10. The Florida Project (2017- Sean Baker)
"I can always tell when adults are about to cry"
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
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
6. There Will Be Blood (2007- Paul Thomas Anderson)
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.
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
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
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
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 pull6. 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
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
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