50. Brokeback Mountain (2005- Ang Lee)
"Tell you what... the truth is... sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it"
Ang Lee has spent the last ten years pushing the boundaries of what can be achieved on a technical level, but part of me misses the days when he was unmatched in making warm, witty character pieces on huge canvases. Brokeback has unfairly found itself the butt of so many jokes but nothing can extinguish this film's raw, deep-seated power. Lee has so much in his sights- American society, masculinity, homophobia and the violence it spawns- but at its core, it really is a love story, so tender and well-observed. It's set against an American west that is slowly giving in to urbanisation, the American cowboy suffering a horribly quiet death-by-civilisation, and yet it's not hopeless; dark as the circumstances the two lovers find themselves in get, there's always warmth and solace to be found in each others' embrace. In fact, by the end, the only regret I have with this film is the same one that Jack and Ennis feel themselves: that those glorious moments couldn't have lasted forever
The High Point: "I wish I could quit you" Oof.
49. Blackkklansman (2018- Spike Lee)
"With the right white man, we can do anything"
You'd be forgiven for thinking that Spike Lee came up with the story of Ron Stallworth himself, not just because it's (almost) too wild to be true, but because it fits so comfortably into the groove he's been carving for over three decades. But, no, it's 100% real, based on Stallworth's 2014 memoir of the same name. 29 years after the groundbreaking Do the Right Thing, Spike Lee was more furious than ever, and you could hardly blame him. Despite the fact that it's a period piece, Lee imbues the film with a uniquely modern spirit: a primal scream for the Black Lives Matter era capped off with a direct condemnation of Trump, a bold cocktail that Spike ignites before flinging it at the establishment. He's expressing deep frustration at a country that ardently refuses to change, but there's sadness there too, a lament for a system doomed to repeat the same mistakes again and again. It's not subtle, but neither is the threat it's tackling, and if he did it any other way, it certainly wouldn't have worked as well as it does. Blackkklansman is urgent viewing that's only become more relevant in the wake of this Summer's protests. A cinematic battlecry
The High Point: The Charlottesville epilogue hits hard, now more than ever
48. What We Do in the Shadows (2014- Taika Waititi, Jemaine Clement)
"Some people freak out a bit about the age difference. They think, "What's this 96-year-old lady doing with a guy four times her age?""
The year is 2014. Flight of the Conchords has been finished for half a decade, Taikia Waititi is just an up-and comer hot off the back of his sophomore feature and the idea of an FX TV spin-off is but a far-off fantasy. A lot has changed in the six years since, but What We Do in the Shadows has remained an irresistable constant, an eternally hysterical mockumentary that begins as Christopher Guest with fangs and ends up being kind of a game-changer for modern comedy. It's pure, gleeful fun, a non-stop barrage of gags that just get better as the film progresses. There's no subtext, no satire, no target to the jokes, and that's okay: sometimes it's nice to just sit back and laugh. And behind every joke is a huge reservoir of passion, so much love and faith poured into every idea. It's a far cry from the cynical comedies that all-too-often come out of the studio system, like the team behind it are behind the curtain the whole time to soak up every laugh. It's like the perfect comedy showreel, and it's no surprise that Clement and Waititi have gone from strength to strength since
The High Point: Werewolves, not swearwolves
47. Swiss Army Man (Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinart)
"If my best friend hides his farts from me then what else is he hiding from me, and why does that make me feel so alone?"
The term "rules of screenwriting" has always seemed ludicrous to me. Swiss Army Man, a film about a magical corpse and "written by Daniels", seems tailor-made to avoid any kind of easy categorisation, flying in the face of any there-are-only-seven-stories theory. It's a gorgeously specific poem performed in an unravelling mind, sometimes profound, often hilarious but always on the film's utterly singular wavelength. It starts ridiculous but steadily begins to dispense great truths about loneliness, friendship and the power of farts; the Daniels know how crazy their concept is but prove that, with the right level of commitment, anything can be beautiful. The sillier it gets, the more seriously they take it, and it's all the better for it, finding nuggets of wisdom along the way. It's raw creativity wonderfully realised, bolstered by a huge beating heart. Quirky but sincere, no film this century has captured the glee of unexpected friendship better. Still need a reason? How about Daniel Radcliffe giving his best performance to date as a bloated, gassy cadaver?
The High Point: Manny spews up water for a thirsty Hank. What are friends for, eh?
46. Catch Me If You Can (2002- Steven Spielberg)
"Two little mice fell into a bucket of cream. The first mouse quickly gave up and drowned, but the second mouse, he struggled so hard that he eventually churned that cream into butter and he walked out. Amen"
It's funny how much we've come to take Steven Spielberg for granted. True, his 21st century output isn't on par with his 70s/80s run, but it says a lot about how cinema's developed that now he's just... kind of there. But don't write off everything he's done since 2000, because Catch Me If You Can is pure Amblin magic. It's a 50s style melodrama that plays like a rollercoaster ride, a heady blend of tones that is by turns lush and slick, but what's really remarkable is that, more than anything else, it's still Spielberg. His inspirations are clear but this is no imitation, and all the hallmarks of his hot streak- fathers and sons, uniquely big-screen thrills, a palpable sense of heart undercut by dark truth- are as present as they've ever been. This is Spielberg the showman, the storyteller spinning yarns that are larger than life, far removed from the awards-season heavyweights he'd started to pump out at the time. And while that's what he continues to do now (with the occasional BFG or Ready Player One to shake things up), I can't help but miss the old Spielberg, the merchant of wonder that makes big-screen magic look effortless. Catch Me If You Can is a reminder of what he can do at the height of his powers, and it is glorious
The High Point: "Frank, look. Nobody's chasing you"
45. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015- George Miller)
"I live, I die, I live again!"
It would have been easy for George Miller to rest on his laurels in the 21st century, sit back on his legacy and just make another Happy Feet every few years. The dancing penguin-duology had made up the whole of his post-millennium output up to that point, so his return to his seminal post-apocalyptic saga was as welcome as it was surprising. Fury Road isn't a reboot, a rehash of the past for guaranteed success; it's a man taking his legacy, cracking it open, and reshaping the genre-defining innards to set a new standard for action cinema. In many ways it's the Mad Max film, if not the definitive Miller film. It continues in the same direction as the original trilogy but also sidelines Max for a fullblooded feminist allegory and refuses to sacrifice its soul for the sake of thrills. Speaking of, how about that action, huh? Every scrape feels like millions of tiny individual pieces working in perfect unison to create something bigger, and where lesser action films feel dangerously polished, Fury Road leaves the roughwork in, just practical enough to let the audience appreciate the sheer feat of engineering it is. Hardy and Theron are ace of course, but the MVP is editor Margaret Sixel, as integral to the film's success as either of its hardened heroes
The High Point: Furiosa falls to her knees and laments for her home
44. Children of Men (2006-Alfonso Cuarón)
"As the sound of the playgrounds faded, the despair set in. Very odd, what happens in a world without children's voices"
The only thing scarier than the fact we're kind of living in the future of Children of Men is the fact that it's not even due to happen for another seven years. Alfonso Cuaron's parable of a Britain brought to its knees by a global health crisis and destroyed by its foreign policy is depressingly relevant but never bleak, always chasing the defiant hope hiding behind the horizon. Hope's the key word- Cuaron may be dealing in apocalyptic eventualities but he's an ardent believer that the human race will save itself. So much time is put into creating a world that's so plausibly finished, so socially and morally bankrupt that when he turns around and assures us that all is not lost, it's glorious stuff. It's a hard, draining watch, but at its centre is a delicate, impossibly powerful truth: birth is a miracle, and the key to saving the human race is just to keep it going.
It's wonderful dystopia, brought to life by the sloped-shoulders of Clive Owen and the Emmanuel Lubezki's mind-boggling cinematography. This isn't dystopia that wants you to roll over and wallow in the earth's destruction. Quite the opposite, actually. Long as we can keep living, we will
The High Point: The ceasefire, as a warzone comes together to marvel at the impossible
43. Our Little Sister (2015- Hirokazu Kore-eda)
"I want to stay forever"
The careful, tactile worlds of Hirokazu Kore-eda were well established before and since Our Little Sister, but his 2015 opus just feels like the perfect storm of everything that makes him who he is as a filmmaker. A gorgeous study of family and the things it's built upon, Our Little Sister is a big warm hug of a film, playing out entirely naturally and catching magic almost by accident. It's so full of love, so unmistakably and distinctly warm in the way that only Kore-eda can be, and that's what makes it so special. There's no conflict, no big turning point and not even much of a plot, just four sisters caring about each other, but it's hard to think of another onscreen family whose company is this inviting. It's the kind of film that, ideally, wouldn't end, and by the time it does, it feels like it's over too soon. There's so much power in the preparing of meals, the everyday routines that play out like little measured acts of love, and Kore-eda revels in that, building a world of gestures that is as masterfully composed as it is infinitely comforting. Even in the wake of 2018's gorgeous Shoplifters, it's still Kore-eda's best
The High Point: Lily Franky's screentime is brief but it is glorious
42. Sexy Beast (2000- Jonathon Glazer)
"If there's a will, and there is a fucking will, there's a way, and there is a fucking way"
In a world where "British gangster film" seems to be progressively morphing into a synonym for "hardmen dropping c-bombs and mistreating women", Sexy Beast stands out as something of an oddity. Sure, there's tough guys and profanity, but there's also demons and psychopaths and jokes. It's a surreal voyage through the sun-soaked hellscape that Ray Winstone's doughy ex-safecracker finds himself trapped in, packed with sludgy symbolism and acidic wit. It's one of those rare screenplays that turns the act of swearing into its own kind of artform, every eff and jeff carefully composed into an unholy symphony. But the core of this film, the dark heart that beats at a worrying pace, is Ben Kingsley, on top form as Don Logan, the human manifestation of hell itself. In a genre that's all too often becoming depressingly crass and laddish, the heart-on-sleeve surrealism of Sexy Beast stands as a monument to rule-breaking cinematic excess and unapologetic weirdness.
The High Point: The Stranglers + an overbaked Ray Winstone + boulder-cam = a perfect opening
41. No Country For Old Men (2007- The Coen Brothers)
"And in the dream I knew that he was goin' on ahead and he was fixin' to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up..."
The Brothers Coen had built a career on darkly comedic, idiosyncratic tales of desperate people and bizarre circumstances, so their 2007 adap of Cormac McCarthy's bleak neo-western novel seemed like a left-field offering. After all, their last film before this was 2004's The Ladykillers, so something this bleak and hopeless almost felt outside of their wheelhouse. We all know what happened next: accolades, acclaim and another stellar chapter in the most impressive back catalogue in modern American cinema. It was a step in a new direction for the Brothers, a colder, more mechanical take on some of their favourite themes (morality, death, chance), but something felt different this time; it was sharper, darker and more precise than anything they had done previously. The suffocating, relentless atmosphere of this two-hour chase is brought to life by the dead-eyed, granite-faced Javier Bardem (whatever the opposite of a film's heart and soul is, he's it), and ultimately leavened by one of the most powerful endings of the last two decades. It's a modern classic, and one of the pair's finest films.
Moral of the story? Don't doubt the Coens
The High Point: Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff recounts his dreams, bringing the film to a beautifully open conclusion
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