Top 10 TV Shows of 2019

So before I run down my best and worst movies of the year, I'd like to talk about some of 2019's best TV, because this year was an awesome one for the small screen. I mean yeah.... Game of Thrones ended and not everyone was happy, but even then, it was still a banner year for TV. There were some great shows that returned for fantastic follow-up seasons, some really awesome new series that came out of nowhere, and maybe most thrilling of all, some great limited series that proved that there's still room for great one-off stories. Picking just ten was, as always, pretty tough, and ordering them wasn't easy either, but I've narrowed it down, and here it is: my top 10 TV shows of 2019. Quick note: I didn't see everything this year, so stuff like Watchmen, Barry, When They See Us and The Boys won't be on here because I just couldn't catch up with them in time, but when I do, I might talk about them, because I've heard great things! Then there's my honourable mentions, shows that I really enjoyed but just about missed the list. These shows are still really good and I recommend you check them out, so before we crack on, I'll run down some great shows that I couldn't quite fit in my top 10!

One Day At a Time had a really good third season this year. It might have been a little more of the same, but when a show is this fresh, and this sweet, and this funny, that's hardly a bad thing. Watching this show was a really nice experience, because it's rare now to have a multi-camera sitcom that's this exciting, and hopefully we'll get to see more shows like this as streaming services grow and develop their repertoires of original content. It's a real shame that Netflix cancelled it, but hopefully it'll reinvigorate this kind of show, because it's so nice to have a series like this

I love Killing Eve, and even if the second season was not its strongest, the dynamic between Eve and Villanelle was as electric and exciting as ever, the plot was snappily paced and thrillingly unpredictable, and the humour was as beautifully off-kilter as ever. I think this season is stronger in its individual episodes and moments than as a whole, especially the fifth episode, which proved that just having these characters onscreen together is a blast, and the finale, which was as shocking and exciting as I think this show has ever been. Hopefully the third season is a bit more consistent, but its nice to see that the best things about this show can still be strong without ever feeling stretched out

Anyone who's spent more than ten minutes here will know that I absolutely adore the original film, so if I was sceptical going into What We Do in the Shadows, then I really needn't have worried. The spirit of the film is all over this show, which is as quirky, silly and delightfully funny as you'd expect, and proves that this idea is just as great split into ten episodes. Each one is its own brilliant little joke, from taking the Baron of the Vampires out clubbing, to that absolutely genius trial episode. The cast was perfect, the writing was ace, and features one of the best TV characters of the year in Colin Robinson

Netflix cranks out an absolute shedload of shows every year, and its easy for some to get lost in the pop-cultural blur, and I think the biggest victim of this was probably Sex Education. Kind of crazy to believe that this show even came out this year, actually, because it feels like it came out ages ago, but its just so awesome to have a show like this. I love the aesthetic and the sense of humour, and how the show talks about sex with such honesty and sensitivity and positivity, but the real highlight is the cast. All of the characters are so likeable and so delightful and so much fun to spend time with. As a show, this one just felt so fresh and different and exciting, and I'm so excited to see what the second season is going to deliver

My final honourable mention is the show that I think has gone under the radar the most this year, a show called Pure. It's a real shame that this slipped through the cracks, because its such an interesting show. Its basically a comedy drama about a woman who is consumed by graphic sexual thoughts, and flees to London to start afresh. If that sounds crass or in bad taste, it really isn't, instead approaching such a specific and bold subject matter in a way that's sensitive and honest and really intelligent. Charly Clive gives a barnstorming performance as the protagonist Marnie, and the supporting cast, including Joe Cole, Niamh Algar and Anthony Welsh are absolutely ace as well. It's bold and different and really something special, and is probably my number 11 on this list. It's a real shame that it was so overlooked, so definitely check it out if you missed it

10. Derry Girls

Lisa McGee's comedy drama was undoubtedly one of the best shows of 2018, a real out of nowhere gem that felt like a real landmark in modern Irish comedy and just onscreen storytelling in general. Season 2 is everything that the first season was but somehow even better, funnier and sharper and with a series of storylines that give the show so much room to explore some really interesting and deeply poignant ideas. I love how this show uses its political and historical context as a backdrop for its storytelling, letting its coming of age story play out in the foreground and showing how life goes on in times of conflict. It's really exciting to see a piece of media that deals with the Troubles without ever feeling defined by that, providing a perspective that feels fresh and exciting and optimistic. Every episode felt significant here, and the way each of them approach the Derry of the time cement this show as an important piece of national storytelling that helps to define how a divided country sees itself onscreen. It's a show that addresses politics but never gets bogged down by it, and that lightness of touch is delightfully offset by the reliably ace sense of humour that the show has. It's as sharp as ever, with a seriously impressive amount of jokes per minute that are as funny as they are plentiful. The fourth episode in particular, set at both a wedding and a wake has to be the highlight, so packed with jokes and so snappily paced and so absolutely delightful. Derry Girls remains one of the most exciting comedies of the last few years, and seeing where they go from here in the third season is going to be really exciting

9. Stranger Things

Bigger obviously doesn't always mean better, but man if Stranger Things' third season doesn't make a compelling argument to the contrary. This is the season that saw Stranger Things finally balloon into a full on, large scale blockbuster, and if that means sacrificing some of the consistency of the second season, well then the show happily compensates with increased levels of scale and substance. If season one was Carpenter and season two was Cameron, then the third season eases into a much gorier version of Spielberg, embracing its Summer setting with flashier visuals, a greater emphasis on spectacle and a juxtaposition of all-American culture with something darker, nastier and more pleasingly violent. And violent is a keyword for this season, undoubtedly Stranger Things' gooiest run, but an added degree of gore is a good look for this show, especially when its complimented by so much emotional intensity and sly political commentary. The highlight, as it always is, is the subplot that follows Steve and Dustin, this time accompanied by Erica (surprisingly awesome) and Robin (an ace new addition), as they navigate a mysterious subterranean Russian facility. Sadly, the stuff above ground isn't as consistently engaging, but makes up for that with an ecstatically creepy story about a town wide infection that features an unbelievable turn by Dacre Montgomery, and a meaty, soulful arc for Hopper, who, discourse be damned, I really dug this season. The finale ratcheted up the heartache to deepen the rapidly increasing spectacle, and literally adding more meat to the threat of the Mind Flayer was an awesomely scary move for the show's conflict. It's also hands down the show's funniest run of episodes yet, fully leaning in to the silliness of the story and the charm of the cast. This was yet another home run for Stranger Things, which is steadily proving to be the appointment viewing of the digital age, and still just a damn good show in its own right

8. The End of the Fucking World

One problem that a lot of shows face in their second seasons is answering the question; "where do we go from here?". The first season of The End of the Fucking World was great, but the ending was one that seemed nearly impossible to follow. Season two takes a different approach, starting from an entirely new perspective, introducing a new character to examine the idea of unintended consequences. Instead of immediately continuing the first season's plot, season two instead looks at the implications of the story. What happened in the first season didn't happen in a vacuum, and by gradually working its way back to more familiar territory, the show is able to make its big surprises feel genuinely shocking and resonant. It brings a lot of the story back on track from the first season, in a way that's neat without feeling safe. A lot of this second season is spent picking up the pieces of the first, looking at trauma and pain, and how to deal with them in healthy, productive ways. It's as dark and as daring as ever, with moments of genuine shock, but the real thrill is how these pitch black ideas are handled with such sensitivity. It's not a show that's shocking for the sake of it, not superficially edgy as much as it is genuinely interested in the healing process, in stepping back and choosing love. It sacrifices some of the first season's gleeful nihilism but that's actually a good thing, letting the tone of the show evolve and mature. The dark humour still provides excellent relief, but this season is at its best when it's bone deep and unflinching, reopening old wounds in the hope of learning from them, culminating in an ending that's as open and tough to follow as the first. I didn't actually think that this show needed a second season, but its willingness to address the pain at the centre of the story felt like a natural progression

7. Years and Years

Years and Years was almost too good. This was the show that felt the most 2019 this year, the one that suggested that the world we live in right now is almost science fiction, and charted the next two decades to meditate on what could come next. This was contemporary dystopia, drawing from things that are happening in the world right now in a way that felt so honest and so relevant and just so needed. Across six episodes, the show stayed focused on one family as the world changed around the, packing in so many huge ideas about politics and technology along the way. It's not cheerful but it is relevant (one episode that follows immigrants attempting to get into the UK is one of the most important hours of television that aired in 2019), and having a family at the centre of it lends it a lot of natural warmth, even if their situation is never 100% secure. So much happened in Years and Years and all of it felt eerily plausible, but it does what good sci-fi always does and holds a mirror up to society, urging us to take notice and realise that this isn't what could be, but is what's happening right now. Through nuclear warfare and financial collapses and artificial intelligence and cybernetic enhancements and Chumbawamba dance parties and immortality and political meddling and black market surgery and grief and immigration, Years and Years predicts the path that we're looking to go down, but always retains a sense of hope along the way. Emma Thompson is the first among equals as a Trump-esque politician whose frighteningly pertinent rise to power signals this show's razor sharp cultural relevance. Years and Years felt like event TV, science fiction that is explicitly about now, that directly deals with the world we've created for ourselves and suggests that, one way or another, we'll find a way to survive

6. Bojack Horseman

It feels a little odd counting Bojack on this list, because only the first half of the last season aired in 2019, but it's a testament to how good this show is that it's still putting out some of its best stuff this late in the game. I watched most of this season in one sitting over the course of a long bus journey, which kind of felt right in a way; I was able to fully focus on the gradual, gorgeous redemption arc that Bojack had ahead of him. Season five was the show's heaviest yet, charting Bojack's fall from grace until he's at total rock bottom, but I think having the sixth season be his gradual recovery, addressing his problems and seeking permanent, healthy solutions to them was a natural and satisfying continuation. This is a season about self-love and forgiveness, about making amends and relieveing yourself of toxic self-hate. It's as poignant as the show has ever been, and the decision to have the first few episodes focus specifically on individual characters means that the show has time to breath, to say everything it needs to say before its conclusion. The second episode is as unashamedly emotional as the show has ever been, while the fourth episode is a masterclass in visual comedy that proves that even outside of the weighty emotional stuff, Bojack is absolutely one of the funniest shows around right now. The seventh episode is the highlight though, a genuinely satisfying journey of forgiveness that makes for one of the show's most cathartic episodes yet. I love the way this episode, and season in general, focus on recovery, on getting better and improving, and if Bojack is a show known for its deep, deep cynicism, then this season proves that it's all the more human for it. This was another step on this journey that was as innovative as it was utterly hypnotising

5. Russian Doll

Right from the start, Russian Doll is working with a cracking premise: basically Groundhog Day, but utterly nihilistic and incredibly grim. The real joy of this show, though, was watching how it moved forward from that, how it evolved into something that, while staying dark, got progressively more hopeful, philosophical and, incredibly, incredibly funny. Natasha Lyonne is amazing here, and her personality is utterly infused into the DNA of this show. It's a series that isn't as interested in questions and answers so much as processes and resolutions; the exact way the loop works and why she's experiencing it, and how she can make amends with that and come to terms with it and what it means for her general situation. It's a simple idea that splits into these absolutely fascinating threads that multiply and weave together as the show goes on, until it's like a kaleidoscope of loops and deaths and potential encounters that fit together like a crazy, beautiful mosaic. It's a show that's able to continue to surprise and intrigue without feeling like it's overusing its premise, with one reveal in the last episode completely transforming everything that's been introduced in the series up to that point. It's approaching huge ideas in a small way, flirting with larger questions about the workings of the universe while primarily focusing on figuring out what the hell is going on during this one night that keeps happening and happening and happening. It's intoxicatingly strange TV, full of black humour and acid but with an ultimately soft centre

4. Chernobyl

"What is the cost of lies?" is the first thing you hear in Chernobyl, a question that, in one form or another, the show keeps asking over its five-episode run. This was an interesting show, not least for its forensic approach to its subject matter, and one of the greatest surprises this year was watching how popular it became. It's weighty and grim, but its runaway success proves one thing: if you have something important to say, people will listen. The way the show tackles the individual components of the disaster, splitting it up in a one-per-episode way is absolutely fantastic, exploring quiet heroism and solidarity in a time of crisis. Chernobyl is intense but its never bleak, refusing to exploit the morbidity of a real disaster and rejecting easy cynicism in favour of a meaty, timely call for justice and honesty. It feels really relevant to now, suggesting that some questions, no matter how tough, need to be asked to save the world from itself. It never talks down, never simplifying its science or its politics to appeal to attract a wider audience, instead sticking to its unflinching, tough-as-steel honesty and telling a story that needs to be told. And yeah, it's not easy going (the fourth episode in particular is an incredibly rough watch) but that's why it matters: it shows the worst possible scenario to urge us to be better. History will repeat unless we ask these questions and challenge the people who let this happen. Chernobyl opened an honest, tough discussion about the responsibility we have to tell the truth, It takes a well known story and approaches it at the closest possible level, painstakingly analysing it to remind us why history matters when it's put onscreen

3. Unbelievable

And speaking of shows that approach tough subjects with honesty and gravity, Unbelievable. Detailing the efforts to catch a serial rapist over the course of three years, Unbelievable is a show that approaches an all-too misrepresented subject matter with honesty, gravity and sensitivity. It uses its premise to explore the shortcomings of the justice system, especially when it comes to rape. And like Chernobyl, it excels in how it rejects bleakness in favour of something more constructive, in this case the importance of hope and action. In doing this, it understands how difficult these things can be to maintain; exploring how productive action can all too often impeded by any number of factors, but especially honing in on how difficult it is to keep faith, to keep the sense of hope that change will come. It also contains three of the best performances on TV in recent memory. Merritt Weaver and Toni Collette excel as one of the best detective double acts ever, perfectly contrasting and complimenting each other as they exude quiet determination in spite of their own issues. But it's Kaitlyn Dever who really shines here, bringing absolutely everything to her portrayal of a victim of rape, and it's in her story that the quiet, desperate humanity of the series surfaces and solidifies this show as being entirely relevant and needed. Unbelievable tells a story that needs to be told and urges audiences to listen. It forgoes the sort of misery-sploitation that this kind of story has at its worst, instead telling this story in a way that's honest, and empathetic, and ultimately, deeply moving. I'd argue it's the most important show of the year, saying something that needs to be said in the way it needs to be said, and I really hope it's remembered for doing that

2. The Virtues

Every episode of The Virtues felt like being kicked in the mouth, hard. Shane Meadows is already the master of kitchen-sink grit, but this feels like his graduation to another level of poignancy entirely. Essentially telling the story of Stephen Graham's Joseph on the rocky road to recovery, this was a series that was tough, and brutal, and scathingly honest. I'll be as vague as possible here, because to spoil this would be to ruin an experience that's honestly unlike anything else on TV this year, gut-wrenching, nerve-wracking and absolutely heartbreaking, but rendered with so much soul, approaching deep-rooted pain with quiet love. This is a show that carefully reopens old wounds in the hope of finding some sort of healing, of finding love in the pain and figuring out where to go from there. It's a tough series to watch and an even tougher one to talk about, but Meadows' incredibly sensitive approach to unfathomable pain is truly something wonderful. Stephen Graham is the best he's ever been in one of the absolute best performances of the year, full of pain, and rage, and longing. It's a show that's very minimal, favouring an almost documentary approach so that it can fully capture everything that it needs to, rejecting stylistic flourishes because to use them would be to spoil something so achingly, chaotically human. The Virtues is yet another reminder that Shane Meadows is a master storyteller, understanding the vital building blocks of the human condition and how to bring them to the screen in the rawest, most painfully beautiful way

1. Fleabag

Fleabag's first season was a perfectly imagined, incredibly funny punch to the face (these metaphors are getting worryingly violent), one that felt utterly singular, like it said everything it needed to say in six episodes. And it did.... but it didn't have the Hot Priest. In fairness, there's a lot that the second season of Fleabag adds to the already wonderful first one, from Fiona Shaw's piercing therapist to Kristen Scott Thomas' insightful entrepreneur, as well a greater amount of tightness and confidence in the structure and tone, but the best new thing in Fleabag's followup season is Andrew Scott. The Priest shakes up Fleabag's world and totally revolutionises this season, sparking a discussion in the story about faith and identity that adds to the already wonderful meditation on self-improvement of the show's first outing. And yet, across six episodes, the show once again proved how exciting it is when something refuses to pin itself down and be one specific thing, broadening out the idea of a love story. Because, as Fleabag says in the opening minutes of the first episode, that's what this is, a love story; partially between a woman and a priest, mostly between a woman and her sister, but crucially, between a woman and herself. If the first season was an examination of a woman navigating her way through her messy, painful, existence, then this is much more optimistic, asking piercing questions about love, life, faith and identity, and kind of figuring out how to answer them on the fly. It as was hilarious as a sheepish Scottish man trying to thank a priest at a family dinner, as cringe inducing as a shattered statue, and as deeply moving as a painful farewell at a bus stop. It was bold, confident and exciting storytelling brought to life by the messianic presence that is Phoebe Waller-Bridge. It's not often that the biggest, most exciting piece of television is the follow up to a fairly self-contained three year old BBC comedy, but if this show proves anything, it's that the most profound things are often the strangest, most chaotic and inappropriately funny ones. "It'll pass", a character says in a crucial moment in the show's finale, and yet I don't think that's true for this show, because it feels like monumental, era defining television. All hail Phoebe Waller Bridge, and all hail Fleabag, my absolute favourite show of 2019

My Thoughts on Knives Out

I like The Last Jedi. A lot. And I like Rian Johnson, also a lot. And I've been excited for Knives Out ever since I heard it was happening. That ace trailer that dropped over the Summer was more than an appetite whetter; it was a promise that Johnson was on his way to deliver a special experience, and that's something that I think is at the heart of this film. The fact that the film is such a passionate homage to classic mystery fiction (especially Agatha Christie), is proof that Johnson values good storytelling over anything else, and knows that a good experience with a well-told story is something to truly cherish. In a way that's quite an old-fashioned idea, relying purely on the narrative and how it's told rather than flashy VFX or snazzy setpieces to wow an audience. That stuff works too, but what always lingers is the story, a piece of fiction that is a journey in itself. I think that's why The Last Jedi worked so well, because Johnson wanted to get back to the fundamentals of Star Wars and push the narrative boundaries of that franchise in a way that felt challenging and excited. Remember those words by the way, because I think Johnson's goal as a filmmaker is to challenge and excite. And Knives Out, a gorgeous murder mystery film with a real vintage feel does exactly that

It's a classic plot: wealthy man found dead on his 85th birthday, surrounded by his family. An open-and-shut-suicide case.... or is it? This movie has been out for a while, and there's a good chance you've seen it, but even so, I won't spoil any of the plot here, because that's the fun of the film. Johnson gradually unravels something that seems simple, before revealing something that's typically intricate and rich. This is a real rollercoaster of a plot, and that simple start is just the catalyst for a story that gets progressively twistier, meatier and more enjoyable. There's a lot going on here, with so many characters, motives, clues, details, pieces of foreshadowing, sharp social commentary, cracking jokes, flashbacks and reveals to keep up with. This might be the film's only real flaw actually, because as elegant as Johnson's pacing is, it's also possible that the film is too busy, introducing so many things and only going on to use some of them. There's an early reveal about Jaden Martell's phone-obsessed-teenager that seems like a key detail, only to never really come into play. The same can be said about the screentime of certain characters, who kind of get sidelined as the film reaches its climax. It's not a huge problem, not when Johnson proves himself to be so adept at juggling all of these details and preventing the film from ever feeling bloated or messy, but when everything here feels like it has some degree of weight, it is hard not to notice when something goes unutilised

That said, it's quite possible that Johnson has assembled the best cast of the year, in size and quality. The ensemble is next level, giving us a slippery Don Johnson, a neurotic Michael Shannon, a stern but empathetic Jamie Lee Curits, and Toni Collette as a snotty Californian influencer. Special mention also to a deliciously dickish Chris Evans, who's obviously having a blast, and Daniel Craig, whose Southern gentlemen pairs a delectable wit with a ridiculous accent. The standout is undeniably Ana de Armas though, playing quite honestly one of the most likeable characters I've seen in some time. Hers are the eyes that we see this story play out through, and watching her become something of an underdog hero as the plot thickens is a real joy. She brings so much empathy to this film, grounding it and giving it real heft, and choosing her as the anchor with which to hold everything down was a genius move. Shoutout to Christopher Plummer, who injects so much heart, soul and humour into a man whose sole purpose in the story is to be killed. The scenes where Harlan and Marta are just bouncing off of each other are a real treat, and indicative of this film's heart and sense of humour.  As twisty and dark as the plot can get, the fact that there is such a strong streak of sincerity running through the centre of this film is what makes it so engaging. Johnson is giving you a legitimate reason to care, and feel invested so that you almost feel like you're somehow involved in the stakes of the story

So yeah, Knives Out is kind of really special. It's quite old-fashioned in its concept, but the execution is thrillingly modern, and the fusion of these elements is absolutely electric and makes for dynamite viewing. Rian Johnson feels like a real storyteller here, taking pleasure in revealing every detail and developing his sordid plot more and more. That's not actually something I've seen on this level for a good while, a film that feels like a classic piece of literary fiction as told by a narrator who exercises so much control in how the story is told and takes so much pleasure in telling it. The cast is stellar and the thematic edge is sharp, but the real thrill is feeling Johnson's presence behind the camera, crafting an experience that's so slick and effective and genuinely so thrilling. The last twenty or so minutes is maybe the most animated I've been in a cinema all year. It's just such a well-rounded experience, such a well put together, well-told story that's so much fun to watch unfold

Top 10 Episodes of the Decade

So this decade has been awesome for TV. This was the decade of Peak TV, of streaming, of the rise of binge watching, of Winter is Coming, and I Am the One Who Knocks, and #Justice For Barb, and schezwan sauce, and how does Black Mirror keep predicting things before they happen, and *looks to the camera* Phoebe Waller-Bridge, and Baby Yoda, and Don Draper's steady downfall, and Hollywoo, of #sixseasonsandamovie and top-notch Scandanavian noirs, and Teddy Perkins and, Kimmy Schmidt, and absolutely banging true series that get all of the awards (seriously, if you haven't seen The People vs. O.J. Simpson, do so immediately). In short, a lot of TV has happened over the last 10 years, and that means lots and lots of episodes. And so many of them were good. Some of them were even great, and I've just about narrowed it down to 10 perfect hours and half hours that define the high quality of modern television. And that was the tough part, because I think that, more than any medium, TV is capable of defining the cultural landscape of a particular year, and having to look at 10 years that each contain their own distinct slices of genius that resonated differently was really tough. Add to that the fact that, with streaming, it has become impossible to see everything, and picking your favourite episodes comes to be an act that defines how you interact with and are shaped by the TV you watch. Here's mine, and if you want to share some of yours, please do, because the wide range of TV means that the conversation is as varied as it is interesting, and I'd love to hear what particularly hit you this decade. Anyway, let's get this party started, and count down my decade in TV!

All the normal rules apply, one per show, only stuff I've seen, and any spoilers are light but just a warning because they will come up!

10. Remedial Chaos Theory (Community)

In an alternate timeline, this would be higher up on the list, but part of the reason for this episode's relatively low placement, aside from the quality of everything above it, is that trying to place one episode of Community above the others is a fool's errand. Hell, Remedial Chaos Theory isn't even my favourite episode, just the one that I think defines Community and its off-kilter genius. Whenever you say "the dice episode" to any Community fan, there's an instant sense of appreciation and awe, because it's just that freaking good. The show played with structure before and after this, but the idea of seven distinctly different hypothetical situations that vary depending on which member of the group gets the pizza is undoubtedly the most intelligent. This episode is continually telling new jokes with the same basic components, with a lightness of touch and meta-wit that ensures that it never gets repetitive or over complicated. It's surprisingly elegant actually, saying and doing everything it needs to in a brisk 20 minutes, providing plot points and meme fodder that would come to be uniquely Community. What's even better is that it's absolutely hilarious, something that should go without saying for this show but can't be understated. They brought the timeline idea back of course, but it was never quite as good as it is here, an individual spark of absolute genius in a show that is full of them

9. Hardhome (Game of Thrones)

Yeah, yeah, the last season sucked or whatever but come on. When Game of Thrones delivers on its promise to provide absolutely huge, utterly engaging and fiendishly clever television, it absolutely freaking delivers. Okay, Battle of the Bastards, and Winds of Winter, and Rains of Castamere, and Blackwater and The Children are great as well, but for me, nothing hits harder than the last twenty-ish minutes of Hardhome, in which we see a well-intentioned rescue mission go so very, very wrong. Chaotic, brutal and pulsing with desperation, this is as visceral as Thrones gets, legitimising the threat of the Night King's army while also solidifying Jon as the ultimate hero and doing both of these things in the midst of a terrified push for the boats. The action isn't as slick as it is in other episodes, but that's what makes it, the crazy, nigh-unbeatable threat that the dead present, in which the biggest moment isn't any sort of spectacular action, but the stomach-churning demonstration of what the Night King can do with the fallen. Hardhome is an all-time highlight in a season that is, by and large, not the best. This episode kicked everything back into high gear, not as big as what came before it but certainly bleaker, nastier and much more gut-wrenching. Oh, and that final exchange of looks between the king of the dead and the lord commander of the Night's Watch? Perfection

8. The Mind Flayer (Stranger Things)

Stranger Things is a show that very deliberately evokes 80s pop-culture. The most obvious statement ever gives way to one of the best constructed homages to why many of the blockbusters it borrows from worked in the first place. The Mind Flayer is a very simple episode, seeing the main characters trying to fight their way out of Hawkins Lab as it's overtaken by demodogs. The result is something that does feel very 80s in its construction, full of spectacular action and teeth-gnashing tension and heartbreaking lows and fist pumping highs and an ever-present sense of hope, similar to the likes of E.T., Back to the Future and The Abyss in how it arranges these things. It's also immensely satisfying, delivering some of the show's meatiest moments, finding joy in the return of a lost sister and delivering absolute heartbreak in a superhero's sacrafice. It has everything that makes Stranger Things work, at its highest level, and proves that, as well as spectacle, you need heart and soul and genuine emotional investment to make a great blockbuster, big screen or small. It's just a rollicking journey of an episode, flawless in its construction and 100% successful in its execution. It's the perfect balance of the retro and modern storytelling that Stranger Things absolutely excels at, and is a compelling argument that the most passionately told blockbusters are actually on the small screen

7. The Castle (Fargo)

Fargo is a show that continually finds ways to raise the bar, and near the end of its unbelievable second season, a near perfect prequel to the first, it delivers something really, really special: the massacre at Sioux Falls, portraying it in such an inventive, engaging way that builds on everything you've seen in the show up to this point and then absolutely surpassing it. The Castle combines spectacular action with an in-universe history lesson, interstellar visuals and massive, impossible-to-answer questions about the world of the show. This episode is indicative of Fargo and why it works so well, drawing from the strange happenings and weird occurrences that drift into the halls of local legend. It's bizarre, and off-kilter, and goes all the way with its craziness, proving- as if we needed proof- that Fargo is not your average crime series. It's not just that the action is bigger: the larger forces at play in the world are too, and if this episode doesn't explore them in depth, then it doesn't need to, teasing that, in the world of Fargo, there's some truly unusual shit going on. All that and a succession of shocking character deaths?  Yeah, it's one of the best of the decade. And after all of that, it still contains Fargo's absolute greatest trump card: the idea of true stories. Because after all, the events depicted in this series took place in 1979....

6. New York I Love You (Master of None)

Master of None is a series that is nearly entirely about Aziz Ansari's Dev, but is somehow at its best when he's not the focus. I struggled to choose between this and Thanksgiving (which is also incredible btw), but in the end, NYILY's story of an entire city won out. It's a clever concept, a collection of vignettes about the people you pass on the street everyday. It's genuinely amazing how Ansari tells stories that so often go untold. It's an electric, flowing tale of the city, whether its following a put upon doorman or a Burundian taxi driver and his friends on a night out, but it's at its best in the second story, a nearly silent chronicle of a deaf girl and her boyfriend. This is MoN at its very best, intelligent and empathetic and bursting with a very real kind of humour. Best of all is the fact that, moreso than any other episode, it highlights Ansari's skills as a storyteller, unafraid to experiment and break convention, showing how exciting TV can be when it lets its focus wander, and finding really special moments in the mundane.

5. B.A.N. (Atlanta)

 Atlanta is really, really special TV. An of-the-moment revelation that feels absolutely timeless, it's definitely a series that'll come to define this age of small screen storytelling. Teddy Perkins is an absolute whirlwind, but for me, there's something just so endlessly fascinating about watching B.A.N., an episode set on an in-universe, entirely fictional TV channel, complete with fake ads, an unbroken talk-show structure, and a thought provoking discussion about the responsibilities of online platforms. There's something to be said about the surrealism of it, and indeed everything else in this show. I love the way Atlanta uses this kind of storytelling to get its points across, showing that sometimes how you say something is just as important as what's being said. That Donald Glover imbues it with his unique brand of humour and insight is the bizarrely relevant cherry on this socially relevant cake. B.A.N. is not Atlanta's sharpest episode, or its funniest, or even its most engaging, but its the best because of how left-field it is, of how weirdly watchable and strangely enjoyable and out of nowhere it is. It's the best because it contains that uniquely Atlanta essence, that message-laced surrealism that has something to say and a strange way of saying it that makes you want to listen even more. It's bizarre, one-of-a-kind brilliance, and in a decade in which he established himself as one of the most fascinating artists of the time, it might just be Donald Glover's best work 

4. Fish Out of Water (Bojack Horseman)

Bojack is a show with some truly incredible dialogue; scathing, hilarious and marvellously intricate. Yet somehow, its best episode is almost entirely wordless. Fish Out of Water is a simple tale of a lost soul in a strange world, one that fully harnesses the power of animation as a medium for visual storytelling. More than that though, and perhaps the reason why it works as well as it does, is the reason why it's silent, apart from it taking place underwater. The show's greatest strength is its careful, gradual unravelling of its deeply wounded protagonist, and so putting him in a situation without words, without lies, excuses or sarcasm, where he has to be 100% genuine was a genius move. Bojack isn't in Hollywoo anymore, and he's entirely unable to communicate in a way he's used to, putting him in quite possibly the most vulnerable state he's ever been in. A desperate apology, sudden responsibility for a lost child and a general sense of existential dread are some of the trials that Bojack finds himself up against, but in stripping back the bullshit, the show is giving us a glimpse of what his life can look like when purity is an option. The show immediately became complicated again when he resurfaced in the next episode, and rightfully so, because something like this only works so well because it's a once-off: a singular concept episode that gives the kind of insight and profundity that can absolutely define a show, and in this case, I think it does

3. Chicanery (Better Call Saul)

I agonised over what episode of Breaking Bad to choose for this list, and ultimately decided that there is no best episode, Seriously, I think it's too good to have an individual highlight. But I'd hate to snub Vince Gilligan altogether, especially considering he's one of my favourite writers of all time, so I decided to include an entry from The Greatest Spinoff Ever™. Better Call Saul doesn't have the grandeur of its neo-western cousin, swapping that out for a slower burn and a greater sense of consistency. Its a gradual increase of quality and tension that occasionally swells and bursts into something truly masterful, and has, if you ask me, surpassed Breaking Bad in terms of its quality and watchability. But enough about the show, what about Chicanery? Well its the greatest battle episode of the decade, more brutal, breathtaking and blistering than a thousand Battles of the Bastards. Chuck and Jimmy had been at odds for the entire series up to this point, but finally having them in court against each other, each one spitting acid in an attempt to sink the other, was sobering stuff. Chuck's superior legal skills vs. Jimmy's unlimited ability to play dirty made for the kind of viewing that is truly unpredicatble one moment to the next, made all the more heartbreaking by the fact that whoever wins, they both lose a brother. Bob Odenkirk and Michael McKean give barnstorming performances, unleashing two-and-a-half seasons worth of fury onto each other, making for a conclusion that tears up the fabric of the show as its come to be established. Chicanery is like vicious theatre, seeing a show that continually walked the line between drama and comedy plunge into tragedy with aplomb. 

2. San Junipero (Black Mirror)

Black Mirror is known as the show that'll make you scared of the world we live in right now, and rightfully so, but San Junipero succeeds in its lightness; of touch, of tone and of its overall musing on the technology it's dissecting. So what, it's the best Black Mirror episode because its got a happy ending? Well yeah, but since when was that a bad thing? This show can be masterfully cynical, but Charlie Brooker's strength as a writer means that he knows when to switch things up, and deliver swooning, spirited optimism. It's easy to be glum, and cynical, and negative, but to make clever science fiction that keeps its sting while being hopeful? Now that's special. It's not the only episode of Black Mirror that's light-hearted, but after two and a half seasons of examining why technology is destroying us, the show finally gave us a story that argued that there's a great positive effect that new tech can bring as well, and that it can draw out our most human side, and that's worth celebrating. The whole concept is genius and full-hearted, brought to life by truly wonderful turns by Mackenzie Davies and Gugu Mbatha-Raw. This is Mirror at its most delicate, and passionate, and the sincerity of the whole thing is what sells it. Hell, I'd argue that no episode of the show that tried this kind of optimism ever topped this one, even if Hang the DJ came damn close. Like the best sci-fi, San Junipero is really about the people using the technology, and my God if it isn't breathtaking. Heaven is a Place on Earth indeed

1. Dance Dance Resolution (The Good Place)

It's a testament to how incredible The Good Place is that in 20-ish minutes, it provided some of the best writing I've ever seen. Okay so you've just ended your first season on a cracking twist, so where do you go from here? How about framing the whole first season as part of a bigger picture, boiling it down to a joke, and then putting it on repeat with some more of the best jokes in any TV show ever? Now we're talking. Dance Dance Resolution basically showed us hundreds of ways that the first season could have gone, pitting a progressively beleaguered Michael (Ted Danson at his absolute best) against a group of humans who are as stupid as they are unbeatably resilient. It steers the show's plot into a deliberate stalemate that then ignites a crucial development in the show, a change in direction that amps up the action considerably and brings the show closer to the kind of divinely funny and genuinely insightful existential comedy that the show absolutely owns. That it does all of this without feeling bogged down or overly complicated makes it a sure-fire choice for episode of the decade. It's also wickedly funny, featuring not just a glorious montage of failed neighbourhoods, but one of the finest line deliveries ever ("JASON?!?"). This is everything that The Good Place is at its best, smart and fast and funny and devilishly intricate. It's fearlessly experimental and absolutely sound, and further proof that The Good Place is one of the best comedies, and shows in general, of this decade, century and possibly ever. Yep, it is without a doubt my favourite episode of the decade, no forking question  

Top 25 Films of the Decade: Part 3 (15-11)

15. Bone Tomahawk 

I've talked about how this is my favourite horror movie of the decade, and.... yeah. S. Craig Zahler's Bone Tomahawk is scary, but from its bleakness and terror, something really special emerges. Cowboys, cannibals, melancholy and the stark horror of what people can do to each other make this the decade's top frightener, but the funny thing about Bone Tomahawk is how little of it is actually scary. It's a slow moving, searing comment on hate, intolerance and violence, and that's the really scary stuff. It's a gnarled, dusty, bruised reflection on the deep rooted violence of the wild west, like deeply grim poetry. Not that it skimps on the gore, lest we forget one of the most deeply disgusting deaths in horror. It's Kurt Russell's meatiest role in.... maybe ever, battered and bearded and desperate to do the right thing. Easy viewing? Maybe not, but that's why it matters. It's brutal, and raw, tapping into the horror that exists in the hearts of men. It's such a viscerally shocking film, but what lingers is that reflection on hate and evil, and that's what's eerily beautiful about it. Easily my favourite horror of the decade, because when you strip away the cannibals and cowboys, what are you left with? A grimy, soul-shaking mirror that reflects back the ills of the world. Miserable, melancholic, mesmerising.

14. Holy Motors

I struggled to find a place for Holy Motors on this list. I mean.... what is it? This is one of the most deeply weird movies I've ever seen. The way I see it, there are no wrong answers here. Holy Motors is about cinema, and whatever you make of it is what it means. It's like great performance art, with Leos Carax and Denis Lavant putting their art on display in a form that's so pure and so thrilling and so affecting, and it has to be the one of the most unfiltered pieces of cinema I've ever seen. There is no plot, no structure and no limits. Lavant's Monsieur Oscar is a figureless being, and watching him transform into so many different personas is an absolute thrill. An old beggar, a giant CGI snake, a sewer-dwelling beast, a terminally ill old man, and.... himself are just some of the shapes he takes, and seeing these different facets of one man portrayed in a way that only Carax can, and the fact that this film is his, a piece of art that he and he alone could have created is just so wonderful. Especially when you look into the production, how long it took Carax to make it and what it meant for him. Holy Motors is an utterly singular piece of surrealism, so unlike anything else but also filled with a rawness, a real sense of human creation that, mad as it gets (wait until you see the chimps), remains so utterly familiar. I've always thought that the weirder something is, the more likely it is to be moving, and by catching his audience off guard, Carax is able to let him and his unique relationship with cinema burst off of the screen in a way that's as rich as it is luridly entertaining. TROIS, DEUZE, MERDE!

13. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

I'm not quite sure when it became cool to hate Three Billboards, but, needless to say, I very much disagree. Martin McDonagh's third film is his best so far; a mournful, scornful gut punch of a meditation on grief, justice and anger that stings with righteous Southern-fried fury. This is an outsider's view of this side of life, but it's that perspective that lends the film its gravitas. It asks tough questions without claiming to have all of the answers, and if the leads may initially seem to only bring awards-season bluster, they quickly prove to be the most formidable triad of principal players of the last ten years. Woody Harrelson brings patience and calm and Sam Rockwell is equal parts stupidity and bigotry, but the core of the film is undoubtedly Frances McDormand, full of bitter rage and jaded compassion as a broken mother carrying out one last scathing cry for justice. Oscar lauded, and rightfully so, Three Billboards' cast embody their characters, and watching as this piece of brutal, deeply moving theatre plays out onscreen is an absolute blast. It's definitely McDonagh's best script, with all of the black humour and blistering sorrow of In Bruges with a razor sharp, strikingly relevant edge. Nuanced, thrilling and quietly devastating, Three Billboards is without a doubt one of my favourites this decade, and no sudden reversal of praise can take that away

12. Inside Out

  Trust Pixar to deliver the best animated film of the decade. Inside Out draws from a cracking premise, but the joy of this movie is seeing it visualised. This is without a doubt one of the most creative, intelligent, and utterly joyful portrayals of the human brain I've ever seen. So many jokes, so many wonderfully realised details, so much going on, it's just such an intricate film, and it really feels like it covers everything (that joke about abstract thought will never not be brilliant). True, maybe this hasn't been Pixar's best decade (if Toy Stories 3 and 4 and Coco were reliably strong, then Brave and the endless parade of sequels and prequels were merely fine at best), but with Inside Out, its apparent that the studio are still capable of churning out animated miracles. If all that sounds a bit stuffy, then it can't be overstated just how fun this film is. Bouncy, bright and packing some really likeable characters, this film is a treat for audiences of any age, boasting a cracking message about appreciating good and bad memories in equal measure to boot. The film's greatest virtue though, is its level of understanding. It discusses what it means to grow up and develop, without judgement and with a level of wisdom that never feels patronising or pretentious. It is, simply put, an absolute joy, and one of the best films that Pixar's put out bar none

11. What We Do in the Shadows

If Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement's 2014 vampire mockumentary is not the most cinematically nuanced, thematically rich films of the decade, well then it really doesn't have to be. This is one of the greatest arguments for the power of silliness ever, and it's that refreshingly ridiculous approach that makes it work so well. It's not laughing at anything, and any mean-spiritedness or sly cynicism is instead replaced with a gleefully silly, soaringly light hearted tonic. This film is a delightfully off-kilter escape from an increasingly turbulent world, and becomes a comedy that really savours the power of laughter, pure laughter that isn't at the expense of anyone or even necessarily about anything, but is just good natured, and funny, and delightfully simple. The jokes here are perfect, with everything from an aggressive (but not profane) encounter with some werewolves and a painfully awkward kill to the experiences of a newly turned vampire and the eye-opening discovery of the internet providing some serious belly laughs. As comedy goes, What We Do in the Shadows is just perfect constructed, so pure in its silliness and devoted to its concept that its kind of hard not to love, something that no Waititi film since has been able to match in terms of its simple glee 

My Thoughts on The Irishman

Oh boy. This has been a long time coming. Martin Scorsese is one of my all-time heroes, and the fact that I'm even talking about The Irishman makes me so, so happy. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this film is even here. But it is, and my god, it's beautiful. The Irishman feels like the culmination of Scorsese's career, an absolute epic detailing the slow deterioration of the American gangster. In many ways, this is the other side of GoodFellas: a multi-decade spanning story about a man, a gang, a country and ultimately, the slow, quiet death that all of those things are doomed to. This is a quiet tragedy, spanning an entire lifetime of politics, violence and crime before a final act that is without a doubt one of the most sobering things I've seen this decade. This is absolutely, without a doubt one of Scorsese's best films, and it's just such an honour to be able to witness this. I knew very little about Jimmy Hoffa going in, apart from his involvement with the union, and the fact that nobody actually knows what happened to him.

The Irishman is a pretty notable film this year, and a huge part of that is the cast. De Niro, Pacino, Pesci, Keitel, Anna Paquin, Ray Romano, Stephen Graham. Safe to say that a lineup like this is special, and they're all special in their own ways here. De Niro is sensational as Frank, who's as steely and stoic as his other tough guys, but with a tragic gravitas that I've never seen from him before. We see everything from his perspective, and watching as he comes to terms with his numbingly tragic fate. He does so much with so little, every glare saying a thousand words. The final third especially features some absolutely stunning, deeply moving acting from a man who consistently gives some of the best performances ever. Pesci is also incredible, uncharacteristically quiet but like de Niro, that's what gives him such an edge. The supporting cast also give it socks, especially Anna Paquin, who's silence is absolutely intentional and truly damning. Stephen Graham is also rounding off a great year (WATCH THE VIRTUES) as a character who's so incendiary and thrillingly unpredictable. But somehow, somehow in a cast like this, there is a standout and it's Al Pacino, the absolute first among equals as Jimmy Hoffa. He's as exuberant and full of energy as he ever has been, a firecracker of a man whose actually ambiguous fate, less so in the film, is made so tragic because he's so damn likeable.

Scorsese is also firing on all cylinders, moving very slowly and deliberately, keeping his flourishes for very specific moments. His scope is incredibly wide here, capturing everything here, the big and the small, from the forces that shape a nation all the way down to one man's horrifying journey into a quietly unremarkable fate. There's no doubt here that he's 100% in control, and the thrill here comes from the fact that it's clear that he knows exactly what he's doing. For a filmmaker of his status, that might seem obvious, and for the uninitiated, it might just seem like more of the same, but this feels monumental, even for him, maybe in a way that his other films aren't. Particularly towards the home stretch, it feels that Scorsese is reflecting on some seriously bone deep stuff, carried off in a way that's so delicate but all the more powerful because of it. The length of this film seems to be a bit of a contentious issue in certain circles, but it really is necessary, and it cannot be watched in instalments. The Irishman takes its time getting where it needs to go, using every single minute and making those decades feel like they're going by. It takes a serious level of skill to make three and a half hours feel short, especially with a tone that's as dour as this film is. The level of control on display is absolutely crazy, and it's something that could only come from Scorsese and only at this point in his career, and the fact that this movie is made in this way with this cast is absolutely unbelievable, and it's without a doubt one of the best movies of the year

So yeah, I've actually been sitting on this review for a while now, because The Irishman is overwhelming cinema, and I definitely did not absorb everything in it on the first viewing, because how the hell can you? Much like Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, it puts you in this moment in time, reflecting everything in the era in one fell swoop, and tackling what matters now by covering the past. The Irishman touches on some timeless themes and ideas, and like the best films, it balances specific and universal elements, done in a way that only Scorsese can. The Irishman is not my favourite film of the year, but it does feel like an event in the way nothing else has in 2019. It's the kind of film that comes around very, very rarely. It's long, slow, and devastatingly quiet. It's a beautiful, beautiful tragedy and simply one of the most unmissable pieces of film in 2019

Rewatching Watchmen

I rewatched Watchmen for the first time in a few years last night. It's actually something I was thinking of doing for a while. See, for ages, this was my favourite film of all time, and then as I started watching more films and expanding my taste, I just kind of forgot about it. That's when I properly started to get into films, and really started looking at them in depth and analysing them, and in my quest to watch as much as possible, old and new, Watchmen started to feel like a sure thing, until I just kind of forgot about it when I thought about my favourites

What put it back in my head is the new TV series, which I'll admit I haven't watched yet. But seeing so much praise for something that's related to a film that I've always loved so much but needed to revisit made me want to.... revisit it. And since I watched it last, I've changed a lot. I mean, not only am I older now than I was when I watched it last, but I've also changed in how I watch movies, and given how many superhero films have come out since this and also how many times Zack Snyder has messed up in the genre, I was kind of worried that, for one reason or another, it wouldn't hold up

And then the opening credits happened, that incredible montage of a world that could have been under different circumstances, set to The Times They Are A-Changin'. This is when I started to realise that there's something in the story of Watchmen that really resonates with me, and as the film went on, I not only remembered how much I love it, but I also rediscovered why I love it. Superhero films have grown as a genre since 2009, and have kind of taken over the mainstream. I don't really have a problem with them, and I think they're fine. It's a genre that I like but have a hard time loving, because, especially now, there is a kind of saturation taking place. Watchmen reminded me what these stories can do at their best, and instead of focusing on the action, instead looks at the implications. The personal, moral, social, political and cosmic consequences of everything that the characters are doing. I appreciated that so much more this time, and really loved how it could be bleak and dark without ever feeling hollow or superficial. It's not subtle, not at all, but would it work if it was? I love that it uses its story to ask questions that don't have answers, and that's something that's more relevant now than it ever has been. How much do we trust the people put in place to protect us? How moral do you have to be when you're doing the right thing? There's so much going on in this movie, and even if not all of it works, when it hits, I think its really, really special. Watching Watchmen again made me fall in love with it again, with how brazen it is and how large it is, and how they really threw everything at it and most of it stuck. Look, I can understand someone not liking it, but after what feels like so long since it was one of my favourites, I'm happy to report that I loved it all over again

Top 25 Films of the Decade: Part 2 (20-16)

20. Mad Max: Fury Road

Action films have been kind of awesome this decade. Baby Driver, John Wick 2, Skyfall, Free Fire, and a smorgasbord of others have absolutely blazed off of the screen. But there really isn't anything like George Miller's absolutely sublime fourquel, a roaring ballet of blood, sand and fuel that absolutely reinvigorates a classic cult series for what has to be one of the most eye-popping, dynamic, and purely exciting blockbusters of the last few years. The film is an absolute visual feast, and the non-stop chase plot makes for an entirely thrilling, batshit crazy bit of viewing, but the best thing about Fury Road has to be the subtext, the subtle shift away from Max in favour of Furiosa and her band of smuggled brides. Watching her lead the charge against Immortan Joe's totally definitely absolutely not relevant dictatorship is a thrilling reminder that Mad Max has always been about the politics. In a time of social discord, Miller answers it with... more discord, frankly, but amid the chaos is an allegory that really resonates without it ever being spoonfed to the audience. The social commentary sears, seamlessly blending in with the insane visuals, sly humour, genuinely touching moments of vulnerability and a skull scorching score by Junkie XL. And despite the fact that it's totally over-the-top, Fury Road really excels in its subtlety, never feeling the need to explain itself or give an abundance of backstory. Fury Road is, maybe moreso than any other actioner this decade, a pure experience of cinematic anarchy

19. Nebraska

Alexander Payne's studies of insecure men will never not hold a place in my heart. Nebraska is probably his most reflective film yet, a lovely black and white fable about a jaded man on an unlikely road trip with his father. Will Forte and Bruce Dern have such a believable chemistry here, constantly arguing but ultimately full of love. They're both incredible, pulling and pushing each other on a quest for a mythical sweepstakes prize. Through them, Payne explores an awful lot, like what it's like to need and be needed, and the importance of doing things for the people that matter. It's a poignant movie for sure, but it's never dewy or overly sentimental, instead taking a step back, beginning with the difficulties and frustrations and remembering why any of it matters in the first place. That final, wordless drive through town is a small thing, but it means so much, and it's that kind of thing that makes Nebraska so absolutely wonderful. It's a story about never quite getting want you want but eventually getting something you need, something you never expected. It's a quiet film, favouring mundane monochromatic visual poetry and unassuming musings on ageing and relationships, but in this understated story it finds huge amounts of meaning. Payne has made other good films this decade, like The Descendants and Downsizing (I like it, fight me), but for me, neither of them have what Nebraska does, which is a beautifully off-kilter and dazzlingly moving take on the fundamentally Payne-ish idea of a put upon man quietly exploring what gives his life meaning

18. Stories We Tell

I'd like to talk about documentaries and how they've been this decade, but I actually haven't seen very

many from the last ten years. Admitedly, the genre is a huge blind spot of mine, but I'd really regret not talking about Sarah Polley's absolutely beautiful unravelling of her family and their secrets. This is an intimate film, very gentle and almost playful, but it's not without purpose. What starts out as various members of the family telling stories and anecdotes soon transforms into something much deeper, heavier and utterly fascinating. Polley is very careful in how she reveals the truths here, delicately and passionately tracing the lines that define the lives of her and those around her, and if this doesn't necessarily prove that truth is stranger than fiction, then it absolutely proves that it can be just as captivating. Okay so it's about a family, but what makes that such a special subject? Well, Stories We Tell is cinema as a form of reflection, and it's not often that you see something that's this personal, and honest, and because of that it's that much more moving. Polley is literally putting herself onscreen, outlining what it is that makes her who she is, archiving her story for all of time, literally turning herself and the strange circumstances of her family into art. Yes there are secrets and reveals and strange truths in this documentary, but what really makes it great is how human it is. It's a translation of her origin that is specifically hers, but its that idea that we're all made of stories that makes it universal. Again, documentaries aren't exactly my wheelhouse, but Stories We Tell is just one of the most fascinating films of the decade, absolutely fabulous because it's completely real

17. Night is Short, Walk on Girl 

This is not my favourite animated film of the decade (hint hint), but it's damn close. This film is absolute chaos and I love every minute of it. It's basically a huge, booze fuelled night out with musings on fate, romance and destiny. The animation is simple but unusual and charming, the humour is off-kilter but hilarious, and the surreal visuals make for one of the most endlessly fascinating trips this decade. It's like the amped up version of every wild night you've ever had, one that champions the idea that one night can change your life forever. It's also so busy, constantly moving and changing and providing some crazy hijinks for our characters to encounter. Book fairs, drinking contests, perverts, gods, mobile theatre, musical numbers, philosophy parties, mass flu and an intricate intelligence network are just some of the absolutely wild antics that happen in this movie. This has got to be one of the funnest films this decade, an hour and a half of pure animated madness, one that's almost like a modern fairy tale in its wonder-filled approach to a night of revelry. It's absolutely bonkers, brimming with creativity, and is just one of the most watchable films I've ever seen. It's a wild experience, but it's some of the most fun I've had with cinema, colourful and bright and just so enjoyable to watch. Night is Short, Walk on Girl is truly unlike any animated movie I've ever seen, so fun that it should be illegal

16. The Favourite

 The Favourite's runaway success in this year's Oscar nominations made me very, very happy. Its ultimate failure to win most of them made me less happy, but the fact that we're at a point where movies like this are recognised is such a good sign for the film industry. Yorgos Lanthimos' take on Queen Anne is absolutely fabulous, a lavish, twisted, erotically charged, darkly funny and wicked spin on history. I think he's at his best when he's using his deadpan style to highlight the deep-set sadness in a story, and The Favourite definitely does this in its portrait of Anne as an ailing, deeply lonely woman who's willing to accept being manipulated for the sake of company. It's also his most interesting film to look at, with its fish-eyed camera and absolutely gorgeous production design. But come on, this film wouldn't be half as good as it is if it didn't contain that trio of incredible performances. Olivia Colman deserved her Oscar win as a woman who is as batshit crazy as she is achingly miserable, just as vulnerable as the rabbits she keeps. Emma Stone is truly formidable as the peasant who schemes her way into the Queen's heart, faux kindness giving way to a series of brutal stratagems. But it's Rachel Weisz who gives my favourite turn, enacting devious manipulations while delivering some truly tasty dialogue (her insult to Nicholas Hoult is an all-timer). The Favourite is just a devious bit of historical reinterpretation that explored power dynamics and the things that shift them in such a fascinating way. And finally, if all that didn't solidify this as one of the best movies of the decade, it's got Horatio, The Fastest Duck In The City. And what other film can say that?