about Iran or Jia Zhangke's Caught by the Tides expresses the reality of China. So it's probably no surprise that I wrestle with what America means all the time. 

But this year's road trip made me ponder the country in a different, more expansive and intimate way. It's one thing to think about America as an abstract concept — it's a very different experience when you're logging hundreds of miles of actual road each day as the nation passes across your windshield. I'd look out the window and marvel at the beauty — both the big, empty expanses and the bustling cities — and I'd realize all over again how lucky I am to have been born here, to do work that means so much to me, to be sitting by this woman I love so intensely, to have family and friends I care about. Those things are gifts. But they don't fully compensate for what this year has been like politically — just how mean, cruel and stupid so much of our daily lives has become. And then I'd think about my fellow Americans who seem completely cool with all of it — who may actually be actively cheering on that cruelty. I tried to stay off social media as much as possible over the two weeks we were out of town, but news still seeped in, and it made me mad all over again. Such a beautiful country with so much ugliness inside. 

Parts of me didn't want to go back to Los Angeles — not because I hate L.A. (quite the contrary), but because I didn't want to go back to reality. But the truth was, I had never fully left reality, even as I was awed by all that scenery. I'm home now, and I'm still trying to reconcile the wonders of our road trip with the nagging discontent I feel about the country. I wanted the break from real life, and I got it, but not entirely. 

It's pretty common for me to feel down after a vacation: You have all that fun time off, but then you have to return to the grind. So what I try to do is savor that holiday period and maximize its value. And I try to hold onto the electric emotions that a vacation stirred up. This year, though, those feelings seem a bit more pointed and urgent. I'm vowing to retain the sense of the vastness, grandeur and complexity of America as a physical space. And I want to remember that this is a country worth fighting for, even more so in the new year when there will be midterm elections and inevitably even more things to protest and condemn. Time stops during a road trip, giving you the chance to recharge. But then we're back on the clock, and we have to make the most of it.

* * * * *   

With all that said, let's now talk about movies. This was a great film year, even better than last year. Starting with a superb Sundance and then continuing with an all-timer Cannes before concluding with a fairly strong Venice/Telluride/Toronto, 2025 had no shortage of excellent movies. Here's my Top 10:

1. My Undesirable Friends: Part I - Last Air in Moscow 
2. Sound of Falling  
3. The Mastermind  
4. Grand Tour  
5. Sorry, Baby  
6. Sirat  
7. Below the Clouds 
8. Resurrection  
9. One Battle After Another  
10. If I Had Legs I’d Kick You   

This year for my list, I decided to do something different: The links lead to information regarding how to see each movie. I know how frustrating it can be to hear about potentially fantastic movies and then be unable to track them down. Hopefully those links will help. (And when in doubt, JustWatch is an excellent resource.) 

There were several films I felt sure would make the Top 10. Alas, there simply wasn't enough room for all of my favorites, including Caught by the Tides (No. 11), Peter Hujar’s Day (No. 12), A Little Prayer (No. 13), Marty Supreme (No. 14), and Blue Moon (No. 15). 

I'm dying to name more movies, but I'll stop there. However, if you'd like to see another take on this year, check out my ballot for Screen International, which only includes films that premiered in 2025. (In other words, My Undesirable Friends, which played at the New York Film Festival last year, is nowhere to be seen, but Sergei Loznitsa's fantastic Two Prosecutors, which was unveiled at Cannes this summer, is.)

And, as always, you can hear my extensive thoughts about my Top 10 on the end-of-the-year Grierson & Leitch podcast episode right here. 

* * * * *    

I'd like to thank everyone who read, watched or listened to me this past year. It is always nice to be in-demand, and I never take my good fortune for granted, especially when I reflect on everything I did in 2025. 

To start with, I have to acknowledge a professional milestone: In 2025, I celebrated my 20th anniversary of writing for Screen International. (My first review for the publication: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. My most recent: the Jack Black/Paul Rudd Anaconda.) I can't say enough good things about our team, and I remain immensely proud to be Screen's Senior U.S. Critic. 

It was also a busy year for me over at the Los Angeles Times, where I got to review films I had seen previously at festivals but hadn't the chance to sink my teeth into yet. Those include No Other Land, Grand Tour, It Was Just an Accident, Blue Moon, Resurrection, Caught by the Tides and April. I did some fun features for the paper as well. I talked to the folks at Neon who put together the company's coveted annual FYC box set. I interviewed the marketing teams behind Longlegs, Anora and Conclave to learn how they made those indies box-office hits. I chatted with RaMell Ross about the Nickel Boys screenplay. I profiled Embeth Davidtz and Naomi Watts. I spent time interviewing every major actor in Severance to see how they survived the show's terrific second season. I answered the question, "What exactly makes an HBO Documentary Film an HBO Documentary Film?" I got the inside scoop on the making of three of my favorite movie posters from 2025. I hung out with Marty Supreme breakout star Odessa A'zion. And I got to write about two Charles Burnett classics: The Annihilation of Fish and Killer of Sheep. But the two highlights were spending part of a day in April talking to cinephiles at the Criterion Mobile Closet and spending part of a morning in July interviewing Spinal Tap. (As a separate interview for the piece, I also talked to Marty DiBergi. Rest in peace, Rob Reiner.)

As you saw above, my favorite film of the year was My Undesirable Friends, which I went to the mat for as much as possible in 2025. This started in August, when I interviewed director Julia Loktev for Rolling Stone in connection to the film's New York opening. Then in November, I reviewed the documentary for its Los Angeles release. (In between, I moderated a Q&A for the film with Loktev and subject Ksenia Mironova. My thanks to the folks at the American Cinematheque for making that screening happen.) Now if the Academy's documentary branch will just have the wisdom to nominate My Undesirable Friends for the Oscar.

Also at Rolling Stone, I said goodbye to some luminaries, including Gene Hackman, Robert Redford, Diane Keaton, Rob Reiner (co-written with Althea Legaspi) and Brigitte Bardot. Those pieces are never easy to write, but I take great pride in being handed the responsibility of paying tribute to artists who made a difference.

I've been a member of the Gotham Awards nominating committee for several years now, but in 2025 I was asked to be part of a new category: Best Original Screenplay and Best Adapted Screenplay. What a blast Carlos Aguilar, Monica Castillo, Jon Frosch, Esther Zuckerman and I had coming up with our choices. In February, after our annual LAFCA awards dinner had to be postponed because of the horrible fires, I presented our prize for Best Cinematography to Nickel Boys' Jomo Fray. (I was quite pleased with my speech, although it was easily outclassed by Fray's sharp outfit.)

It was another great year over at KCRW's Press Play, where I frequently appeared to talk to Madeleine Brand about movies. I'm always tickled when Christy Lemire asks me to guest on Breakfast All Day. And is there anything better than the Grierson & Leitch podcast? No, there is not. We will be celebrating our 10th anniversary in 2026. It is a pleasure, week in and week out. 

In 2025, I also moderated a bunch of Q&As. As I look back through the list, a series of happy memories come to mind. There was RaMell Ross good-naturedly teasing someone for walking out of the theater in the middle of the Q&A. I met Bing, the massive dog in Naomi Watts' The Friend, who was the hit of the Q&A I moderated with filmmakers Scott McGehee and David Siegel. (Also, Bing's owner Bev Klingensmith is the best.) Homebound director Neeraj Ghaywan was a delight, not least because (as I learned) he's a Grierson & Leitch listener. There were the Q&As I did with director Shoshannah Stern and star Marlee Matlin for the documentary Marlee Matlin: Not Alone Anymore: It was the second time in my career that I had moderated an interview with deaf subjects. (The first time was almost exactly 10 years earlier for The Tribe.) I spoke with Ethan Hawke as part of a double feature of Blue Moon and Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, which I love as much as he does. There was the conversation with Errol Morris for The Thin Blue Line, which mostly consisted of Morris (who sat through the movie for the first time in forever) simply processing all his memories and feelings. I got to share Miller's Crossing with Gabriel Byrne, who couldn't believe the movie was 35 years old. (He told so many great stories.) I got to meet director Mascha Schilinski and cinematographer Fabian Gamper, who have been promoting Sound of Falling all year while raising a newborn. I spoke with director Geeta Gandbhir and producers Alisa Payne and Nikon Kwantu for The Perfect Neighbor (my No. 19 movie of the year) and director David Osit and producer Jamie Goncalves for Predators (No. 20). I was asked to moderate a special one-night-only event with OK Go. And I got to spend a very fun Saturday evening moderating two Q&As with Kelly Reichardt for The Mastermind. She didn't want people recording the conversations on their phones, and because people love her so much, they obliged her request. It was very gratifying to see so many in the audience come up to her afterward to just express their affection for her and her movies. I could go on — Oliver Laxe, Bi Gan, Gianfranco Rosi, Benny Safdie, Akinola Davies Jr., Jafar Panahi, Rose Byrne and Mary Bronstein — but that's more than enough.

It's been a treat to start writing reviews for the A.V. Club, which allowed me to stick up for underrated movies such as La Grazia and tear apart bad ones like Eleanor the Great. For InsideHook, I wrote about seeing Paul Simon in concert, perhaps for the last time. For Cracked, I talked to comedians who intrigued me, like Roy Wood Jr., George Wallace, Riki Lindhome, Tom Green and Cheech & Chong. And for Paste, I interviewed Jonathan Gould about his exhaustive Talking Heads book.

Were there plenty of terrible and sad things that happened in 2025? Absolutely. For a moment, though, I am not going to dwell on that. Instead, I choose to be hopeful for a new year. Susan and I will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary in April. We haven't decided where we're going yet. I defer to her spirit of adventurousness. My job is providing the soundtrack.

(Photo by Susan Stoebner, taken in Heber, Arizona, December 29, 2025.) 

Your Guide to the Must-See Awards Season Movies

I helped Screen International with its roundup of 50 essentials films of this Oscar season. Individual bylines aren't indicated, but I wrote about Bugonia, If I Had Legs I'd Kick You, The Life of Chuck, Marty Surpreme, The Mastermind, The Smashing Machine, Sorry, Baby and Sound of Falling. (I also sung the praises of Dylan O’Brien in Twinless.) Check the whole list out here. 

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: 'Bugonia,' Kelly Reichardt and 'Die My Love'

Four new movies this week, and I really like all four of them. In this episode, we talk about Die My Love, Predator: Badlands, Bugonia and The Mastermind. Give it a listen down below.

The Film Comment Podcast: Talking about 'Resurrection,' 'The Mastermind' and 'Young Mothers'

My last day at Cannes, I was on the Film Comment podcast, hosted by Devika Girish. I was joined by my buddies Justin Chang and Alison Willmore, and we had a blast talking about a bunch of films we'd seen at the festival. Also: We were pretty loopy from exhaustion, so it was a loose and lively conversation. But I made sure I was focused while singing the praises of Kelly Reichardt's The Mastermind. It was the first time I had discussed the film with anyone and, well, I was pretty effusive. Hear the whole thing down below.

Cannes 2025: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

About halfway through this year's Cannes, I received some bad news that I had been expecting: A good friend succumbed to cancer. Within 30 minutes of hearing of her passing that morning, I was off to a movie, which featured a father dying of cancer. The movie after that featured a mother dying of cancer. Death was on my mind anyway, but over the next several days it kept popping up in the films I was watching, almost as if they were channeling my inner monologue, projecting my new reality up there on the screen.

I should not have been surprised. After all, movies tackle dramatic subjects, and few are more dramatic than mortality. I pride myself on being able to block out the world's distractions when I go to review a film. (I consider that a crucial part of my job.) But I felt the occasional jolt of recognition when death came creeping into a film's plot: "Oh, right, that. There it is again." Repeatedly, I was reminded that I existed in a new world, one without that person I just lost.

At the same time, it was extraordinarily surreal to be here at Cannes while processing my friend's passing. The place is just so damn beautiful, and the movies are so rich and rewarding. All festivals are a bubble from the real world -- that's one reason why people love attending them -- but a big part of me was able to shut out my sorrow simply because of my stimulating environment. Death may have followed me from screen to screen, but Cannes is so alive that you can trick yourself into forgetting. Still, I'm smart enough to recognize that my sorrow will be waiting for me when I return to Los Angeles. Bubbles have a nasty habit of bursting.

* * * * *   

With that acknowledged, let me now add that I found this to be a deeply great edition of the festival. Some of the movies I was most anticipating let me down -- the Spike Lee, the Wes Anderson, most certainly the Ari Aster -- but there was ample compensation from the expected heavy-hitters who did deliver the goods. And, of course, there were the revelatory discoveries, like Oliver Laxe's Sirat and Mascha Schilinski's Sound of Falling, easily the best movie I saw in Cannes. God bless Mubi, who took a chance on her ambitious, kaleidoscopic drama that spans roughly 100 years and four generations of different families living in the same home. The esteemed distributor is actually behind my Top Two from the festival, which also includes Kelly Reichardt's The Mastermind, one of the finest films this very fine filmmaker has ever produced. From the dazzling execution of Bi Gan's Resurrection to the formal rigor of Sergei Loznitsa's merciless Two Prosecutors, the major auteurs came out swinging. And that's not even mentioning two movies beloved by many here and merely really, really liked by me: Jafar Panahi's It Was Just an Accident and Kleber Mendonca Filho's The Secret Agent. 

Before I reveal my rankings, let's now take a moment to mention the films I wasn't able to get to, like Adam's Interest, The Love That Remains, Mirrors No. 3, My Father's Shadow, Urchin, A Useful Ghost and Yes!, to name just a few. (Some may notice that I didn't review Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning. I was set to do so, but my L.A. screening got canceled midway through because of a fire. It's a long story, but everyone's fine, so don't worry.)

From worst to best, here's a list of everything I saw, with links leading to individual reviews: 

37. Eddington
36. Eleanor the Great
35. The Wave
34. Fuori
33. The Richest Woman in the World
32. Leave One Day
31. Splitsville
30. The Chronology of Water
29. Alpha
28. The Phoenician Scheme
27. Romeria
26. Highest 2 Lowest
25. Honey Don't!
24. The Little Sister
23. The History of Sound
22. The Six Billion Dollar Man
21. The Plague
20. Woman and Child
19. Case 137
18. Pillion
17. Eagles of the Republic
16. Arco
15. Young Mothers
14. Enzo
13. Nouvelle Vague
12. The Secret Agent
11. It Was Just an Accident
10. Renoir
9. Die, My Love
8. Orwell: 2+2=5
7. Sentimental Value
6. Resurrection
5. Sirat
4. Sorry, Baby
3. Two Prosecutors
2. The Mastermind
1. Sound of Falling

For the first time since I started going to Cannes in 2013, I saw every film in Competition, all 22 of them. What that means is that when the jury, headed by Juliette Binoche, announces its awards, I won't have the usual FOMO feeling of "Oh shoot, I didn't see the Best Screenplay winner" or whatever. 

However, that doesn't mean I'm any more confident about what will take home the Palme d'Or than I was in previous years. Remember: I have never correctly guessed the winner, and I'm just as uncertain this year. Part of the problem is that the jury is made up of new people every year, and unless you're hanging out with them, you're just speculating on where their head is at. That said, here's my thinking. I could see It Was Just an Accident, Resurrection, The Secret Agent, Sentimental Value or Sound of Falling winning. Forced to narrow down the field further, I'll go with the movies that are perceived as the front-runners: It Was Just an Accident, The Secret Agent and Sentimental Value. (Why are they "perceived" to be the front-runners? Oh, because the people who like to make predictions about this stuff have said they are.)

My gut tells me it's either going to be It Was Just an Accident or Sentimental Value. In one corner, you have Jafar Panahi, one of cinema's giants, who has recently been freed from prison, enjoying a hero's welcome here at the festival when his film premiered. In the other, you have Joachim Trier, whose last Cannes film, The Worst Person in the World, took home Best Actress for Renate Reinsve. Sentimental Value seems to be the most beloved film, but while it's dangerous to make predictions based on the temperament of the jury president, I just feel like Binoche would be more inclined to go with a more challenging, politically incisive film for the Palme. So I'm picking It Was Just an Accident. If Sound of Falling or The Mastermind win, I would be ecstatic. 

Regardless how the awards shape up, readers should be excited about a bunch of great movies coming their way soon. Now, off to sleep for me, and an exit from the bubble into whatever awaits me on the other side.

Cannes 2025: 'The Mastermind' Review

Kelly Reichardt's phenomenal hit streak continues. For Screen International, I reviewed The Mastermind.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The New Avengers, 'Pavements' and My Preview of the 2025 Cannes Film Festival

Long episode this week, for obvious reasons. For one thing, we had a lot to say about both Thunderbolts* and Pavements. Also, I went long offering a list of the films I'm most excited to see at Cannes, including Mirrors No. 3 (pictured above). And then, hey, we're gonna be on a bit of a break while I'm in France, which tends to make it hard for us to wrap up a show in a succinct manner. Enjoy all of it down below.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Our Most-Anticipated 2025 Films and Our Oscar Nomination Predictions

A big first episode to start the new year. We spent two hours previewing the films we're excited to see in 2025, and then we offered our guesses for what's going to be nominated in the six major Oscar categories. Dive in.

How Kristen Stewart Became Kristen Stewart

The Criterion Channel is currently featuring the three most crucial movies in Kristen Stewart's post-Twilight career: Clouds of Sils Maria, Personal Shopper and Certain Women. I wrote about that remarkable run of superb films, and how they changed our perception of her, for RogerEbert.com.

Best of 2023: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

Every time I go to a film festival, I try to make sure to take a moment to appreciate that I'm there: "I'm here at Cannes." "I'm here at Sundance." All these years later, I still can recall a time when I didn't go to film festivals — when that didn't even seem possible — and so I take that moment to reconnect with the giddiness I first felt. It is very easy to be blase — to get dragged down by the minor hassles involved with traveling, like spotty WiFi, lost luggage and jet lag — and forget what a privilege it is. Some prefer to project an air of being above it all, playing the role of the hardened professional who considers going to festivals to be a pain in the ass. That stance doesn't work for me. I remember, so I don't want to ever forget.

That exercise of appreciating things has carried over to other aspects of my life. Being grateful for the friends I have, the job I get to do on a daily basis, the family I have around me, the life I've created, and the amazing woman who married me 17 years ago. You get sidetracked by the annoyances and you risk missing all that.

I have never been good at "being in the moment." Meditating has never really worked for me. Who wants to be in the moment when you've got 10 things coming up demanding your attention? What's happening now is never as exciting as what's around the corner. But Susan has done her best to readjust my thinking. It's taken a while, but I think I'm finally getting the hang of it.

When I think back to 2023, I recall moments of happiness. Going to the Barbie premiere and immediately noting how much more joyful and elated the energy in the theater was then for, say, the many Marvel premieres I've attended. People dressed up. Everybody seemed to be having a ball. Same for the premiere of Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour — the whole crowd just seemed so jazzed to be there. And why not? Maybe it's okay to love things.

I think of going to movies with Susan. I think of hanging out with dear colleagues at film festivals. I think of having long dinners with friends and talking about the big stuff — life, death, what we're doing here on this planet — until late in the evening. I feel myself finding new ways to appreciate what I do and understand who I am. I feel lucky to be getting older, to have learned to let go of certain things, to figure out which things matter and fight like hell for them. I feel like extra space has opened up inside me, allowing me more room to explore myself and the world around me. Life isn't shrinking, it's getting bigger.

I remember seeing Past Lives at its premiere at Sundance and being floored — and feeling the whole audience being floored at the same time, all of us gobsmacked by what we were seeing. (I still remember my critic friend next to me loudly stifling his sobs.) And then I remember seeing The Zone of Interest at its premiere at Cannes and being floored in a completely different way. Those moments are the ones you live for as a film critic — they're so rare, and if you haven't had one in a while, you fear it will never happen again. And then it does, and it fills you up with something you can't describe, and all you want is more of it. Seeing David Byrne's American Utopia and Summer of Soul at last on the big screen. Dying and going to heaven while attending the world premiere of the restored Stop Making Sense in IMAX in Toronto. More, more, more.

Every year is filled with pain, anger, sadness and fear. My wife had gallbladder surgery that had complications that, a month later, she's still wrestling with. Heartaches came our way. There are obstacles that feel like they'll never be surmounted. There are injustices — both in the wider world and in my little ecosystem — that are infuriating. 2023 had more than its share of trials. But I am trying to focus on the moments, if just for a second. They're always there. Don't let them go.

* * * * * 

Let's turn now to my Top 10...

1. The Zone of Interest
2. Past Lives
3. De Humani Corporis Fabrica
4. Showing Up 
5. Passages
6. Maestro 
7. Oppenheimer 
8. The Iron Claw
9. About Dry Grasses
10. Occupied City

This is a pretty formidable list, with All of Us Strangers just missing the cut, but I also want to point you to my Screen International ranking of 2023's best films, which counts any movie that premiered anywhere in the world this year. Several movies on that list won't get an official U.S. release until 2024, which means my Top 10 for next year is already in excellent shape.

As I look back on the movie year, what's clear is that I was premature in declaring Cannes 2023 to be "merely okay." I had missed About Dry Grasses and Occupied City — long films can be schedule-killers during a festival — but when I caught up with them in the fall, I realized how exceptional they were. (A second viewing of Killers of the Flower Moon, which ended up at No. 13 on my list, cemented that film's considerable merits as well.) 

In general, I can't think of a year in which I rewatched so many movies — partly because I had to review them during their subsequent U.S. release (or refresh my memory before interviewing one of the people involved in the film), and partly because I wanted to lock down my feelings about them with a follow-up viewing. More often than not, those additional screenings proved incredibly useful, which reminded me of being in film school and spending a week analyzing one movie, really digging into it until you felt you fully understood it. You never fully understand a film, of course — watch it again in 10 years, and you'll be amazed how often it's a brand new experience. But the illusion of wholly grasping a work of art is something a lot of us have spent our whole lives chasing, gladly.

* * * * * 

Career-wise, it was a busy, fulfilling 2023. I have now been writing for Screen International for 18 years, proudly serving as the publication's Senior U.S. Critic and covering Sundance, Cannes and Toronto. Some of my favorite reviews I wrote for Screen include the ones for Past Lives (I wrote the first draft in a delirious haze in the lobby of the Eccles immediately after seeing the film) and Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (No. 24 on my end-of-the-year list). I don't know if they're the best reviews I wrote, but when I go back and read them, I recall exactly the feeling of what those respective movies did to me. That's one of my main objectives whenever I write, articulating an ineffable sensation in words.

I am astonished that the Grierson & Leitch podcast has now been going strong for eight years. It doesn't seem nearly that long, and yet the Sunday ritual of recording the show now feels like such an ingrained part of my life. Especially gratifying this year was getting to meet a few listeners at festivals, events or just randomly in Los Angeles. (I will say, though, I most get identified in public by fans of the great Breakfast All Day podcast, which I sometimes guest on. Because that one exists in YouTube form, you can actually see me on that show, which I suppose makes it slightly easier to spot me in the wild. Like our listeners, the BAD audience is filled with sweet individuals, and it's always a treat to say hello to any of them I meet.)

It has been especially rewarding writing more for the Los Angeles Times, and my 2023 is filled with happy memories of talking to the likes of Aubrey Plaza and Theo Rossi, Lea Seydoux and Mia Hansen-Love, Brendan Fraser, Cate Blanchett, the team from The Last of Us, Will Sharpe, the Yellowjackets teens, Aubrey Plaza (again!), Lizzy Caplan and Claire Danes, Christian Petzold, Adele Exarchopoulos, Alex Timbers, Rebecca Miller, Godfrey Reggio, Christian Friedel, Dua Lipa, Ridley Scott, Charles Melton and Matthew Libatique. All of those profiles were thrills, especially the Blanchett chat, but my proudest L.A. Times piece was an ambitious look at three nuclear-war films from the early 1980s that grappled with the aftermath of humanity destroying itself. Lynne Littman (Testament), Nicholas Meyer (The Day After) and Mick Jackson (Threads) had plenty to say about their movies, which have never left them, even though they came out so long ago. If you read one piece of mine from 2023, make it this one.

That's a lot of interviews, and I did even more for Cracked, a humor site, which gave me the opportunity to have serious conversations with funny people. Often talking to my subjects for an hour, I tried to figure out what made them tick, what inspired them to pursue comedy, and how they navigate a world in which there's a new sensitivity around determining what's funny and what's simply punching down. Some highlights: David Cross telling me about being on medication; Peter Exline reminiscing about inspiring aspects of The Big Lebowski; Jim Gaffigan tracing the history of his "inside voice;" Pauly Shore telling me, well, everything; James Marsden reflecting on the surprise success of Jury Duty; Bobcat Goldthwait remembering his dear friend Robin Williams; Julia Louis-Dreyfus on not doing the Seinfeld dance for fans; Gina Yashere being very honest about Bob Hearts Abishola co-creator Chuck Lorre; Kristen Schaal on motherhood and comedy; Hari Kondabolu reflecting on that whole Apu business; Maria Bamford mourning her mother; Eugene Mirman on telling jokes about his late wife; Samantha Bee walking through New York while imagining her future; Michaela Watkins discussing what she learned about getting fired from Saturday Night Live; and Eddie Izzard talking about politics (and Darth Vader). The highlight, though, was getting on Zoom with David Zucker, Jim Abrahams and Jerry Zucker to break down the funniest moments from Airplane! Also, attending the Groundlings' one-night-only benefit performance of A Chorus Line allowed me to write a different type of live review — it was a wondrous evening.

Every month or so, I'm delighted to be asked on Press Play With Madeleine Brand to review that weekend's movies. Getting to share a radio spot with the likes of Christy Lemire, Amy Nicholson, Katie Walsh and Alison Willmore is always a blast. And I was honored to appear on Wilco the Podcast to discuss my book Wilco: Sunken Treasure and then, later, do a deep dive on Wilco's new album Cousin. (It actually consisted of two episodes.)

I had missed getting to moderate Q&As during the pandemic, and in 2023 I was grateful to have more opportunities to talk to actors and directors in front of an audience. The American Cinematheque asked me to speak to Gus Van Sant (Gerry), Michael Haneke (a career conversation) and Bela Tarr (The Turin Horse) as part of their spectacular Bleak Week series this summer. I hung out with Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, who are really funny, to talk Tori and Lokita. Rodrigo Moreno illuminated his great sort-of heist picture The Delinquents, which I deeply dug at Cannes and liked even more upon second viewing. Christian Petzold was hilarious discussing Afire. Ira Sachs provided plenty of insights into Passages. Celine Song, Greta Lee and Teo Yoo blew my mind by discussing how the opening of Melancholia helped inspire their approach to Past Lives. Director Nikolaj Arcel and star Mads Mikkelsen were such an ace comedic duo that I just stood back and let them do their thing during a Q&A for The Promised Land. Writer-director Lila Aviles was delightful dissecting John Cassavetes' influence on Totem. Alma Poysti told great stories about Aki Kaurismaki and working on Fallen Leaves. (It was her first visit to Los Angeles. She was tickled to be here.) Director Matteo Garrone and his stars Seydou Sarr and Moustapha Fall made the audience cry at a Q&A for Io Capitano. I walked away from each of these experiences in a state of euphoria, energized by the conversations. But I had to especially pinch myself after getting to interview Steve James after a screening on Hoop Dreams, one of the foundational movies of my life. And I've been fortunate to be asked to moderate several Q&As with the cast and crew of the year's best film. I have seen The Zone of Interest three times and gotten to speak to Jonathan Glazer, Christian Friedel, Sandra Huller, Mica Levi, Johnnie Burn and others on a couple occasions. The depth of my admiration for that masterpiece deepens with each interaction.

The Gothams invited me to be part of the nominating committee for the Outstanding Lead Performance and Outstanding Supporting Performance categories again in 2023. This is always one of my favorite things to do during the year, and I loved our picks. (I was even happier that Lily Gladstone ended up winning Outstanding Lead Performance for The Unknown Country, No. 17 on my list this year.)

After 14 years, this summer I stepped down as vice president of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association. I served under three great presidents: Brent Simon, Stephen Farber and Claudia Puig. She and I worked together for seven years, with a pandemic thrown in there in the middle to complicate things, and I am very happy she and I left the exec board at the same time. (It's nice to have a buddy to go through the postpartum with.) These jobs are unpaid, sometimes thankless, but I found it incredibly enriching and wouldn't have traded a minute of it. (I worked with a ton of great people — Alonso Duralde, Amy Nicholson, Annlee Ellingson — but Justin Chang, who was secretary my entire time on the board, deserves special mention.) I am very pleased with the new leadership we have — president Robert Abele and vice president Katie Walsh — who are good friends and good people. I have never forgotten what a big deal it was to be voted into LAFCA, and I take the group very seriously. I'm very proud to see it continuing to thrive with this new exec board. (And I was so pleased in January to present our Best Editing prize to Blair McClendon for Aftersun, the best film of 2022. It was a great night, my final banquet as part of the exec board, with many highlights, including having Barry Jenkins on hand to present our Career Achievement award to Claire Denis.)

This year was a lot. Thank you for reading and listening to me in 2023. I hope you have a wonderful 2024. Please vote.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The Best Films of the First Half of 2023

It's that time of year: On the podcast, we look back at the movies we liked from the first half of the year. Check it out. 

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Are You There, God? It's 'Peter Pan & Wendy'

Very much enjoyed discussing the delightful Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret on the podcast. We both lamented the misfire that is Peter Pan & Wendy. And Will has finally had a chance to catch Kelly Reichardt's latest, so we also discussed Showing Up. Hear the whole thing down below.

The Best Films About America

Rolling Stone put together a list of movies that have encapsulated America over the last 50 years. I didn't have a say in the rankings, but I was asked to write the capsules for Selma, Moonlight, O.J.: Made in America, Safe, Taxi Driver and Wendy and Lucy. A pleasure to write about such mighty films. The whole list is here.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: My Cannes Recap and 'Top Gun: Maverick'

Well, this is embarrassing: I completely forgot to post last week's podcast, which was our first after me being away at Cannes for two weeks. I talked a bit about my festival experience, including my favorite films I saw there, and we also reviewed Tom Cruise's massive hit. Check out the episode below.

Cannes 2022: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

An informal poll I conducted of colleagues who, like me, attended last year's pandemic-affected Cannes confirmed my suspicion: The 2021 installment was better than this one. Partly, it was the fact that there were fewer people around, making navigating the festival easier, and partly it was because the films were stronger. To be fair, the 2021 edition had, essentially, two years worth of movies to work from, which allowed for an extra helping of greatness. (Also, there were simply more films programmed in 2021 than this year.) But even so, 2022 yielded fewer terrific movies, although I am cognizant of having missed out on several pictures that were well-reviewed, including Aftersun, Corsage, Godland and The Blue Caftan. You spend 11 days watching movies, but there are still some you can't get to.

But if the highs of this year's slate weren't as high -- or as frequent -- then at least the lows weren't so low. Looking at my rankings, even the films at the very bottom of my list offered a few pleasures or some interesting ideas. There were no outright stinkers, and the truth is, I generally liked most of what I saw, even if my enthusiasm was often measured. That said, I know plenty of folks who strongly support Three Thousand Years of Longing, Elvis, Stars at Noon and Top Gun: Maverick, so my festival experience is no guarantee to have been anyone else's. That's part of the fun of being at Cannes.

So, without further ado, here are my rankings, including movies I'd seen prior to the festival. Links lead to individual reviews.

39. Three Thousand Years of Longing
38. Elvis
37. Stars at Noon
36. Father and Soldier
35. Remains of the Wind
34. Brother and Sister
33. The Innocent
32. Top Gun: Maverick
31. War Pony
30. Final Cut
29. Rebel
28. Mediterranean Fever
27. Our Brothers
26. Imagine
25. Funny Pages
24. Crimes of the Future
23. God's Creatures
22. Holy Spider
21. Smoking Causes Coughing
20. Jerry Lee Lewis: Trouble in Mind
19. Tchaikovsky's Wife
18. The Silent Twins
17. Hunt
16. Plan 75
15. The Eight Mountains
14. Moonage Daydream
13. Armageddon Time
12. Decision to Leave
11. Leila's Brothers
10. Triangle of Sadness
9. Men
8. All That Breathes
7. Close
6. Broker
5. Tori and Lokita
4. EO
3. R.M.N.
2. Showing Up
1. One Fine Morning

(If you'd like to be additionally annoyed that I didn't care for Top Gun: Maverick, let me point you to this essay I wrote for MEL about my misgivings about Maverick as a character.)

For me, there were two true standouts, one I saw at the beginning of the festival and one I saw at the very end. One of the unfortunate themes of this year's Cannes was world-class directors bringing less-than-world-class films to the Croisette, with everyone from Claire Denis to David Cronenberg being accused of not living up to their previous high-water marks. (Of course, this take was subjective as well: I was quite taken with Broker, generally considered a letdown from former Palme d'Or-winner Hirokazu Kore-eda, and I deeply dug Tori and Lokita and R.M.N., which proved that, respectively, the Dardenne brothers and Cristian Mungiu still have plenty to say.) But One Fine Morning, Mia Hansen-Love's just plain lovely look at a widowed mother (Lea Seydoux, wonderful), and Kelly Reichardt's deceptively simple Showing Up were clear outliers, finding their makers doing some of the best work of their illustrious careers. The only reason I think Showing Up should win the Palme is because One Fine Morning was in Director's Fortnight, which keeps it out of the running. (Why it wasn't in the official competition, which slotted Hansen-Love's slightly-less-great Bergman Island last year, is a mystery to me.)

The other prevailing theme of the 2022 edition was the glut of good-enough films. Not bad, not amazing, just ... good. I suspect a second viewing will add dimension to Park Chan-wook's densely plotted Decision to Leave or may make me appreciate James Gray's Armageddon Time more. That's the hope, anyway: If this Cannes wasn't filled with stunners, the movies certainly didn't lack for ambition, and sometimes a fresh perspective away from the rush-around of a festival can help. Maybe just maybe I'll even come around on Stars at Noon. 

And now, here's where I indulge my annual tradition of incorrectly guessing what's going to win the Palme d'Or. It's impossible to know, of course, because the nine people who make up the competition jury will be giving out the prizes, and it's not like they're talking to anyone. But in terms of possible victors, Lukas Dhont's late-arriving Close, which just got picked up by A24, could be a consensus choice, emotional and heartfelt. If the jury wants to go in a more career-achievement direction, Cronenberg could walk away with the prize for his audacious (I'm not sure entirely successful) "return to form" Crimes of the Future. Nostalgia has been the best-reviewed of the competition films I haven't seen, and Armageddon Time got such a warm reception at its premiere, which featured Grey getting choked up about what the movie means to him, that I think it has a shot as well. 

But ultimately I see the Palme going to either Close or Decision to Leave, with my pick being the former. Park is a revered filmmaker, and Decision to Leave is a Hitchcockian thriller that's inspired plenty of comparisons to Vertigo. It's a work of consummate craftsmanship that deals in obsession, both familiar and challenging at the same time. But Close makes people cry. I'm gonna go with tears.

And if Showing Up should somehow win? Well, that loud noise you'll hear on Saturday is me turning on my phone when my plane lands and letting out a cheer when I see the news.

Cannes 2022: 'Showing Up' Review

What a quiet beauty Kelly Reichardt's latest is. For Screen International, I reviewed Showing Up.

Best of 2020: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

Early this year, I was looking ahead to some of 2020's most-anticipated movies when I remembered The Many Saints of Newark, a prequel to The Sopranos. This presented a problem since I was more than likely going to be reviewing the film ... and I had never watched The Sopranos. Well, I had watched the pilot several times -- weirdly, it was something I'd often turn to as comfort viewing on airplanes -- but I had never gone beyond that. Frankly, the show just seemed like this intimidating commitment -- it was how many episodes? -- and so I hadn't bothered, content with the fact that maybe, some day long in the future, I'd finally get around to it. Well, the future was now.

So I started doing the math: If the movie was set to open in September, it might premiere in Venice or Toronto, so I had to get The Sopranos done by mid-August. There are 86 episodes -- each one about an hour -- and with other festivals like Cannes in the interim, I'd have to be strategic about how much of the show I needed to watch each week in order to get it done in time. (After all, I had screenings just about every night, not to mention the usual unknowables of a writer's life.) Susan hadn't seen The Sopranos either, so we decided we'd watch it together. The trick was figuring out how to schedule our lives to make room for such a sizable undertaking. 

We'd gotten through a few episodes of The Sopranos when the world changed in March. Everybody has his own story about the shutdown that occurred that month -- how we all went from life as usual to the slow, scary realization that everything was stopping -- and mine involves some major markers. First it was the announcement that South by Southwest -- which I was going to be attending for the first time -- was being canceled. Then it was the NBA pulling the plug on the season. When major pillars of the film and sports industries waved the white flag, it was clear where we were headed. My life as I knew it was put on hold. No more places to go, no more bags to pack, a calendar that was suddenly a lot less full. 

Instead of the usual runaround of my hectic schedule, I had The Sopranos ... and a lot more free time than either Susan and I had anticipated. There was now no need to figure out how to carve out part of the day to sneak in an episode. Suddenly, it was the highlight of the day. Whereas pre-pandemic I almost never was able to see Susan on a weeknight -- I'd be off to a screening, and then doing some writing when I came home -- now, we had the sort of 9-to-5 life that so many others enjoyed. I got to have dinner with my wife, and then we'd watch The Sopranos. It was so cozy and pleasant you could almost forget that a terrifying virus was infecting and killing so many people.

The truth is, I needed the structure -- I still was working, but my whole life had been upended -- and The Sopranos gave me a focus early on in the pandemic. Also, the show was simply terrific, and the fact that Susan and I got to share it gave us something to talk about that didn't involve COVID or the election or anything else. What was funny was that, as we got deeper into the show, I suddenly became aware of all the Sopranos spoilers out there in the world that had never meant anything to me before. When a show has been out for two decades, it's absorbed into the culture and spit back out as memes and quotable dialogue. All of that used to be a foreign language that I couldn't decipher -- in the midst of our binge, though, I quickly became aware that I was going to have to shield myself from social media so that I wouldn't get plot points ruined. (Although, to be fair, I sorta guessed that Ralph Cifaretto was doomed before a random tweet clued me into that fact.)

But for the most part, though, I was amazed just how little had been spoiled for me. I had done a remarkable job since the early 2000s of simply staying away from the Sopranos discourse. And so the show was like this perfect, untouched thing that came into my life, providing my wife and me with twists and surprises and things that deeply disturbed us. (You've been upset about Christopher Moltisanti's death for a long time. It's still fresh for me.)

Of course, The Sopranos doesn't play in 2020 the way it did back then: For one thing, we knew that James Gandolfini was dead, which gave the show an inevitable sense of melancholy. Also, it's fascinating to watch technology evolve over the course of the series' run. (Among other things, David Chase's show is a time capsule for the golden age of the DVD player.) There are the episodes before 9/11 -- neither the characters nor the audience has any idea what's coming -- and then the ones after the terrorist attacks, but even those felt slightly naive now simply because they all took place before COVID. Watching The Sopranos this year, I kept being reminded of all the everyday activities I took for granted that were now gone. Tony and his family got to eat in restaurants! He and his cohorts would have meetings! A show about family -- a word that had several meanings -- was also about people having to intersect in each other's lives in intimate ways. You almost envied these guys -- they didn't know how good they had it.

The only thing I knew about The Sopranos going into our binge was its ending, which had proved so controversial at the time that even I was engaged in the debate. (Despite not having seen the show, I was nonetheless firmly on the side of those who thought Chase's pointed non-ending was wonderfully audacious.) As we reached those final episodes, I got tense partly because I knew we were quickly arriving at the conclusion. But I also knew that this exercise, which had been started because I needed to be ready for The Many Saints of Newark, was drawing to a close. I was going to have to learn to live without The Sopranos and face the global crisis at hand. (Ironically, like so many other movies that were supposed to come out this year, The Many Saints of Newark was ultimately pushed back to 2021.)

Once the show was over, life started getting a little back to normal. I was lucky: I was busy with work, and my family (for the most part) avoided the virus. I could tell you the same story that a lot of people could tell about 2020 -- that it was awful and challenging. I could tell you about how the Black Lives Matter movement that rose up after the killing of George Floyd fundamentally changed the way I saw America -- and that it inspired me (and Susan) to take stock of all the small ways that we contribute to white supremacy and consider what we could do better. But the larger contours of 2020 aren't very interesting to hear from my perspective -- many, many people had it much worse than me. Other people's voices were more important than mine.

Lately, I've been thinking that 2020 isn't over when the calendar switches to 2021. This year feels larger than just a year. It will soon be January, but the virus will still be here, and the societal ills the pandemic revealed will still be here. Trump will be gone (fingers crossed), but Trumpism won't be. Racial inequality isn't going away. Economic hardship isn't going away. There are difficult fights ahead. This was a year of grieving, but the grieving won't end in 2020. A lot will be awful and challenging in 2021, too. I hope we have the strength to handle it.

* * * * *

You are probably wondering when I'm going to list my Top 10 movies of 2020. Here you go...

1. Nomadland
2. David Byrne's American Utopia
3. First Cow
4. The Nest
5. Collective
6. Driveways
7. I'm Thinking of Ending Things
8. Sound of Metal
9. She Dies Tomorrow
10. The Father

If you see my Screen International list, you'll notice it's very different. Here are the reasons why: For Screen, we only include releases that are 2020 premieres -- meaning, they first played somewhere, including a festival, for the first time in 2020 -- and documentaries weren't included in the Best Film list. My Screen list will give you a hint of two 2021 releases I'm looking forward to revisiting in the new year.

Going back to the above list, allow me to also show some love to the movies that ended up 11-15, which are Fourteen, Vitalina Varela, City Hall, Lovers Rock and The Surrogate. All are terrific and also worth checking out.

The best animated film of the year, outside of the short World of Tomorrow Episode Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime, was The Wolf House (No. 18 on my list), and I also want to mention how great Relic (No. 16) is. In between was Hamilton (No. 17). The idea that there were "no good movies" this year is preposterous.

* * * * *

I was grateful to the outlets that remain so good to me, including Screen International (where I've now been writing for 15 years) and MEL (which had its best year yet in 2020). And my thanks to my editors at Vulture, Rolling Stone, Popular Mechanics and SyFy, who handled a tough year with a lot of finesse. It was very fun to moderate Q&As, even if it was over Zoom, because it brought a small sliver of normalcy. (Speaking of normalcy, I'd be lost without doing the Grierson & Leitch podcast on a weekly basis.) Also, I'm happy to announce that my seventh book will be coming out in March: This Is How You Make a Movie is, admittedly, an immodest title, but I'm hoping readers will enjoy the conceit as much as I enjoyed exploring it.

And, as always, thank you -- today and everyday. I was asked by college students recently who I write for -- in other words, who do I imagine my audience is? I told them that I picture my dad, but I also think of all the people out there who I will never meet who get something out of my work. So maybe that's you. Well, I just want you to know that I appreciate it. And I hope you have a good new year.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The Best Films of 2020

The year is almost over. Let's take a look back at 2020's finest films. Will and I each present our Top 10 lists on the podcast. Enjoy!