The Best Films of 2024... So Far
In my breakdown of the best films of last year, I reflected on whether time spent watching so many movies is time wasted or unhealthy. It’s now six months later, and I’m not sure I’ve reached an answer to that question. I am on track to indeed watch over 200 new releases this year — at this rate, I’ll hit that target by October. Part of me wonders if my time would have been better spent doing other things. On the other hand, I’m glad to say that many of the films I’ve seen have been extremely good, and they’re works of art I likely wouldn’t have encountered without being so intentional about tracking, prioritizing, and watching new releases. It seems like for each movie I watch that feels like “box-ticking” — watching it simply because I’d like to know I’ve watched something — there’s another that genuinely surprises me with its depth and intelligence. Perhaps that’s because I’m doing my best to hold myself to higher standards and to only watch things that I know I’ll likely enjoy or that I know others I trust have recommended. There’s so much great cinema out there that to settle for the “lowest common denominator” in the name of escapism (is it really?) or passing time feels almost like a betrayal, like I’m letting down not only myself but the international artists who put their blood, sweat, and tears into making something better.
My hope is that, by going ahead and starting a list of the best movies of the year so far, I might encourage others to be more discerning in what they watch. Who knows, perhaps you will watch some of these and discover, like I did, some unexpected gems. Perhaps they will provoke thoughtful reflection and insight. Or maybe they’ll just tell you a good story. Some of these titles got a wide release and might be recognized by even the most casual filmgoer; others are far more niche and may have only played in a few cities or for a short amount of time. While I have favorites, I believe all of them are worth watching, so they’re listed alphabetically. You can use JustWatch to see where all are available to stream or rent. (Note: I’ve included a customized link to where each film can be rented or purchased through Amazon; if you feel like thanking me for the recommendation, just use that link, and I’ll get a small commission.)
It’s also worth emphasizing that these are not the only great films I’ve seen this year. There are many others deserving mention. For example:
I’m convinced director Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s Damsel, a deconstruction of classic medieval tales involving knights and dragons, would be a generational classic were it not for an overreliance on spotty digital sets and CGI. I love how it’s explicitly about the need to tell new and more helpful stories, as well as that it doesn’t take the easy way out — rather than having the titular damsel simply adopt the same values of violence and victory as her male counterparts, it attempts to meaningfully grapple with themes of motivated evil, accountability, empowerment, and forgiveness.
It would make for a strong double feature with Out of Darkness, an intriguing horror-thriller about a group of Stone Age settlers who find themselves stalked by a mysterious attacker and realize their perceptions may not match reality. It’s a bleak, provocative call for dialogue and compassion. I found it pretty moving given everything happening in the world right now.
The best creature feature of the year, however, may be Infested, a French film about a group of neighbors in a rundown apartment building who have to fend off a growing number of deadly mutant spiders. It’s one of the best of a recent strain of horror movies that uses genre tropes to express the fears of the COVID-19 era: isolation, paranoia, and the mistrust of the government.
I was somewhat disappointed by the way Denis Villeneuve’s Dune captured the scope of the novel without any of its warmth or depth. But Dune: Part Two is a far more impressive and thematically dense work of adaptation. The tension at the heart of the novel is that it deconstructs the Hero’s Journey formula and critiques the way such individual hero narratives can justify violence in the name of freedom. All of the characters are trapped by forces outside their control, and power leads only to new forms of oppression. Villeneuve successfully conveys this dark irony — even the daughter of the most powerful person in the galaxy wears a costume literally made of chains — while delivering some of the most stunning imagery of the year. Where else have you seen a planet lit by a black sun?
Action fans, meanwhile, would do well to check out The Beekeeper, which stars Jason Statham as a top-secret operative (and one-man wrecking ball) who goes on a quest for vengeance in order to “protect the hive” (read: American society) from exploitative elites. It’s brutal but ridiculous; I cackled at every pun-filled one-liner and over-the-top beatdown.
And Here For Blood gleefully answers the question of what it might look like if John Carpenter had made The Evil Dead, as a pro-wrestler (Shawn Roberts giving Kurt Russell) finds himself protecting a young girl from home invaders who belong to a demon-worshipping cult. Spoiler alert: Things get very gloopy.
And there are many, many more wonderful movies out there. Follow me on Letterboxd for more casual thoughts and updates on what I’m watching. I hope to see you at the movies.
CHALLENGERS
For all the discourse and hand-wringing about the decline of sex in movies (as well as in real life), filmmaker Luca Guadagnino can always be counted on to deliver high-quality eroticism. There are only a few moments of actual sex in Challengers, which follows the decade-plus relationship dynamics between tennis star Art Donaldson (Mike Faist), his friend-slash-rival Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor), and prodigy-turned-coach Tashi Duncan (an electric Zendaya). But the entire film so effectively evokes an atmosphere of infatuation, jealousy, and chemistry that one could be forgiven for thinking it’s more graphic than it actually is. The cinematography is the most stylish of the year, emphasizing the sweat dripping off athletic bodies, the speed of tennis balls being thwacked over a net, and the simmering heat between three beautiful people who love each other but can’t stop viewing life through the lens of competition. Who needs sex when this is what happens on the tennis court? The shifting power dynamics can also be read as a commentary on the relationship between creative impulses and commerce (his name is literally Art), with Guadagnino as the one who has to find a way to balance both, but Challengers doesn’t demand that kind of analysis; it’s having too much fun. The kinetic camerawork, combined with the pulsing electronic score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, had me on the edge of my seat during the climactic match. It actually made me want to play tennis.
CIVIL WAR
Novelist and filmmaker Alex Garland is no stranger to provocation, so it should come as no surprise that his latest offering inspired multiple controversies. In these politically polarized times, it’s understandable that many people might not wish to watch a movie about photojournalists covering a civil war in the present-day United States. But Garland isn’t just exploiting our heightened political anxieties: he seems genuinely upset and angered by the way divisive rhetoric and action have become normalized. The specific causes of his fictional war are left vague, not because Garland is apolitical, but because the details of how we’ve gotten here matter less to him than how we respond to the current crisis.
The protagonists of Civil War are reporters who travel into war zones in the name of documenting the reality of what’s happening. Garland himself has framed the film in interviews as a love letter to photojournalists and the important role they play in communicating truth, but I think that’s a feel-good tactic to drive people to theaters. I found the film shocking in its bleakness; it struck me as an angry, cynical middle finger to all the individuals and institutions that have led us to this place of polarization, including the media. These journalists — weary veteran war photographer Lee (Kirsten Dunst), her colleague Joel (Wager Moura), and aspiring student Jessie (Cailee Spaeny) — present themselves as courageous arbiters of truth, but Garland paints them as unhealthy, selfish individuals with delusions of grandeur. At best, their actions are meaningless; at worst, their “objectivity” is a soul-deadening mask that hides their complicity in evil.
And yet, while Civil War flirts with nihilism, it never fully embraces it or gives into despair. It ends with two moments that confront the viewer with what may be the only question that matters: How do we choose to view each other? Do we see each other as beautiful beings worthy of love and sacrifice, or simply as bodies to be exploited for personal gain and then discarded? The true civil war is within ourselves. What will we value more: ego or humility?
I SAW THE TV GLOW
Jane Schoenbrun’s 2021 feature narrative debut We’re All Going To The World’s Fair felt like the calling card of an exciting new voice. Their sophomore effort, I Saw The TV Glow, proves it wasn’t a fluke: Schoenbrun’s work is strange, exciting, and undeniably personal while still touching on universal themes of loneliness and alienation. Ian Foreman (and later Justice Smith) stars as Owen, a middle schooler in the mid-nineties who bonds with ninth-grade Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine) over a teen show called The Pink Opaque (think Buffy meets The X-Files). Maddy mysteriously goes missing, only to reappear a decade later, claiming that the show might not be purely fictional.
I Saw The TV Glow defies easy categorization. Like Schoenbrun’s previous work, it’s one that plays with the intersection of reality and fantasy. Where does one end and the other begin? There’s a nightmarish, dreamy vibe to the proceedings (comparisons to the work of David Lynch are not unwarranted) that unsettles and captivates in equal measure. It’s a lot to process, touching on topics like media representation, systemic oppression, coming out, and above all, the way our identities and lives are molded by forces outside our control. I’m not sure I could summarize the plot if my life depended on it, but it does such a good job of nailing a particular feeling of anxiety, otherness, and existential despair that I can't help but be stunned. It feels like the kind of movie destined to become a generational classic. More than that, though, it’s the product of a singular vision, a work that only Schoenbrun could make.
LOVE LIES BLEEDING
Bound for a generation for which "Be gay do crime" has become a mantra, director Rose Glass’s sophomore feature is a darkly comic neo-noir romance that’s horrific and hilarious in equal measure. Gym manager Lou (Kristen Stewart) falls in love with a drifter named Jackie (Katy O’Brian), only for the pair to find their lives derailed by violence and organized crime. The color palette is filled with sickly-sweet yellows and browns, and everyone looks like they haven’t showered in days, yet Stewart and O’Brian still find a level of chemistry that feels appealingly raw amidst the sweat and grime. The camera lingers on the latter’s bulging muscles, but Glass strikes just the right degree of fetishization — not an easy feat! — that invites ogling without leering. Like many noir films, there’s a lot of darkness and death in Love Lies Bleeding, but there’s genuine love and romance here, too. A lot of movies pay lip-service to the idea that true love justifies mass death and violence; this one actually attempts to earn that sentiment.
MOLLI AND MAX IN THE FUTURE
Every generation needs its own version of When Harry Met Sally; Gen Z’s has a sci-fi twist. Zosia Mamet and Aristotle Athari star as the titular duo, a pair of friends whose lives repeatedly intersect over the course of a decade, forcing them to navigate the constantly changing dynamics of their relationship. Did I mention that one of them is half-fish? Also, there are space cults, interdimensional deities, giant robots, virtual realities, and game shows that could decide the fate of the galaxy. Director Michael Lukk Litwak’s feature debut doesn’t try to hide the fact that it’s cheap — the backgrounds are greenscreen composites or LED screens, a key spacecraft is made from a Honda Civic, and Litwak built many of the sets and props as miniatures in his living room — but the DIY vibe just adds to the charm. Molli and Max is proof that a witty script, unique style, and a lot of passion can go a long way to overcoming financial obstacles; it’s the funniest film I’ve seen so far this year and also one of the sweetest.
THE MONK AND THE GUN
The Monk and the Gun is one of the best films about politics — and living — I’ve ever seen. Set in Bhutan in 2006, the film follows the residents of a small rural village as they hold a mock election. The king has abdicated the throne, and a new form of government known as “democracy” is about to be introduced. Meanwhile, an American weapons collector is searching for an antique rifle that just so happens to be in the possession of a Buddhist monk. I’m reluctant to say more about the story, lest I undermine some of the joy that comes with discovering where it ultimately leads.
While there have been plenty of other films that expose the potential pitfalls of democracy (the hilarious Please Vote For Me springs to mind), this one does so in a manner that is simultaneously gentle and sharp. It's an invitation to contemplate not only our politics but also what we might do in order to re-center ourselves and our society back toward that which truly matters. In a time when political division is rampant and the Information Age has brought cultural change at a pace far faster than in previous eras, The Monk and the Gun reminded me to slow down, walk outside, and love even those who challenge me. I can only hope to find another film this year as affecting as this one.
NEW LIFE
The feature debut of John Rosman, New Life is a cat-and-mouse mystery thriller that gradually transforms into something else over the course of 85 minutes. The film opens with a young woman named Jessica (Haley Erin) bleeding from the head and on the run, apparently fleeing an unknown threat. It isn’t long before a private contractor (a brilliant Sonya Walger) is hired to track her down. Rosman gradually dispenses flashbacks to reveal more about Jessica’s plight: she’s unknowingly infected with a strange disease, and the government is desperate to contain it. It’s an intense ride — think The Hot Zone meets 28 Days Later — as both women have to grapple with a growing awareness of their own mortality.
The films of 2022 and 2023 treated the COVID-19 pandemic literally, baking it into the actual plots of more than a handful of films. Now — much in the same way pop culture processed 9/11 and its aftermath — we're starting to see movies that are about the pandemic in the abstract, using imagery, structure, and symbol to cathartically express the cultural fear and guilt that came with being told to stay inside (and not wanting to obey). New Life, while not explicitly about COVID-19, is still very much about coping with illness and its impacts: the way it frightens and frustrates, the way we inadvertently spread it despite our best intentions, and the way it doesn't care about our desire to "go back to normal" and live freely. I expect we'll be working through the pandemic in our art for years, and maybe decades. I only hope that most of what's created is as good as this.
THE PROMISED LAND
Life is chaos, and if we’re lucky, we’ll find people to help us through it. That seems to be the thesis underlying The Promised Land, a Danish man-versus-nature period piece about a 17th-century military officer who attempts to cultivate a barren region of moorland in exchange for a noble title. If he does it, his rise out of poverty will be secured, but the task may be impossible. Not only is he faced with harsh conditions and climate, he’s also in conflict with a nearby landowner (a deliciously evil and scenery-chewing performance by Simon Bennebjerg) who has no qualms about torturing and killing those who displease him.
On the surface, The Promised Land is an old-fashioned, sweeping drama about an individual trying to bend the environment to his will; there’s plenty of action, romance, and intrigue for everyone to find something to enjoy. However, it’s also about the transition from feudalism to capitalism and how ownership became something that could be earned as well as given or inherited. I’m impressed by how director Nikolaj Arcel walks a fine line between promoting an individualist, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps mentality and acknowledging that’s a myth (and even if it were true, it’s not the secret to life). Even if you do manage to find success, it’ll be after incredible conflict with the powers-that-be, and it will cost you. Still, it’s better than what came before, right?
I guess what I’m trying to say is, both Adam Smith and Karl Marx would probably dig this movie, and I think that’s pretty cool.
SHE IS CONANN
Rosa Luxemburg famously said that modern society would either have to transition to socialism or regress into barbarism. What She Is Conann posits is: What if we’ve always been savages? Bertrand Mandico’s feminist riff on Conan the Barbarian is a surreal black-and-white fantasy film that follows its titular warrior through multiple reincarnated lives across thousands of years. It’s the cinematic equivalent of an ancient myth, moving from event to event with little concern for logical transitions. Years pass in the space between sentences. Characters rise and fall in the span of a few words. Often the Truths these stories convey do not make sense, yet they are still True.
Even when I was confused, I was completely captivated. I found myself thinking about who I was at age five, at 15, and at 25. Those Andrews feel like people separate from me, like someone I once knew intimately and then left behind. If I met those versions of myself on the street, I'm not sure I'd recognize them, let alone like them, perhaps because part of me thinks of them as dead. They are buried in the past. I killed them. A few years from now, the me typing these words will also be dead, slaughtered by whoever emerges triumphant from a mid-life crisis.
She Is Conann is a violent and stylish exploration of how individuals and cultures constantly reinvent themselves. It plays with melodrama, high fantasy, and socio-political satire, and it ultimately feels like a radical call for hope in a chaotic universe. How do we love when life itself seems founded on barbarism? How do we survive the violence done to us without becoming violent ourselves? How the hell do we make art without damning ourselves in the process? She Is Conann posits that while the universe may be cold and the powerful might seek to devour us, fate still has a heart. Not even death can stop us from seeking to remember our better selves. Who knows? Maybe one day we'll renegotiate that contract and become the people we want to be.
WE GROWN NOW
If you’re like me, the name “Cabrini-Green” conjures images of violence, dilapidation, and ultimately demolition. For most of my life, the story I’ve heard about Chicago’s infamous public housing complex is that it was a well-intentioned urban renewal project that fell into disrepair and became a hub for drug addiction and gang violence. While that may be true to a degree, We Grown Now provides an important and necessary corrective to that narrative, focusing on two ordinary boys who call Cabrini-Green home. When they’re not in school, Malik (Black Cameron James) and Eric (Gian Knight Ramirez) spend their days jumping on mattresses, exploring abandoned units, and pretending that cracks in the ceiling are gateways to other galaxies. In other words, they’re regular kids, and while they may be becoming aware of the larger forces of institutional racism and violence around them, it doesn’t define their existence.
Director Minhal Baig and director of photography Patrick Scola begin the film with several static shots, as if the camera is embedded in the walls of Cabrini-Green itself and the children are trapped within it. It feels stuck. Confining. Then, gradually, the camera starts to move, until by the end of the film it's swooping around Malik, soaring along with his imagination. His tiny apartment begins to feel large and expansive, a place of grounded possibility that nonetheless is rooted in the absence of opportunity. I can’t recall the last time I saw a film that so thoroughly pushed back against popular conceptions of lower-class people of color as ignorant and lazy. Here, Black children are presented as capable, creative, intelligent, and fully-dimensional, and their parents aren't deadbeats or criminals. White characters, while present, are often pushed to the side of the frame, blurred, or shrouded in shadow — this just isn’t their story.
We Grown Now is in conversation with other films: the score is full of strings, which reminded me of the music of Koyaanisqatsi, a film that features the demolition of Cabrini-Green as one of its signature images; the monsters haunting the grounds are police rather than Candyman; and one key sequence allows two Black children to have the same sort of afternoon adventure as the white high schoolers of Ferris Bueller's Day Off (with a far different outcome). It manages to be sentimental but not maudlin and corrective without looking back through rose-colored glasses. This isn't what could have been. It's what was, for many, and in some ways, for everyone.
WHAT YOU WISH FOR
There’s a moment at the end of Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines when Nick Stahl, as John Connor, realizes that he can’t escape his fate and humanity is doomed. What You Wish For feels like that moment stretched over 100 minutes, as Stahl spends a lot of that runtime wearing that same expression of resigned despair — the look of a man starting to recognize that there might not be any way out. He wears it well. He plays Ryan, a struggling chef who goes to South America to visit his friend Jack (Brian Groh) and escape some shady creditors. When Jack commits suicide, Ryan jumps at the opportunity to steal his identity and take over his lavish, wealthy lifestyle. Unfortunately, the company Jack works for is hiding a horrifying secret, and Ryan gradually starts to learn that the life he longs for comes at a terrible price.
What You Wish For feels like an old-fashioned horror tale, a darker take on the kind of morality stories that might have played on “The Twilight Zone” or “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.” It’s a biting satire, not only of the class divide but the way violence and exploitation are often framed as noble and philanthropic by the people who engage in them. Very few films have taken the notion that there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism quite so literally — in doing so, director Nicholas Tomnay confronts us with the horrors of global finance and our own complicity within it, daring us to question the very notion of “success” and what that really means. It’s a brilliant, horrifying descent into class consciousness. I couldn’t look away.