Being the relative who spent more of 2024 polishing up their Letterboxd account than their Tinder, I’ve had any number of family members take it upon themselves over the holidays to inform me of the year’s “fairly weak” lineup of new releases. Certainly, this might be the case in terms of mainstream blockbusters; on the comic book front, Deadpool & Wolverine was no Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse, and despite the best efforts of their respective studios, Glicked didn’t exactly hit the lofty heights of Barbenheimer (which was more the fault of one side than the other - more on that later).
But to describe 2024 as a “fairly weak” year for film feels disingenuous. For one thing, the headline events and best of show are usually mutually exclusive anyway, but even taking box office into account, this is the year where Timothée Chalamet broke John Travolta’s 46-year-old record with the double-whammy hit of Wonka and Dune: Part 2, while talents such as Zendaya, Glen Powell and our own Paul Mescal solidified themselves as major stars across a range of projects. Indeed, from over-performing indies to skyrocketing movie stars, 2024 might well be looked back upon as an audition year for the next set of hot properties as Marvel’s hold on the industry continues to slip.
With that in mind, I’ve put together a selection of my personal highlights from across the year, inclusive of films both small and immense in relatively equal measure.
N.B. The following films were not available for viewing ahead of the publication of this list:
A Complete Unknown
Hard Truths
Nickel Boys
The Seed of the Sacred Fig
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25). Small Things Like These (dir. Tim Mielants)
Cillian Murphy’s follow-up to his Oscar-winning turn in 2023’s Oppenheimer is as the truck-loading, nearly silent protagonist of Claire Keegan’s eponymous novella about the Magdalene Laundries. As an exercise in repression and the averted gaze, Murphy’s portrayal of a man increasingly unable to turn away from the atrocities in his own home town brings to the surface all the guilt boiling under the skin of his American Prometheus. It’s a mesmerising watch, encouraging its audience to will their leading man into action, and the fact that said action, when it comes, veers slightly too far into the sentimental shouldn’t take away from the larger power of Keegan’s text.
24). Cuckoo (dir. Tilman Singer)
There are some quietly poignant themes seeded throughout Cuckoo, which touches on womanhood and fertility with surprising sincerity, but those aren’t likely to be what people first take away from the German-American slash-fest. Between its bone-crunching brutality, high concept boogey-women and a masterfully camp turn from Dan Stevens as a maniacal, flute-wielding German scientist, Cuckoo is the kind of twisting madness that will thrive in cult screenings for years to come. At the very least, it should cement Hunter Schafer as a new entry in the final girl canon - now that Scream appears to be on the way out, I say bring on Cucktwo.
23). Civil War (dir. Alex Garland)
Cailee Spaeny, fresh off her Volpi Cup prize for Priscilla and Ripley-esque turn in Alien: Romulus, is the secret sauce behind Alex Garland’s thrilling, albeit politically nonsensical Civil War. The fascination Spaeny’s heroine has for the artistry of war colours the film’s road trip format, dramatising her gradual desensitisation through sheer sensory overload. Bullets burst like splinters, grown men yank her about like giants and Garland’s sound design will bleed your ears worse than the bleariest of club nights. The film’s apolitical aspirations are flawed, but it is the tragic element which Spaeny brings to its spectacle which takes this war odyssey home, cementing her as another of this year’s most exciting rising stars.
22). Terrifier 3 (dir. Damien Leone)
While lacking the polish or good taste of just about every other entry on this list, Terrifier 3 is a triumph for the horror genre, marking the rise of franchise auteur Damien Leone from schlocky short films into commercially-viable Halloween tentpoles, all without sacrificing the eye-gouging, chainsaw slashings and cryogenically-induced bodily explosions at the heart of Art The Clown’s reign of terror. It’s a feverish and sometimes repugnant feat in practical body horror, wearing the sensibilities of a teenage boy nowhere more proudly than in Sienna Shaw’s protagonist; a reincarnated valkyrie whose beauty is immune to scarring, destined to vanquish Art with a mythical sword.
21). His Three Daughters (dir. Azazel Jacobs)
Breaking now from the year’s genre efforts, this chamber play confines its three electrifying lead performances (Carrie Coon, Elizabeth Olsen and Natasha Lyonne) largely to the apartment where, as sisters, their father lies dying in a room just out of view. Devouring page after page of writer/director Azazel Jacobs’s monologue-heavy screenplay, each sibling takes it in turns to channel their grief through mundane disputes about everything from boyfriends to shopping lists. His Three Daughters draws heavily from the world of kitchen sink mumblecore dramas, playing at times like the hypothetical scenario of locking three Frances Halladays in a room together. Take that as you will.
20). Anora (dir. Sean Baker)
Anora is pretty far from the cinematic tour-de-force it was hailed to be coming out of Cannes, but this scattered screwball take on Cinderella still packs plenty of punch. It’s almost a three-in-one; you get the wild night of romance, the messy morning after and finally the sobering day of work. Consequently, the film’s horrific, muted climax and cut to credits comes right off of nearly two-hours of non-stop laughter. Anora is baggy in parts and doesn’t quite have the material to justify its run-time, but it’s that awful silence as the audience rummages for their coats and bags in the dark that pays the price of admission.
19). Ghostlight (dir. Alex Thompson & Kelly O'Sullivan)
Certainly the less famous of this year’s two films about a middle-aged man processing his depression through Shakespeare, Ghostlight is a rousing mood piece on ideas of ageing and grief, all told through the eyes of a construction man who appears altogether mortified to have entangled himself in something so inarguably profound. Featuring a strong supporting turn from Triangle of Sadness scene-stealer Dolly DeLeon, Ghostlight celebrates the healing power of theatre with enough heart and wit to win over even in the grumpiest of fathers, culminating in some poetically knotty third-act stage-work that would make the Bard proud.
18). The Apprentice (dir. Ali Abbasi)
Regardless of how many courtrooms they bend or towers they build, it is to the credit of director Ali Abbasi, plus stars Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong, that The Apprentice remains at all times grounded in the pitiful smallness of the men who made it happen. In a late-film sequence alluding broadly to The Godfather, a tragic loss is intercut with a series of grotesque liposuction and hair transplant surgeries, making clear in terms even the President-elect can understand that Abbasi is less interested in finding a soul for Donald Trump than in positioning him as a movie monster in the vein of Dracula or Frankenstein.
17). Leurs Enfants Après Eux (dir. Zoran & Ludovic Boukherma)
This coming of age story based off of Nicolas Mathieu’s eponymous 2018 novel endeavours to incorporate just about every trope and milestone of the genre across several summers in the youth of its teenaged protagonist Anthony (Paul Kircher), and while the project admittedly struggles under the weight of everything from crumbling father figures to mishandled romances and a surprisingly violent territory rivalry, the results are never less than exceedingly entertaining. Anthony’s motorbike excursions, late night dances and general adolescent awkwardness, coupled with an exemplary soundtrack, tap into a meandering slice-of-life nostalgia lost from many of this decade’s more calculated teen offerings.
16). Better Man (dir. Michael Gracey)
Better Man starts out as exactly the vanity project you might be expecting from Take That alum Robbie Williams; a rise and fall musical biopic with some flashy numbers and a cheeky, if egocentric lead performance. Even the stunt casting of a CG monkey in this starring role quickly fades from view as the first hour plays out every beat of the formula in record time. The second hour however, all but self-destructs the approved rockstar narrative, calling into question with shocking honesty the self-awareness of its own subject in a blazing montage of grotesque behaviours culminating in an emotional punch that hits precisely because you can’t be sure if even Williams himself knows what to make of it.
15). A Different Man (dir. Aaron Schimberg)
From the first notes of its pulpy score to the grim New Hollywood squalor of its opening act, Aaron Schimberg’s A Difficult Man preys on the assumptions and judgements of its audience to viciously devious effect. The miserable existence of Sebastian Stan’s Edward, whose facial disfigurement has led him to a self-imposed exile, leads audiences to expect one sort of film, before the arrival of Adam Pearson’s Oswald lands like a stick of dynamite to detonate Edward's narrative, shifting his story from one of body horror into black comedy, complete with slasher-like set-pieces and an unhinged slapstick finale that must be seen to be believed.
14). Love Lies Bleeding (dir. Rose Glass)
For a film about unravelling obsession, addiction and a blistering loss of control, Love Lies Telling is a remarkably precise and measured piece of storytelling, albeit one absolutely drenched in gore. This should come as no surprise to fans of Rose Glass’s previous work Saint Maud, but the writer/director’s sophomore effort takes her unique blend of fantasy and horror up a notch, elevated further by a phenomenal leading turn from Kristen Stewart and a lethally catchy score from Clint Mansell. The film is a textbook case in escalation, with each new twist burning through enough plot to sustain a full feature on its own, and I can’t wait to see where Glass’s ghoulishly queer imagination takes us next.
13). Hit Man (dir. Richard Linklater)
One of the great casualties of the streaming era, Netflix should frankly be facing criminal charges for burying this School of Rock-level event in their vault. At the centre of it is a complicated role for leading man Glen Powell, who must play a plethora of mock ‘hit men’ while holding on to just enough of theatre geek Gary, who lives on in the heart of each new identity. Powell’s scathing take on performative masculinity is pitch perfect, solidifying him as another of the decade’s best breakout stars, and so much more than just a pretty face.
12). Heretic (dir. Scott Beck & Bryan Woods)
While not exactly a new talent on the scene, there is something to be said for Hugh Grant’s late-stage pivot into what he has described as the “freak show” phase of his career. From entrapping young bears to redefining what it is to be an Oompa Loompa, Grant is clearly relishing his escape from the dungeon of bumbling leading men, no more so than in his turn here as a “cool prof” terrorising two young Mormon girls with Reddit-tinged rhetoric. Hereticis a horror film constructed primarily around long and convoluted discourse, so it is a testament to Grant, plus co-stars Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East, that it proves more disturbing than most of the year’s more conventional creature features. That is, with the exception of…
11). Longlegs (dir. Oz Perkins)
Much of the marketing around Longlegs chose to focus on its titular character’s appearance, a secret kept to the extent that most audiences went in knowing who was playing him (Nicholas Cage) and little more. In spite of this, Cage’s ‘face reveal’ comes surprisingly early in the thriller, but the ploy does speak to writer/director Oz Perkins’ vision for a space where the very act of seeing is demonic. At every turn you’ll want to look away, but between its tapestry of rich, blasphemous imagery and a camera so voyeuristic it's almost predatory, you'll have your work cut out for you trying.
10). Wicked (dir. Jon M. Chu)
Despite the very best efforts of Twitter dot com, there was always the possibility that Wicked would win me over on sheer sentimentality. It helps of course, that the film itself has no shortage of merits to counter-balance the occasional issue with exposure or in the grade. There is a sense of true love and admiration for the source material here, and not just from Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo (who have cried vast, vast quantities of tears over the last month of promo). Like Hello Dolly, West Side Story and Chicago before it, Wicked raises the bar against which all Broadway adaptations will be held for years to come. You might even say it... defies gravity. I wouldn't though, personally.
9). Red Rooms (dir. Pascal Plante)
Pascal Plante’s Red Rooms feels almost clairvoyant for how its ice cold takedown of true crime fetishists has aligned with the arrest of suspected assassin Luigi Mangione, now a viral TikTok sensation. The film, which follows gambler, dark web surfer and courtroom voyeur Kelly Anne (Juliette Gariépy), captures with truly sickening aplomb the isolating circumstances which can transform even the most intelligent among us into predatory ghouls. One stunt carried out towards the tail-end of the film stands unchallenged as the film year’s single most evil act. It is a testament to Plante that, despite his decision to keep the majority of his envisioned terrors off-screen, the atmosphere alone is enough to position this as a major work for the horror genre, and an essential text for those with the stomach to watch it through.
8). Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (dir. George Miller)
In a just society, this under-seen companion piece to 2014’s Mad Max: Fury Road would’ve been the biggest film of the year. Anchored by two seminal performances from Anya Taylor-Joy and Chris Hemsworth (in his career-best role), George Miller’s rip-roaring post-apocalyptic melodrama on wheels is an achievement in propulsive, kinetic action, moving with artful elegance between stunts while sparing time at every turn to ensure that Taylor-Joy’s titular heroine remains at-all-times the blazing heart of the piece. If anything, the film may be too smart for its own good, tackling themes of cultivated power and resource management with a sincerity now held only for multiverses and big men named Kang.
7). Queer (dir. Luca Guadagnino)
Queer is a fascinating look at the nature of LGBTQ+ relationships in an era where such connections were ill-defined taboos, and it is a testament to the gifts of Drew Starkey and particularly Daniel Craig that this largely plotless, often meandering romance carries so much tenderness and tension without either ever having to raise their voice. Even accounting for a handful of truly preposterous hallucinatory sequences, Queer is Guadagnino’s most subdued and human film to date, asking all the right questions and holding out on any easy answers. Inevitably, the results won’t appeal to audiences on the same levels as Challengers or even Call Me By Your Name, but I could’ve told you that from the title.
6). Hundreds Of Beavers (dir. Mike Cheslik)
At the risk of losing all remaining credibility (if there was any to begin with), there were times while watching Mike Cheslik’s Hundreds Of Beavers wherein I laughed so hard that I genuinely couldn’t see the screen. When I could see, I was graced with the sight of some of the best art design, comic timing and beaver costumes in recent memory. Cheslik’s script is intrinsically mapped out; every note or silly sight gag has at least three payoffs, while the prologue and third act bookends are among the century's boldest efforts in pure Old Hollywood slapstick. Hyperbole maybe, but I’ve got that beaver fever baby.
5). Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl (dir. Nick Park & Merlin Crossingham)
In the words of Feathers McGraw:
4). Dune: Part 2 (dir. Denis Villeneuve)
The other big-on-sand sci-fi epic to crack this list. For all its grandeur and allusions to mythology, the crux of Dune: Part Two is cleverly more akin to a relationship drama. Hope, faith and disillusionment are the emotions most prominent in Denis Villeneuve’s properly immense sequel, as much in how they relate to Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) and his ascendancy to become the legendary Muad'Dib as in their presence as undercurrents throughout the whirlpool romance between Paul and his predestined love interest Chani (Zendaya). Chalamet has never been better, but Zendaya on the other hand…
3). Challengers (dir. Luca Guadagnino)
What constitutes a modern movie star? Zendaya has been ticking the key boxes for a while now - talent, brandwork, consistent gigging - but her most famous roles have all come with caveats. In Spider-Man, she raked in billions as a thankless love interest, while in Dune she was cocooned within Villeneuve’s all-star ensemble. Challengers is Zendaya’s first starring vehicle, and has been sold entirely off of that fact. It’s her face on the posters and in the trailers, and it's her who gets the flashy challenge of effectively playing two distinct iterations of her character. There’s the young Tashi Duncan, a hot-headed tennis prodigy with an unreadable gaze, and then there’s the older, sanded-down Tashi, whose temperament has grown cruel with age. It’s one of the year’s great performances (as are those of her co-stars Mike Faist and Josh O’Connor), and it's one which has deservedly catapulted her right to the top of the Hollywood A-List.
2). The Brutalist (dir. Brady Corbet)
Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist is among the more joyous American epics of recent memory, taking a style comparable to the man-made spectacles of creation and disaster seen in There Will Be Blood, and reimagining it with the cadence and play of a Spielberg film. Shot on 35mm and often on location, this is a film that could’ve coasted on its vivid and layered compositions, plus a literally banging score by Daniel Blumberg, but it is the human stories that will truly empower it to resonate for years to come as a new American classic. Adrien Brody's performance as the architect László is as elemental as his constructions; his attributes withering away in parallel as his epic project, a shrine, comes into shape. By the three hour mark, wherein the soft-spoken immigrant has become a screaming and kicking brute cursed by genius, you won’t be able to mark the point of change, because there isn’t one. It’s Brody’s best work in a decade, and one sure to be recognised come awards season.
1). I Saw The TV Glow (dir. Jane Schoenbrun)
It’s commonly said that what you bring into a work of art is what you’ll get out of it, that we read and interpret in the context of own experiences, especially when it comes to the characters we like or find “relatable”. Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw The TV Glow applies this concept to a lo-fi, abstract horror space, turning the television into a literal, often terrifyingly vivid mirror reflecting home truths our heroes might find it easier to pretend are fiction. Schoenbrun’s central trans analogy is an inspired one, but it is her resistance to the expected tropes of LGBTQ+ actualisation which truly elevate I Saw The TV Glow to the level of a generation-defining masterpiece. Schoenbrun is shockingly brutal in how she marks the final stages of Owen's (Justice Smith) journey, culminating in a final cut so harsh that many in my audience gasped despite the lack of an obvious twist. I Saw The TV Glow is a titanically powerful work of melancholy, every bit as capable of playing into the projections of its audience as the titular screens, while similarly being so obscenely honest in its finale that it might just change your life.
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