The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The 10 Best Films From Our First 500 Episodes

To celebrate our 500th episode, we each listed our 10 favorite films since the podcast started in early 2016. It is wild to think we've been doing this so long. Thanks for listening: This is a fun episode.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Previewing Venice, Telluride and Toronto 2026

Greetings from Venice. The screenings started today, so for a fun bonus episode of the podcast, I picked five films I'm most curious to see at the fall festivals. Then, we look at the big movies coming out later in 2026. Folks, it's officially awards season. You can listen to our conversation down below.

Let's Rank Ridley Scott's Movies

For the fine folks at Rolling Stone, I helped contribute write-ups for the site's ranking of every Ridley Scott film. As always, I have to remind you that I had no say in the overall rankings, so don't yell at me. But if you'd like to hear my thoughts on Legend, Napoleon and other films, go here. 

How to Get Your Kids Into 'Jackass'

Over at Vulture, we offered up 10 great bits from the Jackass films that kids are gonna love. Of course, don't try any of these at home. But do read our article. 

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The Best Films of 2026 (So Far)

We've reached the halfway point of the year. So it's time for Will and me to each reveal our picks for the six best films of 2026 so far. My list includes a big studio movie, a three-hour road trip shot on a crappy old smartphone, a semi-autobiographical drama a Kafkaesque nightmare, a satire about the Israel/Palestine conflict, and a ghostly tale about a missing boat that returns. Check out our choices down below.

Cannes 2026: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

Every year, I come home from Cannes with a song. One of the pleasures of this festival, beyond seeing so many invigorating films, is to be introduced (or reintroduced) to a tune that works astonishingly well within the context of a movie. In past years, tracks like Bacao Rhythm & Steel Band's cover of 50 Cent's "PIMP" (from Anatomy of a Fall) or Anna Von Hausswolff's "Stranger" (from Sound of Falling) became the unofficial theme of those editions of Cannes, providing pleasure not just inside the accompanying film but during the months after the festival when I'm still playing the track on repeat. Those songs become my memory of those two weeks on the Croisette.

Many have written about this year's Cannes being underwhelming, which I generally agree with. But the way in which I feel that most acutely is the fact that I'm not leaving France with a signature song. There were some memorable tracks scattered across several films. I loved Ira Sachs' period-specific tunes for The Man I Love. Two different songs from Kind of Blue put in an appearance. And a colleague wholeheartedly suggests that this year's song has to be "A Long December," which is implemented snarkily in Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. But still, no musical moment fully wowed me. And maybe that says something about the lineup's relative strengths. Certainly, this Cannes featured some significant movies. But perhaps not enough. And, likewise, no song that encapsulated the highs that come from discovering unexpectedly terrific films.

Going into this edition, the major story was that Hollywood was sitting the festival out, with only a handful of American indie auteurs screening their latest projects. I wasn't concerned about that relative lack of a U.S. presence, figuring that the established international directors would more than compensate. (They usually do, as witnessed by last year's all-timer edition.) And, sure enough, as I look at my rankings of this year's Cannes films, many of my top picks are from the big names. But what ultimately hurt this Cannes was that there weren't enough exciting surprises, the out-of-nowhere stunners from filmmakers whose names you needed to learn. (Here's where I have to own up to not being able to catch up with a few movies from exactly those kinds of emerging talents. I cannot wait for La Gradiva, Everytime, The Match and Rehearsals for a Revolution.) In retrospect, maybe the 79th Cannes Film Festival will be remembered as a transitional one, the new guard about to supplant the old masters. That sounds good to me.

* * * * *   

Without further ado, from worst to best, here's a list of everything I saw, with links leading to individual reviews:   

37. Diamond
36. Her Private Hell
35. The Birthday Party
34. Parallel Tales
33. Butterfly Jam
32. The Electric Kiss
31. Another Day 
30. Gentle Monster
29. Sheep in the Box
28. La Bola Negra
27. Bitter Christmas
26. A Woman’s Life
25. Jim Queen
24. The Beloved 
23. The Unknown
22. Aqui
21. In Waves
20. I'll Be Gone in June
19. Coward
18. Nagi Notes 
17. Ashes
16. Club Kid
15. The Blow
14. Hope
13. The Dreamed Adventure
12. The Diary of a Chambermaid 
11. A Man of His Time
10. Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma 
9. Paper Tiger 
8. Clarissa
7. Minotaur
6. Fjord 
5. The Man I Love
4. Moulin
3. Fatherland 
2. Once Upon a Time in Harlem
1. All of a Sudden               

You may notice that my No. 2 film, Once Upon a Time in Harlem, premiered at Sundance. That remarkable documentary played in Directors' Fortnight; I wish I could have seen it a second time, especially with a more international audience. But for now, it ranks just slightly behind Ryusuke Hamaguchi's All of a Sudden, a three-hour stunner that screened early in the Competition, promising an incredible festival that never quite materialized. No matter: The Hamaguchi film is singular, capturing the acclaimed writer-director pushing himself into even more extraordinary terrain. And for all the talk about a weak Competition, I'm awfully happy to have seen the riveting new films from Cristian Mungiu, László Nemes, Paweł Pawlikowski, Ira Sachs and Andrey Zvyagintsev. Did Pedro Almodóvar, Asghar Farhadi and Hirokazu Koreeda let me down with their misfires? Absolutely, but even the greats stumble from time to time.

One film not included in my rankings was Ken Russell's The Devils, from 1971, which screened in Cannes Classics and was the hot ticket of the festival. Only screening once, and in one of the smaller theaters, the restored director's cut may not have been my favorite film of this year's edition, but it was easily the most energizing moment of Cannes. I haven't watched The Devils since college, but its audaciousness and shock hadn't lessened, and its emotional undercurrents were far richer than I recalled. Many in the room had never seen the film, and you could feel the thrill of discovery happening in real time. That's what film festivals, and film love in general, is all about. This new restoration looks immaculate; you should seek it out when it opens in the U.S. 

* * * * *    

I've been coming to Cannes since 2013, and last year was the first time I correctly guessed what film would win the Palme d'Or. Not that I think I'm on some sort of roll now, although once again this year I did see all 22 films in Competition. 

Best as I can tell, there are three likely contenders to take home the big prize: All of a Sudden, Fatherland or Minotaur. I think all three movies are superb, which makes it even harder to predict a winner. What also makes it tricky is that the jury is made up of only nine people, and who can possibly guess what films, say, Park Chan-wook or Demi Moore really dug? Is it the kind of movies they themselves make? Are they movies that speak more to the head or the heart? Who knows? This uncertainty, of course, makes the guessing all the more fun.

In their own way, each of my three contenders Grapple With How We Live Now. Hamaguchi offers hard-earned optimism while Pawlikowski and Zvyagintsev are more suspect about what seems like the permanent bleakness of our moment, with Fatherland connecting 1949 Germany to now and Minotaur returning to the initial invasion of Ukraine by Russia. If there is a "perfect" film of the three -- a term I use extremely advisedly -- it would be the precise, controlled Fatherland, which says everything it wants to say in 82 minutes. On the other end of the spectrum is All of a Sudden's enveloping 196 minutes, which encompasses the beginning, middle and end of a short-lived friendship in its expansive running time. Minotaur is chillier than the other two, reaffirming Zvyagintsev's status as one of our greats, and it's probably the most "conventional" -- another term I'm using extremely advisedly -- in its narrative approach. 

After much debate, it's also the film I'm picking to win the Palme d'Or. Minotaur's merging of the story of a businessman who suspects his wife of adultery with a larger commentary on the corruption going on in Russia is an affecting strategy that could resonate with jury members who want to vote for something that's political but also about people. Plus, there's Zvyagintsev's own story: He spent 40 days in a coma during Covid and was close to death. Will the jury be moved by his circumstance? Maybe, maybe not. But if Fatherland's concision might come across as airless to those immune to its spell -- and All of a Sudden too "baggy" to the impatient -- Minotaur's potent timeliness could be an ideal compromise choice for Park and his fellow jurors. How certain do I feel about my pick? Oh, maybe 20 percent. 

We'll see soon enough if I'm right. But before I sign off, one last thought: Perhaps this year's unofficial song was the one that was mentioned consistently whenever anyone discussed Koreeda's Competition title, Sheep in the Box. You won't believe how many people, independently of one another, asked me, "Do you just keep getting 'Dick in a Box' stuck in your head when you hear that title?" I hadn't, but I certainly did after colleagues kept bringing it up. Maybe this year's Cannes wasn't an all-timer, but we found ways to amuse ourselves nonetheless.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Talking About Sheep Detectives and Previewing the 2026 Cannes Film Festival

Greetings from Cannes. I just got into town, but before I left, I recorded this week's episode of the podcast, in which I preview five films playing here that I am very excited to see, including Fjord. Also, we review The Sheep Detectives. Check it all out down below.

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.

Robert Duvall's Best Movies

Over at Rolling Stone, I contributed to a roundup of Robert Duvall's essential roles. You can read our list right here. 

Best of 2025: The Top 10 Albums of the Year

Before I was a full-time film critic, I spent years reviewing albums and interviewing bands. I enjoyed it immensely, and while "music critic" is not my principal job now, I have never switched off that part of myself. 

Keeping up with new music isn't just good for the brain, it ensures you don't become one of those people who laments, "I don't know any of these acts on the Grammys/at Coachella." At the start of every January, I create a folder of notable albums that get released that year, adding to it as the months go by. (My 2025 playlist is here.) This becomes my go-to playlist, perfect for long drives across Los Angeles or time spent in my office writing. I like having music on all day, and I'd rather it be new music than songs I know by heart, no matter how much I love them.

It's been years since Pazz & Jop went away, although Uproxx did its best to keep the tradition alive in recent years. But now that Uproxx has stopped publishing its year-end critics poll, I have felt a little empty having nowhere to share my picks for the year's best albums. This is the advantage of having my own site: I can do it right here.

No matter how many years I put together a best-of album list, I always have to remind myself that you never really know a record until you listen to it from beginning to end. In our modern streaming age, the notion of the album as an artistic unit now feels terribly quaint. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't put in the effort to really understand a record by giving it your undivided attention. It's one thing to get obsessed with a song — it's something else to really live in the world of an artist's creative vision for 45-70 minutes. 

The 10 albums on my list all resonated more deeply when I devoted that uninterrupted time to them. As individual tracks, maybe they aren't the most dynamic. As a cumulative experience, though, they were undeniable.

Without further ado... 

10. Dijon, Baby 
The inner workings of Dijon Duenas' mind, set to jittery, sensual, exuberant tunes. Detailing his experiences with marriage and fatherhood with vulnerability and candor, Baby expresses love in all its forms: carnal, paternal, utter devotion, endless adoration. So many marriages don't work out. So many parents fail their children. But this album's beauty and anguish suggest a deep soul who's been thinking about commitment for a good long time. The more the music surges with doubt, the more resilient it simultaneously becomes. The results aren't just moving — they're downright inspirational.  

9. Backxwash, Only Dust Remains
Zambian-Canadian rapper Ashanti Mutinta's previous records contained more of a metal influence. She hardly went safe or mainstream with her most recent album: As Mutinta put it in May of last year, "instead of a slasher, this one is more like a weird A24 movie.” The abrasive, riveting Only Dust Remains acknowledges her struggles with suicidal ideation and the world's transphobia and bigotry, and the music is as explosive as her anger and insecurity. By the closing title track, she isn't yet out of the woods. But she's raising a "middle finger to these racists and idiots," refusing to let the bastards grind her down, including the ones in her head.

8. CMAT, Euro-Country
My favorite country album of 2025 came from Ireland. Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson taps into the genre's just-folks relatability to create a collection of sad, funny songs about dumb guys, chasing your dreams and losing a friend. The lap steel guitar is as shiny as the pop hooks. And then there's the singer who puts those big feelings across. Actresses are often praised as having a "girl next door" energy: I have mixed feelings about that compliment, but CMAT's unassuming warmth certainly brings such cliches to mind. (That said, you don't have to be a woman to feel "Take a Sexy Picture of Me" in your bones.)
 
7. Sudan Archives, The BPM
I flipped for Brittney Denise Parks' last album, Natural Brown Prom Queen, and this new one might be even better. Edging further into full-on dance music, The BPM ripples with confidence, the tracks barely able to contain her creative ebullience. But the faster tempos belie the anxieties she sometimes feels about love and being herself. And she's still making room for that terrific violin of hers. "I'm the finest," she brags at one point. "Yeah, I said it." She can back up her swagger.

6. Turnstile, Never Enough
This Baltimore band had largely escaped my notice until Never Enough was everywhere in 2025. Hardcore punk is not a go-to genre for me, but Brendan Yates' yearning vocals got to me. Not self-absorbed, not overly ponderous, never boringly mopey, he strikes me as a decent guy wrestling with the agonies of the world with genuine sensitivity at a time when a lot of guys are good at faking it. And his band never stops bringing the noise, which can be exceedingly lovely when it's not just downright stirring. I've heard some longtime fans mock Turnstile for suddenly turning into the Police. I suppose that means they're just getting more tuneful with time.  

5. Apathy, Mom & Dad
As we suffer through the Trump years, Chad Bromley would like to remind us that Ronald Reagan was a pretty terrible president as well. Mom & Dad's title refers not to Bromley's birth parents, who had him when they were teenagers, but Nancy and Ronnie, whose smiling faces adorn the record's cover. Although not quite a concept album, Mom & Dad takes the listener back to the 1980s as Bromley recalls with no fondness the crack era and Reagan's war on drugs. (The rapper's parents battled drug addiction in his youth.) Turning 47 in March, Bromley grabs old-school samples and dusty pop-culture references to paint a portrait of an unhappy past that still casts a shadow on our shared horrible present. Mourning the death of the middle class, recalling the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald, this album turns nostalgia into a poison pill, every line a killer.
 
4. Wednesday, Bleeds
Why does this Wednesday album work so well for me when their last, Rat Saw God, didn't? The answer couldn't be more rudimentary: Because it rocks harder. From the gathering storm of its opening track, "Reality TV Argument Bleeds," to the snarling destitution of "Wound Up Here (By Holdin On)" to the fire of "Wasp" into "Bitter Everyday," Karly Hartzman's band has attitude to burn and the guitars to back up their surliness. Sometimes Bleeds allows for a quieter interlude, but the focus never slips. And the Phish and Human Centipede joke in "Phish Pepsi" is a good one 
 
3. Blood Orange, Essex Honey
Beware albums made by brilliant songwriters/composers that are overstuffed with cameos from their famous friends. That is, unless it's Essex Honey, in which Devonté Hynes brings along so many buddies to enrich his already formidable soundscape, letting them blend into the mix rather than sticking out. The result is a glorious record whose whole is greater than the sum of its parts, Hynes' sumptuous voice on top of one incredible arrangement after another. (My god, the saxophones on this album.) Who else would pair the frontman of Turnstile with the dude from Everything but the Girl? Who else would find so many ways to express grief and explore his childhood memories, yet leave so few breadcrumbs, hiding those knotty feelings in endlessly emotional, dreamlike tunes? Recommended listening for your next nighttime drive.

2. Blondshell, If You Asked for a Picture
With all due respect to the more famous Sabrina (Carpenter), I preferred Sabrina Teitelbaum's follow-up to a successful breakthrough in which the artist is bummed to discover that a higher profile does nothing to improve the quality of men in her orbit. If You Asked for a Picture doesn't have Man's Best Friend's winning sense of humor, but its well-crafted indie-rock convincingly articulates the excruciating frustration of being in your late 20s, worried that your romantic life is never ever going to get any better. There's nothing self-pitying about Teitelbaum's observations, recognizing that she's as much at fault as the jerks she decides to date. "Why don't the good ones love me?," she asks with a clarity any heartsick soul will understand. And when she closes the album with "The problem is I don't know what I want anymore," her voice reaching for a falsetto, it crushes me every time. On her debut Blondshell, she toured with Liz Phair, which made sense. Here, she continues to honor that indie legend by further roto-rooting her psyche, finding plenty of hooks if not much in the way of solutions.

1. Craig Finn, Always Been 
The Hold Steady frontman always has stories to tell. But from top to bottom, I don't think he's ever crafted anything as uniformly terrific as what he achieves on his sixth solo album. Always Been mostly focuses on a former clergyman making sense of his life after leaving the church behind. But that's just one of the broken individuals whom Craig Finn embodies on this remarkable record, which musically doesn't shy away from his Springsteen-ian aspirations while also embracing a more colorful indie-rock palette. I've been making fun of the War on Drugs for years, but Adam Granduciel's production provides the perfect sonic framework for these emotional, dying-of-the-light songs.

"I told Adam that I wanted to make a direct record — I didn’t want it to be tricky," Finn said in April. "The music is very straightforward. Sometimes we’d try something and find it to be too much. It’s a storytelling record, so it was like, 'Is it getting in the way of the story? Is it supporting the story?' I think that’s a question that you just keep asking yourself."

Always Been's simplicity is its strongest asset and also the reason why listeners might overlook its greatness. Finn is the sort who's easy to take for granted: "Oh, he made another literary album about beautiful losers?!?" But the more you immerse in the record, the more its stories seem to speak to something deeper than these individual lives. It's an album about the loss of religious faith, but all different kinds of faith and hope are shed along the way on Always Been: the idea of the ideal version of who you might become, the belief that things will work out, the delusion that America was ever not rotten. The record has no hint of the momentous, and yet its unfussy directness feels plenty grand. Its landscape of depression, romantic disillusionment, crime, poverty and oblivion is as good a way of encapsulating this failed country as any album I heard in 2025. 

Sundance 2026: Ranking the Best and Worst of the Festival

 

I first attended Sundance in 2009. Over the nearly 20 years I went to Park City, I learned several things:

• Wear your snow boots on the plane. You're going to be wearing them the whole time anyway, so there's no point in packing them in your suitcase.
• Don't take a connecting flight from Los Angeles to Salt Lake City. Just take a direct flight. You don't want to deal with possible issues in San Jose or Las Vegas or Phoenix on the way there.
• Yes, you'll want to bring long johns.
• The turkey chili at the Library is good. So are the spicy chicken sandwiches at Fresh Market. (You're always desperate to find reliable, quick food at Sundance when you're dashing from venue to venue.) 
• Drink a lot of water. Take a lot of Advil. Elevation headaches are real.
• Walk slower than you're used to, even if you're in a hurry. You have no idea when you might step on some black ice and take a nasty tumble. (Thankfully, it never happened to me. But I've had colleagues break collarbones at Sundance.)
• If your boots suddenly start falling apart, buy Gorilla Tape at Fresh Market. It works wonders.  

These sorts of lessons you acquire from years attending any festival. What will be strange is that, starting next year, this knowledge will largely be irrelevant. In 2027, Sundance moves to Boulder. I've never been, but even for those who have, it will be a unique festival experience. Normally, when you go to a new festival, there's someone older who's been there a bunch and can show you the ropes and fill you in on all the little pro-tips you need. In a sense, all of us will be going through our first Sundance next year. That will be incredibly disorienting, and I'm curious how we collectively process this new place that the festival will call home. 

I knew the final Park City Sundance would be bittersweet. My friends and colleagues took tons of pictures. There were final stops at Grub Steak -- I always got the meatloaf and the wild rice and mushroom soup -- and one last movie at the Eccles. But I found the overall mood more resigned and pragmatic than emotional. Two different people said to me, "Park City doesn't want us here anymore. It feels like the city has already moved on." Adding to that feeling was that, as soon as the festival ended this year, the local Holiday Village theater, which was used for press & industry screenings, was scheduled to be bulldozed. (The theater had actually been closed for a while.) 

Journalists and film critics may have a lot of memories of coming to Sundance, but Park City as a whole seemed ready to be rid of us. And maybe the feeling was mutual: A fellow critic told me, in no uncertain terms, "I love Sundance, but I hate Park City," an acknowledgment, among other things, of the city and the state's conservative politics. Ironically, it turned out to be one of the warmest Sundances in memory: It was as if the city couldn't even be bothered to give visitors the obligatory snow and freezing temperatures. And then there were the horrors going on in America while we were at the festival. It was hard not to feel a little down in the mouth, despite the pleasure of being around so many people I enjoy so much.

As I've mentioned before, Sundance was my first film festival, so I have a fondness for the place. But Sundance's move creates an interesting question: Is a festival a location or something else? (I realize that Sundance actually started in Salt Lake City in the late 1970s, but I think it's fair to say most attendees associate Park City with Sundance.) A festival's ethos is woven into its location. True/False is Columbia, Missouri. Cannes is a tourist town in the south of France. If those festivals up and left, how would a new setting affect the movies I saw? It's something I've never thought about. Next year, I will a lot in Boulder.

* * * * *     

But how were the actual movies at the final Sundance in Park City? Pretty darn good. Below is a ranking of everything I saw before, after or during the festival. (Sundance's decision to continue to offer a streaming portal during the festival's final weekend is a great way to play catch-up.) Links lead to individual reviews. 

28. The Gallerist
27. The AI Doc: Or How I Became an Apocaloptimist
26. See You When I See You
25. Run Amok
24. I Want Your Sex
23. Zi
22. Chasing Summer
21. Union County
20. The Invite
19. Time and Water
18. Sentient 
17. Buddy
16. Broken English
15. The Shitheads
14. The Oldest Person in the World
13. Leviticus 
12. Filipinana
11. One in a Million
10. The History of Concrete
9. Nuisance Bear
8. The Weight
7. The Only Living Pickpocket in New York
6. Closure
5. Carousel
4. If I Go Will They Miss Me
3. Josephine
2. The Friend’s House Is Here
1. Once Upon a Time in Harlem

I am not the first person to note that the best film at this year's Sundance was made in 1972. David Greaves' Once Upon a Time in Harlem, built from footage shot by his father William 54 years ago, immediately joins the ranks of other recent documentaries like Summer of Soul and Amazing Grace that were believed to be lost to time. It's a revelation, narrowly edging out Maryam Ataei and Hossein Keshavarz's graceful, slyly subversive Tehran-set drama The Friend's House Is Here. I'm pretty high on my Top Five in particular, and look forward to seeing how they're received in the wider world. (Even in Park City, writer-director Rachel Lambert's prickly romantic drama Carousel was divisive. I expect a similar response going forward, although I contend it's a gem.)

Thanks for reading. If you'd like to hear me talking about the festival, I appeared on the Film Comment podcast not once but twice. I returned to Nicolas Rapold's The Last Thing I Saw. And before the festival started, I was invited to join Screen Rant senior film critic Gregory Nussen to discuss what Sundance film is the greatest ever. (I'm very happy with my choice.) On to the next one. 

The 101 Best Los Angeles Movies

This has been in the works for a little while, so I'm glad it's finally out there in the world. The Los Angeles Times has put together a list of the all-time best L.A. movies. I didn't have a say in the final rankings, although I contributed a ballot alongside my fellow critics and journalists, but I did write several of the capsules. I was very happy to heap praise on Barton Fink, Devil in a Blue Dress, Die Hard, Inherent Vice, Killer of Sheep, Safe and A Woman Under the Influence. Check the whole list out here. 

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Sundance 2026 Preview, 'Avatar: Fire and Ash'

We are back! And we're finally getting around to discussing the new Avatar. Plus, I offer my take on five Sundance movies that look really promising, including John Wilson's The History of Concrete. Check out the conversation down below.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The Best Films of 2025

The wait is over: It's time for our most popular podcast of the year. In this episode, Will and I both count down our 10 favorite films of 2025. Hope you enjoy.

The Essential Rob Reiner Films

For Rolling Stone, I helped contribute to a list of the late, great Rob Reiner's best films. I tackled his two Aaron Sorkin collaborations: A Few Good Men and The American President. You can read the whole list here. 

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. 

Diane Keaton's Best Films

I pitched in over at Rolling Stone on a piece that celebrated the late, great Diane Keaton's 10 essential movies. I was happy to take on Reds. You can check that out here.

Robert Redford's Essential Films

I teamed up with other Rolling Stone colleagues to list 20 must-see Robert Redford movies. You can read me on The Natural, Indecent Proposal and All Is Lost here. 

Venice/Telluride/Toronto 2025: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

When I was younger, I assumed I would never go to a film festival. That was something other critics did — it felt too far away for me to even imagine. Then things changed: In December 2008, my editor asked me if I'd like to cover Sundance for him. Absolutely I wanted to. So we met up for coffee to strategize and for him to explain how Park City works, and I told him just how excited I was. "Oh, Sundance is terrible," he responded with an air of absolute authority. "The food is awful, and the people there are the worst." I don't remember being deterred by his warning, though. I was going to my first film festival. I couldn't wait.

When I arrived in Sundance a month later, a colleague and I went to grab our badges, the first thing you always do at a film festival. When we got to the press office, I ran into another colleague who had been attending Sundance for several years. I mentioned this was my first time. "Yeah, it's too bad we weren't going back when this festival was actually special," he said with an air of absolute authority. "We're sorta here at the end." This was 2009. 

I bring up these stories to say that, since the start of my film festival life, I've had cold water thrown on my enthusiasm. Since that first Sundance, I've been to Toronto, True/False, Cannes, Venice, Hot Docs and SXSW — to say nothing of the local festivals I've attended, including AFI Fest and the much-missed Los Angeles Film Festival — and invariably I will run into someone who's sour on the experience. There are reasons to be grouchy, of course: Festivals are an extraordinary amount of work, often forcing people to eat poorly and sleep worse while they're far from home as they drag themselves from screening to screening. (More than one colleague has advised younger festival-goers that, really, it's totally normal if you break down into tears at some point.) But on the other hand ... you get to go to a film festival, which is incredible. There's nothing else like it in the movie universe. It can instantly recharge your batteries being around other film-lovers, especially the public, as we all discover new movies together and debate their merits. Festivals can be emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausting. They're also the best.

Talk this way too loudly among your peers and you risk accusations of being a Pollyanna. You can inspire an eye-roll or two, for sure. But I never get sick of festivals, and I always take a moment to remember to be grateful to soak in the moment when I'm at one. For years, I thought film festivals would never be a part of my life. They have now long been a steady staple. I am incredibly lucky, and I don't want to ever forget that.

* * * * *  

My sunny mindset was challenged by this year's trip to Venice and Toronto. Not because I didn't have a good time — I did — but because I have never before encountered so many different colleagues who seemed full of despair and disillusionment. Those dark clouds were existential — about festivals, about our work in general, about the very industry we cover. And how could you blame them? On the eve of critics' arrival in Venice — the first of the three major fall film festivals — we were hit with three straight pieces of bad news. Respected critics Ann Hornaday, Richard Lawson and Michael Phillips all were leaving their jobs, whether through a buyout or a "change in editorial direction." It was the fitting end to a bad summer in which criticism itself seemed under fire, prompting strong responses from the likes of Richard Brody, Ty Burr, Kristen Lopez and others. As a result, fall festival season — usually a moment of optimism as we kick off a period of (hopefully) great movies — felt ominous this year. Like the beginning of the end.

I won't share individual stories I heard — those are theirs to tell — but I will say that I've never had as many conversations with friends and colleagues in which the tone was so dispirited. People were thinking of leaving the business. (Some already had.) Critics wondered if they were going to keep going to festivals. (Some were certain they weren't.) The general tone at both Venice and Toronto could best be described as "Try to find something that's bolted down and hang on for dear life." There was little optimism that things would eventually get better in our business — it was more a question of how much worse things would become. (The striking tagline for Kathryn Bigelow's A House of Dynamite, which premiered in Venice, seemed to take on a double meaning: "Not If. When.") 

My attitude about grim industry trends has always been to keep my head down and work — focus on what I can control and try not to worry about what I can't — but it was hard not to be affected by the general glumness. I had been feeling all the same things as my friends and fellow critics, but to have it mirrored and amplified by those around me made those sentiments all the stronger and more pervasive. And that's only the business side of things: In a world in which Trump infects just about every aspect of our daily life, there was an extra layer of anxiety on top of everything else at all times. (By the way, film critics are hardly alone in feeling these doldrums when they get together.)

In such a dire atmosphere, an extraordinary fall festival season would have been a blessing. At a time when art and culture feel marginalized and imperiled, it's natural to pin one's hopes on cliches like "the power of movies" to heal all. But that was probably asking too much. To be sure, there were great movies at Venice, Telluride and Toronto — some of which first played in Cannes or elsewhere — but there simply weren't enough to overcome the gloom I often felt surrounded by. 

When a festival (or a festival season) is slightly underwhelming, there is a tendency to overreact and ascribe larger meanings to what happens on the ground. It sure can be tempting: Hang out with film critics and journalists long enough, and a cynical malaise can set in, a pessimistic insistence that cinema is in a downward spiral, both critically and commercially, from which it cannot recover. But I think that's a self-fulfilling prophecy — it's the worst kind of confirmation bias, and must be avoided at all costs lest you close your eyes to the excellent films in our midst. 

There are too many vital filmmakers out there for me to discard my fundamental enthusiasm for the art form, and for festivals themselves. Also, there are too many colleagues who, despite it all, have held onto that belief, too. And if you're lucky, you can spend time with them, and with just everyday movie-lovers, who remind you that what we've devoted our lives to us is a wonderful, meaningful pursuit.

I have never lost that guy who, in 2008, learned that a long-held dream of attending a film festival was going to be realized. Sure, I grouse about the stupid TIFF ads before screenings and complain about the monsoon we all experienced one crazy night in Venice. But, also, I love that stuff. I love it. I've spent 17 years being told that the sky is falling, that things used to be better, that I arrived too late, that it's all downhill from here. That's not how I see it. And you can't make me feel otherwise. 

* * * * *    

Below are my rankings for everything I've seen that played at Venice, Telluride or Toronto, either over the last few weeks or at some point earlier this year. Links lead to individual reviews.

63. Eleanor the Great
62. Normal
61. Mother
60. The Man in My Basement
59. Roofman
58. Bad Apples
57. Nuremberg
56. Sacrifice
55. Fuze
54. At Work
53. Hedda
52. The Lost Bus
51. Ballad of a Small Player
50. Marc by Sofia
49. Sangre del Toro
48. John Candy: I Like Me
47. The Wizard of the Kremlin
46. The Smashing Machine
45. Ghost Elephants
44. The Little Sister 
43. The History of Sound
42. The Sun Rises on Us All
41. Made In EU
40. Pillion
39. The Christophers
38. The Ugly
37. Eagles of the Republic
36. Arco
35. Broken English
34. After the Hunt
33. Jay Kelly
32. Frankenstein
31. Notes of a True Criminal
30. Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery
29. No Other Choice
28. Landmarks
27. La Grazia  
26. Nouvelle Vague
25. The Secret Agent
24. It Was Just an Accident
23. Renoir
22. Orphan
21. The Testament of Ann Lee
20. Highway 99: A Double Album
19. Megadoc
18. Hamlet
17. Train Dreams
16. Cover-Up
15. Orwell: 2+2=5
14. BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions
13. Bugonia 
12. Sentimental Value
11. Blue Heron
10. Last Night I Conquered the City of Thebes
9. Father Mother Sister Brother
8. Remake
7. Hamnet
6. Below the Clouds 
5. Sirat 
4. If I Had Legs I'd Kick You
3. Two Prosecutors
2. The Mastermind
1. Sound of Falling

My biggest takeaway from fall festival season? This really was a great Cannes, with my top three all premiering at the French festival back in May. Looking up and down the list, several movies will need a second viewing to see where they're ultimately going to land in my end-of-the-year rankings. (I'm especially curious to give The Secret Agent, It Was Just an Accident and The Testament of Ann Lee another spin.) And, of course, there are the many films I wasn't able to get to, including A House of Dynamite and The Voice of Hind Rajab, among several others. But for now, I'm home and happy to be back with Susan. The next three movie-mad months are gonna be a whirlwind. Can't wait.

Martin Scorsese, Actor

This year, for the first time, Martin Scorsese received a major nomination for acting. In honor of his guest stint on the Emmy favorite The Studio, I looked at the great director's finest performances, exploring how persona and performance intertwine. Hope you enjoy.