There was a lot of chatter in 2024 about how it was a lesser film year, largely due to the strikes that halted many productions in the previous year. However, that’s not how the year played out for me. From the Spring onward, 2024 was filled with cinematic delights, both mainstream and more esoteric. What else could be said about a year that saw the release of long-gestating passion projects as disparate in content and quality as Francis Ford Coppola’s “Megalopolis,” Kevin Costner’s “Horizon: An American Saga,” and Robert Eggers’s “Nosferatu” than that it was an incredible year for cinema? There are films in my top 40 that I wish I could include in my top ten, and even some of my picks for the worst films of the year contained things that I unreservedly loved (John Debney’s soaring score for “Horizon” being one of them). While the Hollywood studios’ tentpole releases were a mixed bag – as usual – the independent and arthouse studios kept releasing interesting, stylish films that contained trenchant commentary about our world. The best of them mixed medium and message in such a masterful way that I haven’t been able to shake them, even after months of marinating in their images and ideas.
Among my favorites that just missed my top ten, I was incredibly taken with the tongue-in-cheek provocations and thrilling lead performances of Scott Beck & Bryan Woods’s “Heretic,” the balls-to-the-wall action spectacle of Dev Patel’s directorial debut “Monkey Man,” and the remarkable tenderness of Minhal Baig’s coming of age film “We Grown Now.” I loved watching the audience’s reaction to Coralie Fargeat’s radical “The Substance” and Halina Reijn’s bold “Babygirl,” notably different takes on middle-aged female societal expectations featuring career-best performances from leads Demi Moore and Nicole Kidman, almost as much as I loved watching the films themselves. I was brought to tears by the bravery and vulnerability displayed by Shiori Itō in “Black Box Diaries,” her account of the fallout that came with her attempting to hold a wealthy, powerful man accountable for sexually assaulting her, as well as by the communal efforts of animals saving each other from danger in the animated masterpieces “Flow” and “The Wild Robot.”
Two of the year’s best leading performances came in films that purposefully surrounded their protagonists with a claustrophobic world: Marianne Jean-Baptiste’s near-catatonic unraveling during a Mother’s Day celebration in Mike Leigh’s unflinching “Hard Truths” and Angelina Jolie’s inability to escape her past in Pablo Larrain’s achingly beautiful “Maria.” Another came from Daniel Craig in Luca Guadagnino’s sensually heartbreaking “Queer,” a fantasia on William S. Burroughs that had some of the year’s most arresting imagery and most bracing needle drops. I couldn’t get enough of the ensemble dynamics of Greg Jardin’s ridiculously fun “It’s What’s Inside,” Sean Baker’s deceptively deep “Anora,” and Mohammad Rasoulof’s timely “The Seed of the Sacred Fig,” the year’s bravest act of filmmaking.
In addition to all those, I’ll give extra shout-outs to two films that landed in my top ten last year based on their 2023 festival runs – Molly Manning Walker’s stunning “How To Have Sex” and Luke Gilford’s quietly radical “National Anthem” – that saw theatrical release this year. I also want to take this moment to gush about films opening in 2025 for which you should keep an eye out: Mike Flanagan’s superb tearjerker “The Life of Chuck,” Ron Howard’s wildly entertaining and atypically dark “Eden,” and the unlike-anything-you’ve-ever-seen-before “Grand Theft Hamlet,” a documentary about two out-of-work British actors pulling together a disparate group of gamers during pandemic lockdowns to put on a site-specific performance of “Hamlet” inside Grand Theft Auto Online.
Lastly, there are the films that came closest to making this list. Pascal Plante’s “Red Rooms” hasn’t left my mind for longer than a few hours at a time since I saw it. A maniacally methodical character study that manages the neat trick of bluntly stating its ultimate message while leaving its protagonist (Juliette Gariépy in the year’s most chilling performance) mostly a complete mystery, this study of our cultural fascination with serial killers and the devastation they leave behind is one of the year’s most assuredly directed films. It requires patience and a strong stomach, but the fact that it doesn’t include even one frame of physical violence makes Plante’s achievement all the more impressive. Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping’s neon-noir “Femme,” the last film I saw in 2024, wowed me with its knotty exploration of violence and queer revenge. Nathan Stewart-Jarrett and George MacKay play off each other perfectly as a drag queen out for revenge and the straight-acting, deeply closeted man who gay bashed him, teasing out subtle, complex dynamics as they grow closer than either imagined possible. Every film I mentioned here could have made my top ten, but these are the ones that stayed with me the most throughout this year.
10. The Count Of Monte Cristo
I will see every cinematic adaptation of Alexandre Dumas’s novel (one of my all-time favorites), mainly because the story itself is so richly satisfying that even a subpar telling of it is still enjoyable. But none of the many I have seen have had such gorgeous craftsmanship and thrilling energy as the recent French version starring Pierre Niney as the ultimate wronged man-turned-avenging angel Edmond Dantes. Co-directors Alexandre de La Patellière and Matthieu Delaporte bring some genuine Old Hollywood glamour and epic grandeur, resulting in a delicious costume drama with the kind of cinematic razzle-dazzle we so rarely get from Hollywood these days. Superbly crafted with stunning cinematography, gorgeous costumes, eye-popping production design, and some truly incredible hair and makeup work, “The Count of Monte Cristo” could have swept the Oscars had it been in English, but since it’s in French, that was sadly never going to happen. In another, better world than what we’re living in, though, this was a worldwide sensation that won more Oscars than any other international feature.
9. Memoir Of A Snail
Adam Elliott’s “Mary & Max” is still one of my favorite films, and I patiently waited for his second feature film for a decade and a half. His trademark style and dark sense of humor haven’t changed, and his knack for gut-punch emotional storytelling has only gotten sharper. This tale of a brother and sister pushed around by life is one of the most depressing, heartbreaking films of the year, up until its tear-stained, life-affirming ending. And then, just when you thought you hadn’t shed enough tears, Elliott twists the knife again, cementing himself as a true master of cinematic storytelling. The quirkiness of Elliott’s characters, both in their nature and design, is endlessly endearing, and the vocal performances by Sarah Snook and Jackie Weaver are rich with feeling, giving this a poignancy that’s all too rare, especially in animated films. “Memoir Of A Snail’s” message that “life can only be understood backward, but we have to live it forwards” may seem a bit trite, but the way Elliott uses it in the context of this story is surprising and all the more beautiful for it.
8. His Three Daughters
When I first saw Azazel Jacobs’s latest film at the 2023 edition of the Toronto International Film Festival, I was moved by its story of three very different sisters coming together for their father’s last days in home hospice care but held back from calling it one of my favorites of the year. Seeing it again this year on Netflix, it felt like a revelation. Jacobs’ sharply-observed screenplay is near-perfect, giving each character a clearly defined voice that immediately separates them from the others and lets them bounce off each other as the tension surrounding their father’s state grows. Carrie Coon, Natasha Lyonne, and Elizabeth Olsen are all fantastic, fully investing themselves in their characters and creating believably loving but prickly dynamics between them. But Jacobs’ razor-sharp editing and precise framing take the film to another level, using both to get even deeper into his characters’ headspace and to provide some levity with dark comedy. Anyone who has lost a parent will feel this in their bones, but even if you haven’t, “His Three Daughters” will make you know every single person in that apartment on a deep level, an incredible achievement for something so small.
7. Nosferatu
I don’t know what magic drug writer-director Robert Eggers put into his take on the classic vampire tale, but every time I watch it, I’m completely hypnotized by it. More than any other version, Eggers’s “Nosferatu” feels like a waking dream, walking the razor’s edge of a nightmare. Taking the subtitle of Murnau’s original, “A Symphony of Horror,” Eggers has structured the film with movements that build to a crescendo of intoxicating cinematic power, then pulling back to look more deeply at the characters and the world in which they live. Immaculately crafted on every level, as all Eggers films are, “Nosferatu” stands as a towering piece of gothic horror, returning to the genre’s roots as not only a tale of true terror but as a metaphor for society, here explicitly focusing on women and their lack of agency at a time when they were not allowed to be fully human. Lily-Rose Depp’s spellbinding performance, featuring a fearsome level of commitment, shows the danger of female sexual repression as her character, Ellen, faces her darkest desire and shame, born from within her but latched onto and abused by the vampire Count Orlok, played by an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgard in a performance of terrifying power. The entire cast is as perfect as the craft elements, which all combine to create the feeling of a window into the world of 1800s Germany, with a layer of subtext that makes it feel completely contemporary, making it Eggers’s most accessible film to date, and possibly his best.
6. The Brutalist
You certainly feel every minute of the three-and-a-half hour running time of “The Brutalist,” but Brady Corbet’s Great American Novel of a film is so engrossing that you don’t mind. Adrien Brody delivers the year’s most towering performance as a Hungarian architect who managed to escape the Holocaust and must work to find a way to bring his wife (a tough-as-nails Felicity Jones) and niece (a piercing Raffey Cassidy) over to America to join him; the actor is so in touch with his emotions that within ten minutes you feel deeply connected to him. The four-note main theme of Daniel Blumberg’s glorious score is so grandiose that you buy into the myth of the American Dream just as much as Brody’s László Toth (a fictional character who, for all the world, feels real), especially by the film’s built-in intermission, which brims with promise and hope. But Corbet and co-writer Mona Fastvold flip that on its head in the film’s second half, exposing the rot that has always infected the dirty underbelly of America. As much as the film is about deflating the ideas of American exceptionalism and the American dream, though, it’s also about the Jewish American experience, from the immigration from Europe to the immigration to the Jewish Homeland of Israel, tracking the rise of Zionist thought from its roots in genocide through the disappointment of America. While the film’s sneaky epilogue is stunning enough when taken at face value, it’s even more powerful when looking at the subtext, how art can be weaponized by both those who create it and those who see it as a means to further their agendas. And on top of all that, the film was made for under $10 million, putting every major Hollywood studio to shame.
5. All We Imagine As Light
I had to get up early in the morning to see Payal Kapadia’s Cannes Grand Prix winner, and I worried I’d struggle to stay awake with a film as slow and quiet as this. But Kapadia’s genius lies in how engaging her storytelling is as she explores the lives of three connected but very different women in Mumbai. From the hazy, dream-like cinematography to the heart-stirring score, “All We Imagine As Light” is beautifully calibrated to serve as both a love letter and a requiem for Mumbai and the world’s Great Cities in general: how they will chew you up and spit you out, but can also make you stronger if you persevere. The delicate quality of Kapadia’s storytelling attaches deep meaning to the smallest of details, and how those details accumulate until the film’s soulful ending is mesmerizing. Upon leaving the theater, I felt completely revitalized, walking back out into the world with a new appreciation for life, something that I only feel after having watched something incredibly special.
4. Sing Sing & Ghostlight (TIE)
I’ve written elsewhere about how this unexpected double feature about the healing power of theater was a highlight of Summer 2024, and I haven’t been able to separate the films in my mind since. Greg Kwedar’s “Sing Sing” caught me off-guard at TIFF 2023, and seeing it again this year only served to show just how masterfully this modest film manipulates your emotions, most notably in a late-film sequence involving two envelopes that delivers three emotional gut-punches in such quick succession that it takes your breath away. The fact that most of the ensemble members are actual graduates of the Rehabilitation Through the Arts program adds a meta-cinematic layer to the film that multiplies its emotional power, something “Ghostlight” accomplishes through casting a real family of actors in its central roles. As Dan, a gruff construction worker still reeling from a recent tragedy who stumbles into a community theater production of “Romeo & Juliet,” Keith Kupferer delivers one of the year’s best performances, working through Dan’s grief in surprising ways. Despite using one of the world’s most adapted plays as its backdrop, Kelly O’Sullivan’s generous screenplay uses it in a way that feels fresh and even unexpected. Together, “Sing Sing” and “Ghostlight” shine a light on the importance of empathy towards your fellow man, for their characters as well as their audience, making them two of the most emotionally impactful and important films of the year.
3. Hundreds Of Beavers
I didn’t know what to expect when I first pressed play on Mike Cheslik’s madcap micro-indie “Hundreds of Beavers,” and considering how quickly the film assaults you with its one-of-a-kind visual style, it took me a while to catch onto what it was doing. But once I did, rewound, and started again, I was treated to the cleverest, funniest film I’ve seen this decade. Presenting its tale of a 19th-century Applejack salesman (Ryland Brickson Cole Tews, delivering one of the year’s most fearlessly brilliant performances) who must learn to be a fur trapper in the style of a black-and-white silent film would have been wild enough, but turning it into a live-action cartoon is a stroke of genius that makes it even more unique and impressive. Shot for almost nothing with a cast of friends, dozens of mascot costumes, and liberal use of green screens and basic post-production editing software, “Hundreds of Beavers” is a testament to creativity the likes of which we so rarely see, a genuine original in a sea of IP rehashes of varying sorts. Even if you somehow don’t find the myriad visual gags and pratfalls funny, you have to respect the cleverness of the film’s construction and its wild commitment to the bit. You can’t just drop your title card over halfway into your feature without a supreme amount of confidence, and Cheslik not only does that, he pulls it off in the most applause-worthy way. Not that that should be surprising in the face of the year’s most ingenious sound design and a visual sensibility that would make Guy Maddin beam with pride. As the film continues to book engagements at independent cinemas across the country, be on the lookout. There’s nothing like laughing along with a theater full of Beaverheads to “Hundreds of Beavers.”
2. No Other Land
The year’s most important film is also its most radical empathy test. Early in “No Other Land,” co-director Basel Adra says that he started to film “when we started to end.” The “we” in that sentence is his home of Masafer Yatta, a collection of hundreds of small villages in the Gaza Strip that are being systematically razed by the Israeli army in an act of genocide so hypocritical it will give you whiplash. Near the film’s end, Israeli journalist and co-director Yuval Abraham asks Adra a pointed question: “What can we do?” With the Israeli courts on the army’s side and no end in sight to the destruction, with the gut-wrenching videos the two keep posting to social media only gaining so much traction in the international community, what can they do to keep Masafer Yatta alive? In a low moment, Adra can’t provide an answer. The truth is that they can only keep doing what they’re doing in the hopes that someday, somehow, it will all work. “No Other Land,” the result of a collaboration between Abraham, Adra, and fellow journalists Rachel Szor and Hamdan Ballal, could have been the ultimate answer to that question, a piece of activist cinema so powerful that it’s impossible to watch without wanting to stand in front of a bulldozer yourself. However, in a typical but still surprising turn of events, the film is without distribution in North America, despite a boatload of critics’ prizes and prominent festival berths. An unflinching look at not just what is happening in the Gaza Strip daily but at the toll it takes to be an activist in a world where you don’t have the same rights as those inflicting harm on you, “No Other Land” is the most essential film of the year, and the fact that no one has been willing to distribute it in the United States is a black mark on our film industry.
1. I Saw The TV Glow
Jane Schoenbrun’s sophomore feature is a huge artistic step up from their first feature, the tantalizing but extremely obscure “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair,” but still obviously from the same mind, cementing them as one of the leading cinematic voices of their generation. A meditation on the suffocating nature of nostalgia and the feeling of dysphoria felt by many queer people (but especially trans people), “I Saw the TV Glow” proved unshakeable this year, constantly invading my thoughts and dreams. The brilliance of Schoenbrun’s remarkable screenplay is in how these two thematic strands are braided together so that, if the trans narrative doesn’t get through to you, then the nostalgia narrative will provide the same thematic resonance. The recreation of the look of ’90s teen TV is spot-on, and its depiction of suburbia as both familiar and alien will resonate with anyone who went through puberty in the suburbs. Through the highly stylized, emotionally draining performances of Justice Smith and Brigette Lundy-Paine, two lonely teenagers who bond over a TV show that sometimes “feels more real than real life,” Schoenbrun navigates a tricky tonal line that bears fruit in a nightmarish, heartstopping finale that is somehow both deeply depressing and deeply hopeful at the same time, telling a story we hear all too rarely about the dangers of denying one’s true self. There is still time to accept yourself, but you can’t get back all the time you spent resisting. Outsider art will always be important, but something is transfixing in Schoenbrun’s vision here – the long takes, the vibrant color palette, the use of light and focus to make otherwise everyday images seem warped and otherworldly – that allows “I Saw the TV Glow” to transcend any labels one could try to attach to it, a thrilling example of making something specific into something universal. In a year full of cinematic primal screams, this is the one that I heard clearest and longest.
What do you think of my list? Please let us know in the comments section below or on our X account. Check out Matt Neglia’s top 10 list here and Josh Parham’s top 10 list here. Be on the lookout for more of our Top 10’s for 2024 as we say goodbye to the year . Our annual NBP Film Awards and the NBP Film Community Awards will come in a few days to allow you all some time to see those final 2024 awards season contenders and vote on what you thought was the best 2024 had to offer.