Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four Year Anniversary Special)- Part 10 (10-1)

 10. The Florida Project (2017- Sean Baker)

"I can always tell when adults are about to cry"

It almost feels like Sean Baker came out of nowhere. After spending the noughties toiling away on tiny indie-pics, he finally hit the big time with Tangerine, his gorgeous tale of trans sex-workers on Christmas Eve in L.A. entirely shot on an iPhone. He went to 35mm for his next film but kept the same compassionate, comprehensive eye that made him an indie essential. Like everything he's done, The Florida Project felt quietly revolutionary- a small scale gem that serves to remind an industry obsessed with spectacle that sometimes lo-fi is the way to go

The story of a mother and daughter living on the outskirts of the happiest place on earth, it's a film that seeks to find joy in heartbreak. Moonee's world is made of the wonder she finds in absence; as Baker puts it, "she can't go to Disney's Animal Kingdom, so she goes to the 'safari' behind the motel and looks at cows; she goes to the abandoned condos because she can't go to the Haunted Mansion"

The scale is small but the level of childlike joy is immense- Moonee's world flows out of the film, shining bright enough that it nearly blurs out the heartbreak tucked away at the edge of the frame. He doesn't leave out the grim reality but he makes a point not to dwell on it, a cue he takes from his characters, who are too busy keeping on keeping on to get bogged down with the harsh truth of their existence. 

Baker's a notorious cineaste-be sure to check his Letterboxd sometime- and he lets that bleed into his work. He raids the kitchen-sinks of Mike Leigh and Ken Loach, borrows from Truffaut and De Sica and Paper Moon and all but rips off the very concept of Our Gang. He mirrors Spirit of the Beehive's bittersweet childhood fantasies and the contained, troubled world of Fellini's I Vitelloni. But for all of his pilfering, he's no thief. This is his film, done in a way that not even any of his influences could have replicated. In 111 short minutes, he becomes his own filmmaker, unafraid to empty his DVD collection into his work, but always keeping it uniquely Baker

It's a piece of cinema that defines everything that works about the modern age of filmmaking, a cinematic landscape that's never been more accessible for up-and-coming auteurs. With The Florida Project, he kicks the door open, before propping it open with a crate of 16mm gauges to ensure that his footsteps can be followed

The High Point: Moonee waxes lyrical about her favourite tree

9. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001-Wes Anderson)

"I'm very sorry for your loss. Your mother was a terribly attractive woman"

After having found his voice with Rushmore, Wes Anderson strode into a new millennium with such a clear vision of what he wanted to be. He got out his wallpaper swatches and pastel paint and got to work on his masterpiece. The Royal Tenenbaums is not just Anderson's best film this century, but the one where he discovered exactly who he is and what he wanted to be going forward. He had gotten a taste of the auteur life with his last two efforts, but now he was on the scene proper. He wears his influences on his sleeve, from Ashby to Malle to Welles, but it still feels like he's playing by his own rules. Even at a time when American indie cinema was entering a boom period, it still felt like he was going against the grain; there was only one Wes Anderson

The mistake that so many people make about Anderson is seeing him as an emotionally-distanced aesthetic obsessive, a twee indie-darling who takes delight in placing characters centre-frame and dishing up flippantly-delivered, dryly ironic dialogue while rejecting any major expressions of emotion. But that couldn't be further from the truth, at least not in The Royal Tenenbaums, where he captures this dysfunctional family in all of their messy, complicated glory. He's not just trying their issues on for postmodern kicks; this a story fueled by genuine pain and hurt

He did this by assembling his best ensemble cast yet. From Ben Stiller to Anjelica Huston, Gwyneth Paltrow to Danny Glover, Owen Wilson to Luke Wilson and Bill Murray (of course), Anderson weaves an Altman-sized web of likeable, deeply flawed characters that, for all of the film's quirky leanings, still play as a family. We believe them and believe in them, wanting better for them just as much as we want them to be better themselves.

The great irony is of course that Gene Hackman, the heart of the film and the absolute standout, didn't have the slightest interest in the project, and was notoriously frosty on set. It was a role that was, in Anderson's words, "written for him against his wishes". And yet none of that carries into the film. Instead, his Royal is a mischievous and misunderstood prankster whose heart is in the right place but can never quite crack how to connect with his family. It's a wonderful turn from Hackman, the kind of pure performing magic that makes every year of his retirement a greater shame

It's the film that saw Anderson hit both new heights and depths, following up Rushmore's pure indie-cool with a film that was actually about something. His excitement and his passion are palpable, and his intricate framing of chez Tenenbaum conjure up premonitions of what's to come (Camp Ivanhoe, the Grand Budapest). There's a lot of love in the film, and every decision Anderson makes is one that he so clearly believes in. That belief pays off big time in the purest showcase of Anderson's idiosyncrasies he's put to screen so far. It's a redemption story disguised as a dysfunctional-family dramedy that always seems to sting more than you remember. His future was (and is) bright, but even if he had stopped after The Royal Tenenbaums, he'd still be an indie essential. Thank god he didn't

The High Point: Richie's haunting, painfully real suicide attempt. With male mental health still such a taboo, it feels more essential than ever

 

8. Once (2007- John Carney)

"What's the Czech for `do you love him?`"

Ireland isn't known for its cinema. Even with all the great films that have come out in the last two decades, this country still feels woefully behind. And while stalwarts like Lenny Abrahamson and Cartoon Saloon have been working on changing that, the truth is that, right now, it just isn't an especially rich country when it comes to film. And so Once feels all the more special, a little miracle that is both intensely cinematic and uniquely Irish

Make that specifically Dublin: no film has captured the capital as beautifully. Carney finds magic on the streets of the fair city. There's comedy on Grafton Street, magic in Sandymount, romance on the back of a Dublin bus. He's telling a love story but it feel like he's embarking on his own sort of romance with the city. It's more than a setting for Carney, or even a character in his story- it's his muse, guiding him towards something greater all the time

There's a beautifully Joycean feel to it (read Dubliners after watching this film and try to deny that it feels like an update), but it still feels like Carney is forging his own path while acknowledging those that came before him. The same could be said of its filmic influences- there's a lot of Chaplin's Little Tramp in Glen Hansard's Guy- but again, Carney is using what he borrows to tell a story that belongs to him, like making a mixtape to impress someone you love

As for the romance itself, no film this century has quite replicated Once's blisteringly bittersweet spell. It's realistic and sparse, but by design; too many flourishes would have diluted the earnestness of what  Carney's expressing. This carries into the performances- it's obvious that Hansard and Irglová aren't actors, but that's why it works. They're raw and believable, and the film is at its best when it's just spending time with them. We love them as much as they love each other, and we don't want to let them go. Carney knows that, and so he gives them their movie-magic moment before returning them to the messy chaos of real life. It works because it's fleeting, because it can't last forever

Ultimately, it adds up to create a film that is simultaneously simple, unpretentious storytelling and intensely nuanced cinema. It's funny looking back on this film. 2007 almost seems like a more innocent time, the twilight years of the Celtic Tiger, before the recession started the country towards where it is now and cool cynicism snuffed out the idealistic torch song. And yet, Once never feels like nostalgic or romanticised. Instead, it plays like the whispered sweet nothings of a man in love. Past, future, who cares? Once is a film that lives in the now, enjoying every far-too-brief moment of its glorious love story

The High Point: Guy and Girl's stripped-back duet in Walton's

7. Roma (2018- Alfonso Cuarón)

"We are alone. No matter what they tell you, we women are always alone"

It's tempting to claim to know who a director is through their work. After Children of Men, Gravity and Y Tu Mama Tambien, it certainly felt like we knew Alfonso Cuarón: a modern master who plays with genre and melds intimate emotions with grand concepts. That's who he was, and he was damn good at it. And then Roma happened.

 To be fair, it's not a total surprise, it's got Y Tu Mama's blend of the political and the personal as well as Gravity's epic vulnerability, but nothing he had done before felt this individual. Roma is an evaluation of the past: a clear line traced from the most intimate specificity of one woman to the huge social and political entities at work in her country. Cuarón brings the past to life effortlessly using the great cinematic tools of empathy and perspective; he's not just showing you Cleo's world, he's asking you to walk through it

Every detail is note perfect, and the film excels at making everything seem lived in and real. This isn't escapism, it's cinematic empathy: the life and experience of an incredible woman that Cuarón has bottled and brought to the screen. He handles it with care-it's a precious thing- but he casts it on a wide canvas. It's a film that feels huge but actually plays as a work of great intimacy, and it's at its best when it's bridging them

And although it's essentially about his childhood, Cuarón largely rejects dewy nostalgia. Instead, he ruminates on the insurmountable class divide that ensures that Cleo remains trapped. Along the way, there's heartbreak, loss and terror, and the film gives these moments time to resonate. Cuarón's touch is light in Roma, his storytelling presence all but unnoticeable, and so it plays as a graceful piece of pure cinema. As it progresses, it uncovers more and more pain, effortlessly articulating traumas personal and national while still keeping its focus on Cleo. For all the massive political unrest, it's still her story

As emotionally taxing as it is, Roma is still one of the century's most affirming pieces of cinema. It looks beautiful, and the gorgeous monochromatic imagery (captured by Cuarón himself) absolutely sparkles. It's a film made by someone for a real passion for the medium and subject. And that makes sense- he was there, after all. For all of the social decay and gut-wrenching heartache, Roma keeps this uncertain but unquenchable sense of hope. Often it lingers on the horizon, something for Cleo to chase. By keeping this hope as the dramatic focus, the film builds empathy for her in a way few other films this century, or any other, can match

The result is a master at the height of his powers, opening a window into the depths of his soul and inviting us to submerge into the uneasy oceans of his past like Cleo wading into the sea. It's the film that Cuarón will inevitably be remember for, and it will still be perfect in two years time, and then two more, and a lifetime after that

The High Point: Horror and desperation build as Cleo rushes to save her young charges from the ocean's pull

6. There Will Be Blood (2007- Paul Thomas Anderson)

"There's a whole ocean of oil under our feet. Nobody can get at it except for me"

By 2007, Paul Thomas Anderson had become known for epic examinations of the dark matter oozing beneath Californian society. So when he made that literal in his fifth and biggest film, it was bound to be something special. And it was: from the opening minutes, it was clear that There Will Be Blood Was an event. The four films that preceded it set it up well, building up the San Fernando filmmaker's skillset and winning him legions of fans and admirers. But from that first image of Daniel Day-Lewis writhing around in the soil, it was clear that this was a very different beast altogether 

There's a lot of unmistakable PTA DNA at work in this film: the (possibly self-imposed) isolation of a difficult virtuoso, poisonous fathers, an uneasy meditation on the Good Book. And yet it still feels subversive. Just look at the second half of Anderson's filmography compared to his first; could he really have made The Master without this? Better still, look at any American period epic made post-TWBB and try to deny its influence- Iñárritu's The Revenant is haunted by Robert Elswit's stark, natural imagery

Maybe that's a bold claim to make, but this is a bold film. Anderson tears into the underbelly of America, reefing out hunks of progress to unearth that essential, unspeakable darkness. He's asking what kind of man it would take to build a nation of such contradictions, where success can be shared but failure is painfully individual- and potentially fatal. The film shudders with violence: America was built on bloodshed. PTA never celebrates that but he forces himself and the audience along with him to understand the necessity of violence when he's capturing a man who needs to believe it's true

Much of this comes from Day-Lewis. The extent to which he went method will always be a mystery but the pure mastery of his craft is undeniable. He erupts into great fits of rage, stews in quiet anger and schemes with venomous cunning. He never feels like an actor taking on a role, clawing his way out of the film like some sort of golem rising from the earth itself

The film feels dangerously, fiercely raw; even Jonny Greenwood's score bleeds out of the celluloid like unprocessed gas. It's rough and stark; if Magnolia was polished and elegant, then Blood is much more primal, driven entirely by instinct. He places man's great urges in his sights and brings them to the screen as viscerally as possible. He doesn't want you to watch it- he wants you to feel it. Even when civilisation gradually starts to creep in, it feels ugly, unnatural. Religion promises order but just ends up lending chaos another face. Even when the film jumps ahead to the 20s and a settled-down Plainview, it feels deeply wrong. He's hidden away from the world in a paradise of his own making, one that fits around him like a trap for a wounded animal

There Will Be Blood was such a striking vision for an artist who thrives on striking visions; each of his films feels like it takes place in its own specific universe, and Blood took that to another level. It's a film forged in the gooey magma of the modern American epic, cooling before our very eyes until sitting before the audience as a great black monolith to the evils of man and the wonders of cinema

The High Point: The opening, a surprising argument for PTA to make a silent film at some point

5. Let the Right One In (2008- Tomas Alfredson)

"I've been twelve for a long time"

If audiences are spoiled by a wealth of quality horror now, then spare a thought for the genre-minded moviegoers in 2008, left jaded by the endless procession of Saws and Hostels. There'd been a Descent or an Orphanage here or there, but on the whole, the genre was in a rut. And then, out of absolutely nowhere, Tomas Alfredson produced something that wasn't just scary- it was true. 

And while that's hardly a new thing now or in 2008, it made a change from the torture porn grot-fests of the mid-2000s that existed only to get a reaction. Let the Right One In is quiet. It's minimal, lean and oh-so-sad. It's the story of a lost boy and the only soul who seems to understand him. Set against a harsh, uncaring urban wasteland that's constantly consumed by cold, it's an unwelcoming film that asks us to watch as a young life tries and fails to thrive. And when warmth does arrive, it comes from a questionable source but is no less genuine.

Alfredson asks us to watch as this unusual friendship blossoms and an unbreakable bond is formed. It's deeply rooted in awful truth, but is shot with feeling- bleak as the world of the story is, the relationship at its centre is disarmingly heartfelt. It's unflinchingly, painfully honest; Alfredsen withholds the nasty details of murder but refuses to shy away from the messy realities of growing up. It's careful and austere, but when it lets those huge reservoirs of love flow, it's electric stuff

Along the way, the film does something genuinely interesting with the vampire as a cultural figure, not a reinvention as much as a reconfiguration. In the same year that Twilight came out and attracted mass cries of derision, Let the Right One In took it from a different angle. Eli was immortal but she wasn't angsty or broody, carrying herself with all the sad resignation of someone doomed to be a child forever more: she only exists to be outgrown

That's why Oskar's friendship is so vital to her; she knows it won't last and that she'll eventually outlive him, but for a fleeting moment, she gets to enjoy her endless childhood. And as their friendship evolves and goes to ethically questionable places, we're kept on board because we care too much about them not to be. The ending leaves them uncertain but the future still seems set. Oskar will inevitably assume the same role as Håkan and the cycle will continue, bloodily and tragically. Let the Right One in unfolds slowly and carefully. It rewards patience and investment with eerie, creeping thrills and quietly heartbreaking truths. Cinema like this is precious and rare. We need to make sure we look after it, because there may never be anything like it again

The High Point: The startlingly quiet pool scene stuns with all of its unseen gore

4. The Shape of Water (2017- Guillermo del Toro)

"If I told you about her, what would I say?"

From the start of his career, it was obvious that Guillermo del Toro loved monsters. From Cronos' bloodsucking grandfather to Pacific Rim's beastly kaiju through Devil's Backbone's ghost child and Pan's Labyrinth's mysterious faun, the beasts were always front and centre in del Toro's cinema. So perhaps it's no surprise that his tenth feature is a creature-feature romance hybrid. Even still, The Shape of Water felt purer than anything he had done before, like the movie he's been trying to make since day one

It's classy, elegant filmmaking with a genre filmmaker's heart beating at the centre, and it's clear that  del Toro worships Sirk and the Gillman in equal measure. The styles he blends were never mutually exclusive and del Toro weaves them together to make a beautifully cineliterate fusion. It's a lusty, passionate paean to movies; the scene where the fish man basks in the screen's glow acts as a mirror, reflecting not just del Toro but everyone who's been enchanted by his unique spell. The movies have given so much to him, and so he looks to give back

It's passionate without ever descending into fanboy worship- there's cutting commentary at work here too. As ever in del Toro's pictures, man is the monster, but there's more to it this time around: it's a love-letter to outsiders hidden in an acidic criticism of all-American bigotry. His Oscar win was a euphoric surprise, but it shouldn't have been. No film in the past decade has used the medium of cinema to so deftly and passionately deliver a parable about how badly we need to fix our broken hearts

Credit also to Sally Hawkins and Doug Jones, the latter playing a convincing romantic lead under a metric ton of makeup and the former doing the same without words. As always, the outsider rules in del Toro's world, and as they evade the cold eyes of Michael Shannon's fearsome colonel, they forge a relationship built on del Toro's pet themes that reminds us why he became fascinated with them in the first place

It's the kind of film that, even from the opening minutes, reveals itself as a masterpiece, promising whoever is fortunate enough to be watching it for the first time that it's about to deliver something truly special. It's such a warm, delicate piece of work, so rich and passionate and gentle, but del Toro is hard when he needs to be, injecting the film with sudden, sharp violence to make the stakes feel real. In doing this he reminds the characters and the audience that love is the most important thing and it is worth fighting for

But by the end, it emerges as a triumph, taking the compassion it finds in its smaller moments (an egg shared between lovers, a dance between friends, an act of kindness from a stranger) and magnifying them out into a story about what it means to see and be seen. It's the most personal del Toro has ever been, the product of a love affair with the movies that started with childhood memories of seeing Creature From the Black Lagoon and ended with this, a confirmation that he's the master of modern genre cinema. As if we needed it 

The High Point: As two lovers embrace, Giles reads a poem. A pure cinematic sonnet

3. Spirited Away (2001-Hayao Miyazaki)

"Oh what a pretty name! Be sure to take care of it dear"

After ending the 20th century on a triumphant note with Princess Mononoke, it seemed like Hayao Miyazaki had reached his peak. Where do you go when you've made your best film? Simple: make a better one. It's hard to pick a high point in Ghibli's catalogue, but Spirited Away does stand out as the moment where Miyazaki stopped being a master and became something more: a deity of both animation and international cinema

It immediately took the world by storm, becoming both the only non-English language film to ever win Best Animated Feature and a seminal text for dreamers the world over. It was like nothing before it and certainly like nothing Ghibli had done previously. It came at a point where Miyazaki could have delivered another My Neighbor Totoro or Kiki's Delivery Service and still attract acclaim, but it's to his credit as a great artist that he found a way to push the envelope even further and set a new standard for himself, his studio and his medium

The world is textured, nuanced and warm. It radiates creativity in every meticulously drawn frame, always finding ways to broaden its ever-expanding tale. The spirit world is a product of Miyazaki's infinite creative mind, working overtime to provide a constant flow of pure visual bliss, but he's got the storytelling credentials to back it up. He begins with a child, spoiled and insecure and wracked with uncertainty. But as it goes on, he gives Chihiro the wisdom she needs to let go of her childish worries and re-enter her life with the confidence and knowledge to reshape herself into the person she wants to be

Over the course of her journey, she loses her name and her identity and has to start from scratch. Every decision she makes brings her closer towards a future that she gets to decide for herself. She rebuilds herself completely, and in a world where far too many coming-of-age stories tell uncertain teens to `just be themselves`, Spirited Away makes a narrative decision that's slightly more difficult but infinitely more resonant. Growing up is a sequence of trying on different personalities to see what fits, and by removing Sen of the identity she's had through her childhood, Miyazaki forces her to start again, like everyone does on the cusp of adolescence

It's undeniably a masterpiece of fantasy storytelling, but the things that make it work are the fundamental truths, the reality that undercuts the fairy tale. It's cinema that transcends boundaries and embraces all audiences. It's not just great, it's enduringly great, and as long as it stays true, it will be handed down from generation to generation as the century's most essential fable

The High Point: On the train, Sen quietly reflects on her journey 

2. Amélie (2001- Jean-Pierre Jeunet)

"Amélie has a strange feeling of absolute harmony. It's a perfect moment. A soft light, a scent in the air, the quiet murmur of the city. A surge of love, an urge to help mankind overcomes her"

It's hard to draw a line through Jean-Pierre Jeunet's career. He went from bizarre black-comedy collaborations with Marc Caro to the studio dud that was Alien Resurrection to this: an unashamedly weird romantic comedy that found itself in the international mainstream and wound up becoming the toast of critics and audiences the world over. What's exciting though is that it doesn't feels like he had to adjust his style to make it work for a wider audience. Amélie is warmer and friendlier than Delicatessen or City of Lost Children but is just as odd; quirkiness is, after all, its chosen tenor

This is a film that introduces its characters through their ultra-specific pleasures. These details pool throughout the film and make its world feel so thrillingly alive. Take the cat who loves hearing children's stories, or the old man who opens his hatch to give comebacks to the speechless. And then there's the motifs that appear again and again, telling the story through their reoccurrences. Joseph's perpetual unhappiness and the Glass Man's inability to get the painting right are reminders that even the most structured worlds carry imperfections

But its oddities do hold weight. It's a film about kindness, about giving it to other people and watching it spread. About unexpected acts of love that multiply and breed joy. About a shy girl who finds a way to connect with the people around her and in turn find happiness for herself. It's twee but passionately so, deeply rooted in the magic of the world and its own good nature. The quirk comes hard and fast but it always feels true. It's also one of the century's best comedies, consistently drifting into sublime screwball bliss

The jokes are surreal and cartoonish- something that Jeunet brings from his first two films- but their off-the-wall-insanity seamlessly blends with the film's huge heart. There's no transition between funny and sweet, instead it's something that the film does with breathless agility and absolute sincerity. Everything the film says or does is expressed with pure, unrestrained feeling, and it's so easy to get lost in. By the end, it turns into an elating, almost exhausting experience purely from how deeply it involves its audience

But the key to this film's success is Audrey Tatou. Amélie is one of cinema's great heroes, determined to save the world one smile at a time. Her universe is so ultra-specific and packed with detail, magical and wonderful and overflowing with joy. It's a film that seeks to remind us that we're all we have, and that we're often better than we let ourselves be

The High Point: Joseph and Georgette's bathroom tryst puts even Delicatessen's sexual symphony to shame

1. Pan's Labyrinth (2006- Guillermo del Toro)

"You're getting older, and you'll see that life isn't like your fairy tales. The world is a cruel place. And you'll learnt that, even if it hurts"

And so it all comes back to Guillermo del Toro. By the time he made Pan's Labyrinth, he had already made a perfect comic movie and an essential ghost story. He was an established storyteller, a fabulist, a cinephile and a self-proclaimed master of horror. He had been open about his thoughts on the inherently political nature of genre cinema and the fairy tale. He had cut his teeth in special effects before graduating to moviemaking and telling singularly beautiful tales of monsters and men, and how easy it is to confuse the two. All of the ingredients were there and the timing was right- it was time for his masterpiece 

Pan's Labyrinth, like all great cinema, is almost impossible to describe on paper. It's such a heady fusion of imagery and ideas spun by someone who knows exactly what he's talking about that it really could only exist on film. It's an anti-establishment fairy tale that finds beauty and meaning in the darkest of places. It's a war story about the fragility of childhood innocence and the importance of storytelling; a horror story in the way that the real-life terror gradually starts to creep into Ofelia's paradise until her escapism becomes something to escape from

It's such a pure, passionate love letter to storytelling, a film that encompasses everything GdT holds dear about cinema and genre and the power of fiction. It deals with the harshest of realities to protect the most delicate human truths. Ofelia wears her imagination as armor, shielding herself from the world by escaping into her fortress of paper and ink. del Toro knows there's nothing stronger than childlike idealism, and dark as the film is, it's clear that he never lost his- it's plain to see in every inch of the frame

It's a film that is universally regarded as a modern masterpiece and it's not hard to see why. It's specific, and it's niche, and it belongs to del Toro, and that gives it great universality. Nobody else could have told this story but anyone can understand it. We all need stories in our lives. We rely on them to guide us and teach us and remind us what matters most. Obviously this list is an entirely subjective exercise, but to this writer, Pan's Labyrinth is the film of the 21st century

The High Point: Having spent the whole film trying, Ofelia finally returns to the underworld

Thanks for reading, and thank you for four years. They've been a blast

Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four Year Anniversary Special): Part 9 (20-11)

 20. Sideways (2004-Alexander Payne)

"I'm not a writer. I'm a middle school English teacher. The world doesn't give a shit what I have to say. I'm unnecessary. Ha! I'm so insignificant I can't even kill myself"

Coming just three months after the book it was based on, Alexander Payne's monument to male friendship, fragile masculinity and Pinot Noir was an instant classic, a jewel in the crown of American independent cinema. Looking back now, it's easy to see how it paved the way for most of the mumblecore classics that followed it, but Sideways still feels like an indie-unicorn. It's refreshing and well-aged, and watching it in 2020, there's detectable notes of humour, heartbreak and dogged, powerful love that all blend together seamlessly in dialogue that flows just as smoothly as Rolfe Kent's jazzy score. It's a passionate film, one that thrums with energy even when it's just observing the discussions between middle-aged friends over wine. But the heart of the film is the relationship between Paul Giamatti's Miles and Thomas Hayden Church's Jack. There's a real push-and-pull between them; two men who love each other enough to hate each other, who are constantly bickering but can't function on their own. Miles needs Jack to get him out of his own head as much as Jack needs Miles to save him from naked giants, spurned lovers, and ultimately, himself.

Through this, Payne untangles a tricky web and attempts to answer a difficult question: what does it mean to be a man? He's critical of Miles' neuroses and Jack's revelry in equal measure, and in stripping them back, he's handing them over to us. He takes down all of the defenses they hold up against the world, the barriers they use to protect them from each other and presents them in their purest forms. It's exciting, heartfelt stuff, and by the end, it does what the best road-trips do- gives us the space we need to step back and look at everything in perspective, before returning us to our lives relaxed, refreshed, and with a new outlook on things

The High Point: Miles' emotionally naked exploration of Pinot. "It's a tough grape to grow." Oof

19. Inside Llewyn Davis (2013- Joel and Ethan Coen)

"Everything you touch turns to shit, you're like King Midas' idiot brother"

If No Country For Old Men was the Coen Brothers shifting direction and finding a groove that's decidedly darker and more contemplative than their previous fare, then Inside Llewyn Davis sees them take that style to its absolute peak and hit a new career high point in the process. The argument over the pair's best film post-2000 may be endless, impassioned and bloody, but nothing they've put out this century has matched the pure power of Llewyn Davis. A heartsick folk-rumination on the creative process and the neverending cycle of failure, this is the Brothers at their most dour. It play like an existential horror movie, trapping Oscar Isaac's jaded hero in a cycle that he's not good enough to escape but too talented to break. He just can't make it on his own, and his punishment for his skill is to wander the snowy wastelands and just keep failing

Sound miserable? Well, yeah it sort of is, but it's propelled by that reliable Coen humour and a tight, circular structure that brings everything back around to glorious effect. It's the most emotionally frank they've ever been, completely laying bare the suffocating uncertainty that is being a creative. It's austere but never hopeless, not entirely anyway. Davis is always going to try again. He'll fail, of course, but in the struggle, he tells his story- a tale that's not new, but never gets old. Like a folk song, really

So maybe it's blasphemy to place it above No Country, or A Serious Man, or even Burn After Reading, but Inside Lllewyn Davis is nothing short of the Brothers' best film of the 21st century

The High Point: The ending, where a hard rain a-falls on Llewyn

18. Up (2009- Pete Docter)

"This is crazy. I finally meet my childhood hero and he's trying to kill us. What a joke"

First impressions are everything. Up opens with a relationship that unfolds and ends in just under ten minutes. It's sublime, pure emotional napalm that achieves what cinema does at its best. It's so good that many of the film's detractors argue that it peaks too early, that the story just can't recapture that magic. But maybe that's the point. When the scene ends and Carl is left grieving and alone, he's feels like the best is behind him. As the film goes on, he'll drag this monument to his past happiness to his own personal paradise in what is possibly the best metaphor for the grieving process in any medium. The real high point, and the payoff of the whole film comes later, and it's that moment that makes Up a masterpiece. It's a simple metaphor expertly realised by a team of artists who know that the best stories are the most universal, driven by heart, character, and an unquenchable spirit of adventure.

Up makes a case for the future, where the best adventures lie ahead. It's good to chase a dream but it's okay to let go, too- sometimes the letting go is the most crucial part. As for the past? It's not going anywhere, and as Carl ultimately learns, it's a nice place to visit, but it's no place to stay. That Pixar produces something so moving, intelligent and genuinely profound while simultaneously delivering delightful talking dogs and hilarious sight gags is a testament to their utterly singular genius. It's a film that starts with heartbreak and learns to let it go, involving the audience every step of the way. By the end, a new adventure begins, an ending that embraces the sweet catharsis of moving on. It's funny, it's poignant, it's heartbreaking and it's true; the best film that Pixar has put out in this or any other century

The High Point: Obviously the married life sequence, but don't underestimate the sheer, full-circle heartbreak of Carl opening Ellie's scrapbook up on Paradise Falls

17. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010- Edgar Wright)

"When I'm around you, I kinda feel like I'm on drugs. Not that I do drugs. Unless you do drugs, in which case I do them all the time. All of them"

Edgar Wright had already cemented himself as a cross-cultural icon, capable of bridging cinema, music, comic books and video games like no other filmmaker working today, but in 2010, he ascended to a new plane altogether. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is a millennial fever dream, blasting through the generic conventions of so many mediums as it scrambles wildly through its 112 minutes. It's a perfect adaptation of Bryan Lee O'Malley's graphic novels, nailing the takedown of adolescent pop-culture escapists while keeping the source's utter adoration for everything its referencing. It's a spot-on blend of straight-faced comedy and sensory-overload-visuals; it plays like the century's greatest cinematic dance record

It tanked at the box office, but of course it did: as soon as it hit it was destined for cult greatness. It's got quite possibly the most passionate following of any film on this list and for good reason- it speaks the same language as the media-fanatics who hoovered it up again and again when it dropped on Blu-Ray. It's a postmodern masterpiece, a film that understands the importance of these texts and how they relate to each other, but crucially knows exactly how they should play onscreen. It does this breathlessly and flawlessly, building a monument to nerd culture out of the very components it celebrates. It's a modern classic, endlessly quotable and rewatchable. It's a shame we don't get many blockbusters like this now. We didn't get any like it back then, either

The High Point: After haunting most of the film's first half, Envy Adams takes the stage

16. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014- Wes Anderson)

"You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilisation left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble insignificant... oh fuck it"

With a filmography like Wes Anderson's, it's hard to pick a definite high point. Regardless of personal preferences though, it's hard to argue that anything but The Grand Budapest Hotel is the film that best defines who he is as an artist. He's present in every detail; every wallpaper, uniform and prison cell is soaked in that utterly singular style he's been perfecting since Bottle Rocket. But he's also in the film's values: that mournful nostalgia for an era that never quite existed. Anderson is lamenting the lack of care that people are willing to settle for, and so he fights for specificity, for as much attention to detail as possible. It's delightfully quirky but quietly melancholic, and as he perfects every detail in this world he's built inside the film it's clear that he knows he's fighting a losing battle, that mass-produced blockbuster mediocrity will prevail

Pretentious? Surprisingly not, because Anderson isn't just mourning-he's celebrating too. If he takes down the lazy conveyor belt of the lowest-common denominator, then he holds up those who care enough to make sure that every detail is note-perfect. It's properly funny, genuinely heartfelt and surprisingly tragic. Zero's world is alive, and damn fun to inhabit. It's not eternal, but that's why it's special- its quiet destruction is proof that it existed in the first place. Like him or lump him, there's no one quite like Wes Anderson, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is the indelible, undeniable mark he's leaving behind on cinema and the world

The High Point: "I think his world had vanished before he had ever entered it" Zero's final assessment of Gustav. He could just as easily be talking about Anderson

15. Leave No Trace (2018- Debra Granik)

"The same thing that's wrong with you isn't wrong with me"

It's often said that less is more, that quiet gestures can say what a thousand words couldn't even begin to cover. But we live in a world of excess, of instant communication and information, where life moves at a breakneck speed that we couldn't even hope to catch up to again if we stopped. So thank god for movies like Leave No Trace. Debra Granik's gorgeous tale of a father and daughter struggling to adapt when their off-grid existence is challenged by conventional society is one of the most essential minimalist films of recent years, where huge outpourings of emotions are always shown, never told. It's a film about a wounded man who can't adjust to the world at large, and the gradual rift that creates with the daughter who wants to explore, to see what she's been kept away from her whole life

And yet, it rejects easy clichés. It's not interested in mining their situation for drama, and functions entirely as a character piece, a refreshingly small scale two-hander between Ben Foster and Thomasin McKenzie. He's the best he's ever been, hurt and haunted and communicating entirely through his eyes, but the highlight is McKenzie. Her star's been burning bright since the film's release but revisiting this is a reminder of how much of a find she was. She's the film's heart and soul, what takes a fairly low-key plot and elevates it to an absolute explosion of pure feeling. Peripherally the film also tackles how the system treats its most vulnerable members, but first and foremost it's a tale of the things we do for love. As the world gets smaller and movies get bigger, it's nice to be able sit back and escape into a film that's entirely rooted in the little things. Turns out less really is more

The High Point: The ending, which won't be spoiled here but plays like a low-key battering ram of pure emotion

14. Jojo Rabbit (2019- Taika Waititi)

"Fuck off Hitler"

There will inevitably be shocked gasps and cries of derision that Jojo Rabbit has placed 14 out of 100 on this list. And look, it's a divisive film, one that definitely won't work for everyone and that's fine: film is a subjective medium. However, Taikia Waititi's Nazi satire has been a favourite of this blog since it came out last year, so it was always guaranteed a spot in the list's upper echelons. Waititi's films have their unmistakable trademarks- young boys trying to understand the world, surreal humour, disappointing heroes- but even from its opening moments, something about Jojo felt different. Right off the bat, Waititi places us in Jojo's interesting world, where Hitler is a legendary hero and Nazi propaganda is hard fact. But bit by bit, the illusion is dissolving, and love is steadily triumphing over hate. Along the way is a deeply emotional story about a mother trying to protect her son from the forces trying to claim him, something that climaxes mid-film in the most heartbreaking way imaginable

It's also really, really funny. Waititi is using the Mel Brooks technique of using comedy to break down systems of hate, making them too silly to take seriously. He knows when to laugh, when to stop laughing, and when to double down on the gags, and he remixes these beats often. He's never just being solely funny or entirely serious, and his ability to switch on the fly mid-scene is more proof that he's one of the finest comedic minds right now. His performance as Hitler- a cartoonish portrayal that progressively becomes more and more horrifyingly real- is also incredible, the crux of the film's satirical bent. The whole cast are on-point, with special mention to Sam Rockwell, Thomasin McKenzie and Scarlett Johansson, but the film begins and ends with Roman Griffin Davis in what is unbelievably his screen debut. Ultimately, it's the work of a singular comic talent, and whichever of his seven upcoming projects comes to fruition first, you can guarantee they're all going to be something special

The High Point: Jojo and Elsa dance at the end of an era

13. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004- Michel Gondry)

"Why do I fall in love with every woman who shows me the least bit of attention?"

All of Charlie Kaufman's scripts feel like the products of a restless, eternally imploding mind. He may not be the most prolific of screenwriters but he's undeniably one of the most fascinating. Having already penned four scripts before 2004, Kaufman stepped into the spotlight once more in all of his psychologically tortured, structurally intricate glory to dish up his masterpiece. Eternal Sunshine is the story of a breakup, but played in reverse. As Jim Carrey's Joel relives his relationship from bitter split to tender beginnings, the film steadily builds a gorgeous portrait of the human psyche and the rhythms of love. It's inventively, intelligently realised by director Michel Gondry, but what's so striking about this movie in comparison to the rest of Kaufman's catalogue is how shot with feeling it is. He travels through the mind to explore the heart, and captures every little nugget of poignant wisdom along the way

It's surreal and funny and utterly gorgeous- the greatest breakup movie of the 21st century. But the apex of the film, the absolute greatest component of its unique spell is a never-better Kate Winslet. Her Clementine could have so easily succumbed to the trappings of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl and yet she doesn't. We understand her more as the film goes on and so does Joel- it's only when he begins to understand what went wrong that he realises who she is and how he can make it work on a second pass. It's a genius piece of screenwriting: showing us their relationship at its most toxic and broken before turning back the clock to remind us that it's a love too promising to stop fighting for. The film feels like Kaufman is playing an old record backwards in hopes that he'll find some secret new meaning. It's a beautifully psychological piece of work that is, ironically for a film about memory erasure, totally unforgettable

The High Point: The ending, where two lovers agree to try again

12. Arrival (Denis Villneuve)

"If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?"

At its best, cinema is a universal language; sound and vision can bridge cultural boundaries and remind us why we need movies. Arrival begins as a dissection of communication but gradually, subtly evolves into something deeper. Tied to its examination of language is an incredibly simple but painfully human question that forces us as an audience to look at the way we see the world, completely challenging our priorities and our relationship with time. It's fiercely cerebral but it's never cold, using its cutting insights to expose something so beautifully, essentially human. It opens in a similar way to Up, sowing a seed that it nurtures through its careful, intricately realised insights. It's such a simple, powerful film, a work of raw empathy

Crucially though, it never stops being about communication. As the film begins to dive headlong into its insights and become more and more cerebral, it shifts its focus but stays rooted in the same subject. It stops being a film about a woman learning to talk to aliens and steadily sees her learn to communicate with herself. That central dialogue between Banks and Abbott and Costello suddenly stops being an exchange of phrases and starts to become one of information. In that way, it mirrors the cinematic experience; we're divided by a screen and led to believe the communication is one way, but through the tools of empathy, perspective and understanding, we realise that it's not, that we get out of it exactly what we give it to begin with. It's a huge, breathtaking piece of work that demands to be viewed on the biggest screen possible, an astonishing vision of cinema in every possible way

The High Point: Banks figures it out

11. The Lobster (2015-Yorgos Lanthimos)

"It's no coincidence that the targets are shaped like single people and not couples"

Yorogs Lanthimos' English language debut is a funny one. It's a far-cry from both his previous Greek oddities and the awards big-hitters he'd go on to make- much warmer than the former and more jagged than the latter. And yet it's in this transition period that he released his purest vision of his take on cinema, a bizarre love story that takes place in an emotionally bankrupt near-future where singletons are turned into animals if they fail to find a partner. It makes use of all of the conventions he had come to master, from the deadpan humour to the austere tone and the tragic irony. It's abrasive and specific and cold, yet simultaneously overflows with seemingly out-of-place compassion. There's an argument to be made that Lanthimos is a filmmaker who doesn't know how to feel, but, watching The Lobster, that couldn't be further from the truth. Rather, it's the story of someone who feels so deeply that he doesn't know where to put it, something that Lanthimos frames with deepest empathy

Its comedy is blacker than black and its insights are cutting, but it does what all avant-garde art seeks to do at its best: challenge our rational perspective on the recognisable with something completely out of left-field. It's a take on love and relationships that's never quite made its way to the screen before, and Lanthimos runs with that, examining what it means to be animal to reveal what it is to be human. It's a beautiful oddity made by a creative mind in flux. His next film would be the similarly striking The Killing of a Sacred Deer, yet for all of that film's masterful machinations, it was undeniable that it just didn't have the same beating heart that The Lobster did. 2018's The Favourite was another Lanthimos masterpiece, but it couldn't recapture the film's uber-specific raw energy. The Lobster is a true cinematic magic trick, impossible to repeat or replicate

The High Point: The Ending. He's not... is he? 

Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four Year Anniversary Special)- Part 8 (30-21)

 30. Punch Drunk Love (2002- Paul Thomas Anderson)

"I have a love in my life. It makes mem stronger than anything you can imagine"

When asked what was next after his 1999 opus Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson replied that he wanted to make a 90 minute rom-com starring Adam Sandler. He wasn't joking. Punch Drunk Love is a beautiful oddity, a dreamy tale of romance and loneliness that's as sweet as it is unexpected. It's certainly a softer side of PTA, narrowing his expansive eye and switching his ensembles for a cast that's smaller but just as expertly drawn. Barry is one of his best creations, a wounded soul that Anderson thrusts forward without judgement. Everything slots into place exactly when it needs to, propelled by PTA's ever-reliable flow. The films is always moving, finding a unique rhythm early on and keeping it going until it's perfectly refined and utterly irresistible. It pinpoints feelings that are too specific to describe and too intense to put words on, and by doing so it does the best thing that cinema can do- after all, why say it when you can show it? But the MVP is Sandler, mining depths he hadn't previously- or since, for that matter. It was a watershed moment for the Sandman. It didn't stick, more's the pity, but for one fleeting instant, he was perfect

The High Point: "Shut UP!" The Mattress Man uncorks his rage

29. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018-Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman, Bob Peris)

"You're the best of all of us, Miles. You're on your way"

It seemed so unnecessary: did we really need another Spider-Man? After all, by 2018 there had been three webslingers, and an animated take on the character just didn't feel needed. Cue the greatest superhero film of the century. This was Spider-Man like never before: a take on the character that was a celebration and a reinvention in equal measure. There were Easter-eggs aplenty, and eagle-eyed fans will rejoice on repeat viewings, but the most exciting part of Spider-Verse was how new it felt. It's an old story through fresh eyes, and the film embraces that, approaching the Spidey-essentials from six different angles and making all of them work. It's so packed with detail but stays light on its feet, soaring along with an ace sense of humour and a real sense of warmth. More than anything else though, this is Miles' story- his quest to understand himself and protect the people he loves. He's such a likeable, relatable protagonist, and the film succeeds because it keeps him central to all of the scraps and superhero-ings. He's a reminder that a great hero can come from anywhere, and in a year where the world lost both Stan Lee and Steve Ditko, that was absolutely essential 

The High Point: Miles rises towards the city as he takes a leap of faith. Hear that? That's the sound of lockscreens everywhere being updated en masse

28. Oldboy (2003- Park Chan-wook)

"Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep and you weep alone"

Oldboy was right at home in the early 2000s, where the boom of Asian extreme cinema perfectly overlapped with Quentin Tarantino championing it in the mainstream. But something about Park Chan-wook's film felt different. True, it was highly stylised and full of crazy action, but it was darker, crueller and much more psychological. Much has been made of the film's twist but it's easy to forget just how brutal it is. Control and who wields it are crucial themes in Park's filmography anyway but Oldboy weaponises them, using them against the viewer in ways that aren't even clear until it's far too late. It's a masterful thriller doubling as a cinematic torture device, but it's not cold- quite the opposite, actually. It's uncomfortably human, starkly dealing in the horrible truths of the soul, and the more extreme it gets, the more real that becomes- what would you do in this situation? The game is rigged from the start, and Park laments that: he wants us to be better. It's not fair, but then again, the world isn't, and Oldboy uses that cruelty, wielding the worst of humanity to fight for the best of humanity

The High Point: That twist. Few filmmakers would have dared to do it, and fewer still would have done it so well

27. Inside Out (2015- Pete Docter)

"Alright! We did not die today. I call that an unqualified success"

Inside Out came at the right time. It hadn't been a bad decade for Pixar- Toy Story 3 started the 2010s as one of only three animated films to be nominated for best picture- but after Cars 2, Brave and Monsters University, it was easy to feel they were losing their touch. Cue this, a beam of pure joy. Literally. Inside Out is a marvel, a wise, funny and thoughtful exploration of the human mind brilliantly visualised by Pete Docter and co. It hits that sweet spot of being equally intelligent and fun- there's as many genuine insights into human psychology as there are goofy jokes about boyfriends in Canada. Most impressive of all is the message: sadness is a vital, necessary part of the human experience, and denying it is just as unhealthy as letting it rule. This "everything in moderation" approach to the spectrum of human emotion is a refreshing contrast to the vapid happy endings that far too many family films go for. It's a film that treats its younger viewers with respect and speaks to them honestly. It was proof positive that the minds behind the most accurate depiction of earworms onscreen weren't running out of ideas any time soon

The High Point: Bing-Bong's sacrifice

26. Nightcrawler (2014- Dan Gilroy)

"Do you know what fear stands for? False evidence appearing real"

Which came first, Nightcrawler, or the total implosion of news media? In the six short years since this film, the world has gone mad (was it ever sane?), and the ability to know everything instantly thanks to social media has created an insatiable urge for more. For something so recent, it feels so ahead of its time; it's scary because it's true. Dan Gilroy's city of angels-set shocker is such an uncomfortable, raw probing of the human quest for knowledge. Jake Gyllenhaal is unrecognisable but all too familiar as he scratches an itch that the world is too ashamed to admit it has. It's a film about how the most insidious evils are often the most essential, but it's also one of the greatest thrillers of the century in general, absolutely alive with electrical tension. Gyllenhaal's Lou Bloom is shameless, but we can't hate him, because ultimately, awful as what he does is, we'll always need him. Nightcrawler was never about the news, or the sins committed to make it. It was about us

The High Point: Bloom crosses every line to capture a freshly-committed murder

25. The Devil's Backbone (2001- Guillermo del Toro)

"A ghost is me"

"What is a ghost?" asks Fredrico Luppi's Caseres at the start of The Devil's Backbone. It's a question asked in variety of ways over the course of the film, and somehow comes up with a different answer every time. Regardless of definition, one thing is clear: there's a great pain at the centre of this story. Guillermo del Toro's third film was a return to form after his studio oddity Mimic, and it's a reliably fantastic take on all of his pet themes- childhood trauma, the evils of man, the dangers of authoritarianism. And yet something here feels much sadder than Cronos or Mimic, like del Toro has finally figured out his strengths and how he can use them to mine greater emotional depths. And if it's slightly rougher than his later fare, then that's okay too, maybe even better actually. It's the moment he became the filmmaker we know him as now, bouncing onto the world's stage with confidence and cineliteracy to create what is essentially a spooky fusion of Spirit of the Beehive and Stand by Me. It starts and ends with one question but actually ends up answering an entirely different one: "Why do we love ghost stories so much?" The answer? Because they're mirrors, reflecting back everything that's true

The High Point: Every time Santi appears but especially the first time

24. Boy (2010- Taikia Waititi)

"Don't call e dad, it sounds weird"

Taika Waititi's transformation into a cross-franchise renaissance man has been an impressive one to witness, but something about how small his sophomore feature is still resonates all these years later. It's not as polished as something like Thor: Ragnorok but it feels purer, like Waititi's not afraid to leave the curtain at half-hoist and show you the working-out in the margin. It's just such a joyous film, a celebration of youth and Maori identities that sparkles with the energy of someone with a palpable excitement for filmmaking. Again, this excitement would blend with the skills he picked up over time, but there's something so special about seeing it before it was refined. There's a real electricity to Boy, a film about the trials and tribulations of growing up and accepting that heroes are never as big as we make them. The theme of legends being cut down to size is a favourite of Waititi's, but never has it stung with such honesty as it does here. Boy's world is so alive with idealism, so when Waititi- and his character in the film- sow conflict through disappointment, it hits that much harder. It's bittersweet but leans into the wonder of it's world

The High Point: Boy welcomes us to his interesting world

23. Wild Tales (2014-Damián Szifron)

"Shoot this, Néstor!"

No film has captured the experience of a bad day better than Wild Tales. It's angry cinema, but deliberately leaves itself without a target for its rage. Instead, it bottles pure frustration and shakes it up until it's ready to burst, before re-corking it as it explodes and letting the process repeat. It works because it's relatable. The anger of the characters comes from recognisable places: road rage, cheating partners, mistakes that other people won't take responsibility for. It's a mirror for our worst urges, a fantasy about giving into rage in all of its cathartic glory. It's not a celebration of violence, and it never justifies what its characters do, but it ensures that the audience get it. Nobody wants to be angry, but everyone knows what it feels like, and the film knows that inside everyone is the potential for fury-fueled chaos. And there's something deeply rewarding in how the film portrays that with a crackling, unpredictable electricity. It's one of the darkest, most abrasive comedies of the last ten years, full-blooded, nihilistic but oh so human. Comfort cinema at its most warped and demented

The High Point: The wedding. For better or worse indeed

22. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019- Quentin Tarantino)

"It's official, old buddy. I'm a has-been"

Quentin Tarantino's ninth film was a tricky proposition- was he really going to restage the Tate murders? Thankfully, the film went the opposite direction altogether. Once Upon a Time isn't just Tarantino changing history; he's using cinema to reach through time and save a radiant light that was snuffed out too soon. He separates Sharon Tate from the horror she's remembered for and treats her memory with a love and reverence he hadn't shown previously. Along the way, he crafted a perfect hangout movie, a funny, warm and inviting romp through 1969 tinseltown, where Leonardo Di Caprio's washed-up Rick Dalton is one pool party away from redemption. It's the film that Tarantino's been making for his whole career, brilliantly realised detail-by-detail. The term "love-letter to Hollywood" was maybe overused upon its release but that's exactly what it is.... on the surface, anyway. As it progresses, it becomes more mournful, a warm-hearted but melancholy tale of the end of an era, and a side of Hollywood we may never see again. As for the man behind the camera? Who knows what he'll do next, or if it'll be his last film- all we can do is step back and call him what he is: a genuine one-off

The High Point: "Uh, can I help you?" Cliff  and Rick stab, smash and scorch history into a different shape

21. Train to Busan (2016- Yeon Sang-ho)

"Will someone come to rescue us?"

The mistake people make with horror is trying to make it nasty. Too many genre-misfires fall into the trap of trying to outdo each-other's squick factor and losing what makes it so special along the way. Train to Busan, on the surface, is an honest, straightforward zombie film, but as it plays out, it becomes something else altogether: a plea for human goodness. It goes without saying that a film about a deadly infection where people need to look out for each other or die is going to resonate now more than ever, but watching Train to Busan in a post-COVID world has taken away none of its ability to thrill. It's snaredrum-taut and furiously paced, but every scare works because they're backed up by genuine emotion and real stakes. It's a film about the fight for the future with some relentless thrills, but at its core, it's about a father trying to leave behind a better world for his daughter. The future's not bright, but it is hopeful, and although the human race is capable of great selfishness and cruelty, that doesn't mean it's not worth saving

The High Point: The ending, where a little girl's song saves the world