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

Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four Year Anniversary Special)- Part 7 (40-31)

40. Submarine (2010- Richard Ayoade)

"Submarine is an important film. Watch it with respect. Fond regards from your protagonist, Oliver Tate"

Between writing books, presenting travel shows and making cameos in modern Brit classics like Paddington 2 and The Souvenir, it almost seems unfair to demand that Richard Ayoade return to filmmaking. But his absence has been felt in the seven long years since The Double, and rewatching Submarine in the years in between is a reminder that he's such a unique, essential talent when he's behind the camera. It's coming of age done right, untouched by adult cynicism and entirely driven by the misguided forces of the teenage mind. It was angsty and twee, but in a raw way. Ayoade didn't process it through the sensibilities that come with age, and as such it feels like a film driven by instinct, intuition, and most importantly, experimentation. It's a film made by and about the things we learn from cinema, an energetic tribute to the French New-wavers that Ayoade owes such a debt to. It's pure big-screen bildungsroman, gorgeously unpolished and jaggedly funny

The High Point: Paddy Considine's dodgy guru giving a bizarre talk on the powers of light

39. 25th Hour (2002- Spike Lee)

"No, fuck you Montgomery Brogan. You had it all and you threw it away, you dumb fuck"

Spike Lee's films are angry. We all know that, and we all know why, but I think less attention is given to how he articulates his rage. 25th Hour, a film that stops so its hero can say "fuck you" to everyone in New York, is undoubtedly Lee's most outwardly aggressive movie. The story of a man's last day of freedom before a seven-year sentence, 25th Hour is abrasive from the start and never lets up. It's the story of a city left reeling after unspeakable tragedy (no film has captured post 9/11 NYC better), but under the fury is something so profound and true, something I'm not sure he's really matched since. Every time the film punches, it leaves another stroke of feeling in the sting. It starts with rage, but there's sadness, and guilt, regret and shame and love and joy and fear and frustration and longing. It's the most emotionally nuanced Lee's ever been, and regardless of how you feel about him as a filmmaker or as a person, there can be no doubt that we'll never see his likes again

The High Point: The ending, where Monty sees a life he won't get a chance to live

38. Mulholland Drive (2001- David Lynch)

"It'll be just like in the movies. Pretending to be somebody else"

There's a debate that makes the rounds online every so often about the third season of Twin Peaks- TV or film? And while personally the answer's pretty obvious, it raises a good point about David Lynch and his ability to transcend mediums. Mulholland Drive started life as a TV pilot, before spending two years morphing into what it is now: an expansive, elusive Hollywood nightmare. The timeless tale of an industry that devours young women and spits them out as unrecognisable monsters, it's a film rooted firmly in dream logic and driven by striking imagery but what really lingers is the haunting eroticism. Lynch breaks down the Hollywood dream machine like his trademark curiosity is caught between a beautiful fantasy and sinful reality, and although the term "Lynchian" has been regularly (mis)used since, there hasn't been a purer example of his weirdness than this. He takes our obsession with cinema and perverts it before our very eyes, forcing us to submit to the dark truth- the shadows cast by the projector's light

The High Point: Winkies Diner: the setting for the greatest jumpscare of all time

37. The Favourite (2018- Yorgos Lanthimos)

"Some wounds do not close. I have many such. One just walks around with them and sometimes one can feel them filling with blood"

No one disrupts conventions better than Yorgos Lanthimos. With The Favourite, he reframes both queer cinema and the period piece with one gleefully weird stroke, and has a damn good time doing it. He loosens up a little after 2017's The Killing of a Sacred Deer, allowing his trademark surrealism to be a little more overt and a lot more playful. Emma Stone and Rachel Weisz are incredible as scheming rivals vying for the queen's heart, but it's Olivia Colman's Oscar winning turn that makes this film so special. She's a tragic, wounded figure, and ultimately, she just wants to be loved. Lanthimos always gives his stories quietly devastating undertones and here's no different, although it's hard to remember any of his film's feeling quite this heartsick. It's an expert arrangement of fish-eye lenses, gorgeous classical music and bizarre imagery (Duck races! Breakdancing! Men getting pelted with tangerines!) but under the quirkiness and the black humour is a lush reservoir of pure emotion. For his next trick? Who knows, but whatever he does, I hope he carries over the same level of delicately assembled feeling, because it really suits him

"This is not going to happen again" said Olivia Colman in her (incredible) Oscar speech, but I wouldn't be so sure. Hail to the queen

 

The High Point: Rachel Weisz' incredible insult to Nicolas Hoult. Does he smell like a 97 year old French whore's vajuju? We may never know....

36. Holy Motors (2012- Leos Carax)

"Trois! Douze! Merde!"

Holy Motors arrived as an oddity. It was Leos Carax's first film for 13 years, during which he tried and failed to get it off the ground in an attempt to regain his cinematic foothold. He hopped from financer to financer, breaking his own rule and shooting on digital to make his film more appealing. In the end, it all paid off. This is the work of a man on the edge, driven to madness by an idea that he needs to articulate. The result is impossibly weird, but oh so watchable. The story of a shapeshifter let loose in Paris, Holy Motors belongs to Carax. It's the film that resurrected him as an artist and defined him as one of the industry's strangest characters, but what's really striking is how much of himself he's giving over to the viewer through the screen. This is his relationship with cinema, pure performance that wriggles out of his brain and into the spirit of his go-to leading man- the formidable Denis Lavant. His Mr. Oscar gets up to so many nocturnal shenanigans that range from hilarious to disturbing to deeply sad, but the film never feels like hard work, refusing the Rorschach-test route taken by all too many filmés-du-Cannes (looking at you, JLG). It's personal, it's beautiful, and it's insane. There's only one Leos Carax, and we need to make sure he keeps telling stories

The High Point: Mr. Oscar leads a band of accordionists through the catacombs

35. Little Miss Sunshine (2006- Jonathon Dayton, Valerie Faris)

"I want to fly, I'll find a way to fly. You do what you love and fuck the rest"

There's a moment near the end of Little Miss Sunshine where Toni Collette's jaded Albuquerque mother realises that, after a whole film of telling herself that everything's going to be okay, her put-upon family actually will be alright. It's a beautiful moment, and the kind of thing that makes Little Miss Sunshine stands out in a sea of quirky, post-Tenenbaum dysfunctional family indie-pics. Every Hoover is well drawn, each of them so immediately loveable and relatable and easy to root for. It's an underdog story in the truest sense, following a family of losers through a world of winners. They win when they concede- they'll never be the best.... but who cares? They have each other and that's all that matters. It's so warm and generous and unashamedly big hearted. In a time, world and genre where everything is broken down and held up against what's "normal", Little Miss Sunshine comes to a vital conclusion- it's all bullshit. 

It also made a star of Paul Dano, and that's no bad thing

The High Point: The final dance scene. Hang on, I just got something in my eye

34. Shutter Island (2010- Martin Scorsese)

"Which would be worse- to live as a monster, or to die as a good man?"

What's that about old dogs and new tricks? Shutter Island isn't exactly Martin Scorsese's horror film- he has yet to fully submerge in those waters- but it was a sign that this stalwart of cinema wasn't adverse to dipping his toe in the reservoir of genre. Shutter Island takes its cues from lush melodrama (Powell and Pressberger, Sirk), hardboiled noir (classic and neo) and gothic horror (there's a lovingly James Whaleian touch at work), but it's still classic Scorsese. After all, what is he if not the medium's most passionate archivist? Thrillingly, that comes through in his work, here more than ever: an engrossingly cineliterate blend of tones and nods that could only come from the work of a maestro. The first watch yields thrills and surprises aplenty, but the magic kicks in on repeat viewings and picking up on how the truth is translated into minute details and peppered throughout the film is a real joy. Often unfairly dismissed as "lesser Scorsese", the years have been remarkably kind to Shutter Island, and it still sparkles all these years later

The High Point: The film literally ends with a question. And then a thousand more

33. The Social Network (2010- David Fincher)

"You're going to go through life thinking girls don't like you because you're a nerd. And I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that that won't be true. It'll be because you're an asshole"

In 2010, The Social Network was a masterpiece, a dark-hearted zeitgeist that channeled all the anxieties of the early days of Facebook into a beautifully assembled modern classic. In 2020, it's equally brilliant, but much more disturbing- a horrible cinematic prophecy that we failed to listen to. Fincher and Sorkin saw through Zuck's loveable-nerd façade just as he was crossing into the mainstream, but the film doesn't play like an exposé. Instead, it's a modern tragedy, an attempt to understand the minds behind progress, before finally asking if the advancements were even worth it at all. It's kinetic cinema, powered by Sorkin's punchy screenplay and Fincher's clockwork-precise direction. The performances kill, the highlight being Andrew Garfield's tragic Eduardo, but credit to Jesse Eisenberg for capturing the cold, merciless precision of Zuckerberg, rejecting the geek who'd been thrust in the public eye and painting him as pure evil in a pair of flip-flops. 10 years later, it's hard to imagine a more perfect portrait of a 21st century monster

The High Point: Best. Opening. Ever

32. The Host (2006- Bong Joon-ho)

"I mean she died, but she's still alive"

The Host is not about America. Well it is, but not in the way the opening suggests. The USA isn't the monster in Bong's film, but it is the source- providing the perfect circumstances to birth the film's fearsome river beast. It's a scathing comment on America's foreign policy, where other countries become literal dumping grounds, and as for the disasters that follow? Well that's their problem. And yet The Host isn't an angry film. It deals with big, socially charged ideas but it's also shot with love- after all, it is about a father desperately trying to save his daughter. It's also a perfect monster movie, fast and thrilling and smart. It takes its cue from Jaws in how the monster exposes our greatest foibles and forces us to be better. It's one of the most roaring horror films this century, never sacrificing thrills for smarts and imbuing both with pure genre-riffic electricity. Watching this film now, it's no surprise that Bong blew up like he did; the film plays out like the energetic battleplan of a firebrand on his way to take over the world. And so he did

The High Point: The beast hangs on the bridges underbelly.... and then..... it drops!

31. Inglourious Basterds (2009- Quentin Tarantino)

"And y'all will get me one hundred Nazi scalps, taken from the heads of one hundred dead Nazis. Or you will die tryin'"

Quentin Tarantino has been making films for 28 years this year. That's a strange thought, isn't it? Love him or hate him, it's hard to think of a filmmaker who so distinctly announces his personality with each film he makes. Inglourious Basterds is still something of an oddity. By 2009, we knew who QT was: a needle-dropping, exploitation-cinema-riffing film obsessive who'd talk you to death if you met him at a party. But Inglourious Basterds suggested something wild: Could he be a historian? The answer is obviously not, but it's such a fun showcase of cinema's relationship with the past that the facts just don't matter. It's wildly, gleefully inaccurate; Tarantino didn't like the world's version of history so he just wrote his own. That's a frustrating, arrogant proposition, one that only an artist with QT's abrasive swagger could have pulled off. The film itself is stunning too: a best of compilation of Tarantino's trademark verbal warfare and some lovely Hitchcockian tension. It's brash, it's crass and it's insanely violent- but it's bold, striking and utterly unforgettable, too

The High Point: Fassbender in the pub. And he would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for those meddling Nazis

Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four Year Anniversary Special)- Part 6 (50-41)

 50. Brokeback Mountain (2005- Ang Lee)

"Tell you what... the truth is... sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it"

Ang Lee has spent the last ten years pushing the boundaries of what can be achieved on a technical level, but part of me misses the days when he was unmatched in making warm, witty character pieces on huge canvases. Brokeback has unfairly found itself the butt of so many jokes but nothing can extinguish this film's raw, deep-seated power. Lee has so much in his sights- American society, masculinity, homophobia and the violence it spawns- but at its core, it really is a love story, so tender and well-observed. It's set against an American west that is slowly giving in to urbanisation, the American cowboy suffering a horribly quiet death-by-civilisation, and yet it's not hopeless; dark as the circumstances the two lovers find themselves in get, there's always warmth and solace to be found in each others' embrace. In fact, by the end, the only regret I have with this film is the same one that Jack and Ennis feel themselves: that those glorious moments couldn't have lasted forever

The High Point: "I wish I could quit you" Oof.

49. Blackkklansman (2018- Spike Lee)

"With the right white man, we can do anything"

You'd be forgiven for thinking that Spike Lee came up with the story of Ron Stallworth himself, not just because it's (almost) too wild to be true, but because it fits so comfortably into the groove he's been carving for over three decades. But, no, it's 100% real, based on Stallworth's 2014 memoir of the same name. 29 years after the groundbreaking Do the Right Thing, Spike Lee was more furious than ever, and you could hardly blame him. Despite the fact that it's a period piece, Lee imbues the film with a uniquely modern spirit: a primal scream for the Black Lives Matter era capped off with a direct condemnation of Trump, a bold cocktail that Spike ignites before flinging it at the establishment. He's expressing deep frustration at a country that ardently refuses to change, but there's sadness there too, a lament for a system doomed to repeat the same mistakes again and again. It's not subtle, but neither is the threat it's tackling, and if he did it any other way, it certainly wouldn't have worked as well as it does. Blackkklansman is urgent viewing that's only become more relevant in the wake of this Summer's protests. A cinematic battlecry

The High Point: The Charlottesville epilogue hits hard, now more than ever

48. What We Do in the Shadows (2014- Taika Waititi, Jemaine Clement)

"Some people freak out a bit about the age difference. They think, "What's this 96-year-old lady doing with a guy four times her age?""

The year is 2014. Flight of the Conchords has been finished for half a decade, Taikia Waititi is just an up-and comer hot off the back of his sophomore feature and the idea of an FX TV spin-off is but a far-off fantasy. A lot has changed in the six years since, but What We Do in the Shadows has remained an irresistable constant, an eternally hysterical mockumentary that begins as Christopher Guest with fangs and ends up being kind of a game-changer for modern comedy. It's pure, gleeful fun, a non-stop barrage of gags that just get better as the film progresses. There's no subtext, no satire, no target to the jokes, and that's okay: sometimes it's nice to just sit back and laugh. And behind every joke is a huge reservoir of passion, so much love and faith poured into every idea. It's a far cry from the cynical comedies that all-too-often come out of the studio system, like the team behind it are behind the curtain the whole time to soak up every laugh. It's like the perfect comedy showreel, and it's no surprise that Clement and Waititi have gone from strength to strength since

The High Point: Werewolves, not swearwolves

47. Swiss Army Man (Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinart)

"If my best friend hides his farts from me then what else is he hiding from me, and why does that make me feel so alone?"

The term "rules of screenwriting" has always seemed ludicrous to me. Swiss Army Man, a film about a magical corpse and "written by Daniels", seems tailor-made to avoid any kind of easy categorisation, flying in the face of any there-are-only-seven-stories theory. It's a gorgeously specific poem performed in an unravelling mind, sometimes profound, often hilarious but always on the film's utterly singular wavelength. It starts ridiculous but steadily begins to dispense great truths about loneliness, friendship and the power of farts; the Daniels know how crazy their concept is but prove that, with the right level of commitment, anything can be beautiful. The sillier it gets, the more seriously they take it, and it's all the better for it, finding nuggets of wisdom along the way. It's raw creativity wonderfully realised, bolstered by a huge beating heart. Quirky but sincere, no film this century has captured the glee of unexpected friendship better. Still need a reason? How about Daniel Radcliffe giving his best performance to date as a bloated, gassy cadaver?

The High Point: Manny spews up water for a thirsty Hank. What are friends for, eh?

46. Catch Me If You Can (2002- Steven Spielberg)

"Two little mice fell into a bucket of cream. The first mouse quickly gave up and drowned, but the second mouse, he struggled so hard that he eventually churned that cream into butter and he walked out. Amen"

It's funny how much we've come to take Steven Spielberg for granted. True, his 21st century output isn't on par with his 70s/80s run, but it says a lot about how cinema's developed that now he's just... kind of there. But don't write off everything he's done since 2000, because Catch Me If You Can is pure Amblin magic. It's a 50s style melodrama that plays like a rollercoaster ride, a heady blend of tones that is by turns lush and slick, but what's really remarkable is that, more than anything else, it's still Spielberg. His inspirations are clear but this is no imitation, and all the hallmarks of his hot streak- fathers and sons, uniquely big-screen thrills, a palpable sense of heart undercut by dark truth- are as present as they've ever been. This is Spielberg the showman, the storyteller spinning yarns that are larger than life, far removed from the awards-season heavyweights he'd started to pump out at the time. And while that's what he continues to do now (with the occasional BFG or Ready Player One to shake things up), I can't help but miss the old Spielberg, the merchant of wonder that makes big-screen magic look effortless. Catch Me If You Can is a reminder of what he can do at the height of his powers, and it is glorious

The High Point: "Frank, look. Nobody's chasing you" 

45. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015- George Miller)

"I live, I die, I live again!"

It would have been easy for George Miller to rest on his laurels in the 21st century, sit back on his legacy and just make another Happy Feet every few years. The dancing penguin-duology had made up the whole of his post-millennium output up to that point, so his return to his seminal post-apocalyptic saga was as welcome as it was surprising. Fury Road isn't a reboot, a rehash of the past for guaranteed success; it's a man taking his legacy, cracking it open, and reshaping the genre-defining innards to set a new standard for action cinema. In many ways it's the Mad Max film, if not the definitive Miller film. It continues in the same direction as the original trilogy but also sidelines Max for a fullblooded feminist allegory and refuses to sacrifice its soul for the sake of thrills. Speaking of, how about that action, huh? Every scrape feels like millions of tiny individual pieces working in perfect unison to create something bigger, and where lesser action films feel dangerously polished, Fury Road leaves the roughwork in, just practical enough to let the audience appreciate the sheer feat of engineering it is. Hardy and Theron are ace of course, but the MVP is editor Margaret Sixel, as integral to the film's success as either of its hardened heroes

The High Point: Furiosa falls to her knees and laments for her home

44. Children of Men (2006-Alfonso Cuarón)

"As the sound of the playgrounds faded, the despair set in. Very odd, what happens in a world without children's voices"

The only thing scarier than the fact we're kind of living in the future of Children of Men is the fact that it's not even due to happen for another seven years. Alfonso Cuaron's parable of a Britain brought to its knees by a global health crisis and destroyed by its foreign policy is depressingly relevant but never bleak, always chasing the defiant hope hiding behind the horizon. Hope's the key word- Cuaron may be dealing in apocalyptic eventualities but he's an ardent believer that the human race will save itself. So much time is put into creating a world that's so plausibly finished, so socially and morally bankrupt that when he turns around and assures us that all is not lost, it's glorious stuff. It's a hard, draining watch, but at its centre is a delicate, impossibly powerful truth: birth is a miracle, and the key to saving the human race is just to keep it going. 

It's wonderful dystopia, brought to life by the sloped-shoulders of Clive Owen and the Emmanuel Lubezki's mind-boggling cinematography. This isn't dystopia that wants you to roll over and wallow in the earth's destruction. Quite the opposite, actually. Long as we can keep living, we will

The High Point: The ceasefire, as a warzone comes together to marvel at the impossible

43. Our Little Sister (2015- Hirokazu Kore-eda)

"I want to stay forever"

The careful, tactile worlds of Hirokazu Kore-eda were well established before and since Our Little Sister, but his 2015 opus just feels like the perfect storm of everything that makes him who he is as a filmmaker. A gorgeous study of family and the things it's built upon, Our Little Sister is a big warm hug of a film, playing out entirely naturally and catching magic almost by accident. It's so full of love, so unmistakably and distinctly warm in the way that only Kore-eda can be, and that's what makes it so special. There's no conflict, no big turning point and not even much of a plot, just four sisters caring about each other, but it's hard to think of another onscreen family whose company is this inviting. It's the kind of film that, ideally, wouldn't end, and by the time it does, it feels like it's over too soon. There's so much power in the preparing of meals, the everyday routines that play out like little measured acts of love, and Kore-eda revels in that, building a world of gestures that is as masterfully composed as it is infinitely comforting. Even in the wake of 2018's gorgeous Shoplifters, it's still Kore-eda's best

The High Point: Lily Franky's screentime is brief but it is glorious

42. Sexy Beast (2000- Jonathon Glazer)

"If there's a will, and there is a fucking will, there's a way, and there is a fucking way"

In a world where "British gangster film" seems to be progressively morphing into a synonym for "hardmen dropping c-bombs and mistreating women", Sexy Beast stands out as something of an oddity. Sure, there's tough guys and profanity, but there's also demons and psychopaths and jokes. It's a surreal voyage through the sun-soaked hellscape that Ray Winstone's doughy ex-safecracker finds himself trapped in, packed with sludgy symbolism and acidic wit. It's one of those rare screenplays that turns the act of swearing into its own kind of artform, every eff and jeff carefully composed into an unholy symphony. But the core of this film, the dark heart that beats at a worrying pace, is Ben Kingsley, on top form as Don Logan, the human manifestation of hell itself. In a genre that's all too often becoming depressingly crass and laddish, the heart-on-sleeve surrealism of Sexy Beast stands as a monument to rule-breaking cinematic excess and unapologetic weirdness. 

The High Point: The Stranglers + an overbaked Ray Winstone + boulder-cam = a perfect opening 

41. No Country For Old Men (2007- The Coen Brothers)

"And in the dream I knew that he was goin' on ahead and he was fixin' to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up..."

The Brothers Coen had built a career on darkly comedic, idiosyncratic tales of desperate people and bizarre circumstances, so their 2007 adap of Cormac McCarthy's bleak neo-western novel seemed like a left-field offering. After all, their last film before this was 2004's The Ladykillers, so something this bleak and hopeless almost felt outside of their wheelhouse. We all know what happened next: accolades, acclaim and another stellar chapter in the most impressive back catalogue in modern American cinema. It was a step in a new direction for the Brothers, a colder, more mechanical take on some of their favourite themes (morality, death, chance), but something felt different this time; it was sharper, darker and more precise than anything they had done previously. The suffocating, relentless atmosphere of this two-hour chase is brought to life by the dead-eyed, granite-faced Javier Bardem (whatever the opposite of a film's heart and soul is, he's it), and ultimately leavened by one of the most powerful endings of the last two decades. It's a modern classic, and one of the pair's finest films. 

Moral of the story? Don't doubt the Coens

The High Point: Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff recounts his dreams, bringing the film to a beautifully open conclusion

Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four-Year Anniversary Special)- Part 5 (60-51)

60. Her (2013-Spike Jonze)

Sometimes it's tempting to trace a line between life and art. In the case of Spike Jonze's heartsick story of love and isolation, it's hard to put his split from Sofia Coppola aside, especially when his portrait of a recently divorced man searching for some sort of meaning is so nuanced and raw. Her is emotional dystopia, so warm and inviting on the surface that, by the time we see the calculated emptiness at work, it's far too late. And yet it's so big-hearted and honest, a shimmering beacon of light against a world that feels so lonely. It's about love in the most literal way, what we put into it, what we get out of it and how we're shaped and reshaped in the process. Jonze never takes the easy way out, never once playing it cool or hanging back emotionally. He sifts through the wreck of a future that struggles to communicate, charting a relationship that shouldn't make sense but does, hanging everything on the weary face of Joaquin Phoenix and the endlessly expressive voice of Scarlett Johansson. 

A film about a man shagging his PC? Not even close. Her is a wonderfully told story about learning to love yourself in a world that's suddenly feels a lot less familiar

The High Point: Honestly? Any time Amy Adams is onscreen

59. House of Flying Daggers (2004- Zhang Yimou)

I think the trap that too many tepid actioners fall into is that they see the scraps and setpieces as a means to an end, an empty gesture that only exists to notch up cheap thrills. All the more reason to come back to Zhang Yimou's martial arts opus, then. If Crouching Tiger remixed wuxia's basic components for a new century, then House of Flying Daggers redefined them, carrying on from Yimou's own Hero to add to his repertoire of modern action gems. Every fight here is a work of art, from a breathless battle in a bamboo forest to a heart-stopping one-on-one on a snowy plain. The story is lean and the pacing is taut- all the better to ensure that every gorgeously rendered setpiece takes centre stage. Yimou's painter's eye has never had a better showcase, with every fight feeling like a carefully constructed composition. It also has something that too few action films seem to have now: a sense of genuine astonishment that builds with every stunt

The High Point: Stunning as the fights are, it's the Echo Game that blows my mind every time I watch it

58. The Wrestler (2008- Darren Aronofsky)

Before he took to adapting the good book with Noah and mother!, Darren Aronofksy was unparalleled in his deep dives into the minds of the obsessed. Top of the pile is The Wrestler, his soulful, wounded take on washed-up bruiser Randy "The Ram" Robinson. It's painfully existential, a portrait of a man unable to do the only thing he's good at, so crushingly inept at everything else (holding down a steady job, maintaing a healthy relationship, being a decent father), that he has no choice but to eye up an inevitable return to the ring, where certain destruction awaits. The Wrestler is a hard film to talk about, because it's so taut, tightly wrapped around one of the most uncomfortable human truths: our skills can betray us, leaving us totally useless. It's such a painful piece of work, a raw, raspy primal scream of a film. Mickey Rourke is perfection as The Ram, a lost man looking for some sort of solace. Throw in an ace Bruce Springsteen track over the credits and you've got a winner

The High Point: Mounting the ropes for the last time, Robinson ram jams his way off the mortal coil

57. Nebraska (2013- Alexander Payne)

A lot can change in 17 years. Alexander Payne burst onto the scene in the indie cinema boom of the mid 90s, and while it's easy to be cynical about the twee curiosities that have come out of Sundance in the two decades since, the truth is that Payne's bitingly funny deconstructions of masculinity didn't actually age all that badly, and Nebraska is pure Election-calibre magic. A push and pull between (chaotic) father and (neurotic) son, Nebraska is a cinematic beat-poem about the things we do for love. There's so much about small-town America in this film, how backwater towns dream together and scheme together, but Payne doesn't judge- money might not be able to buy happiness but it certainly doesn't hurt. But at its core, it is a father/son story: about getting older and holding onto your independence just as much as it's about the thin line between generosity and obligation. It's got the tenderness and honesty of a wise auteur with all the wit and energy of a young firebrand

The High Point: Woody's last hurrah as he "drives" back through town

56. Lost in Translation (2003- Sofia Coppola)

Lost in Translation starts when it ends; that magical, playfully elusive whisper between two unlikely friends marks the beginning of the film's captivating spell. Much has been made of that moment, but I think it only works so well because the film before it is so uniquely, unexpectedly charming. It begins as a simple story of being a stranger in a strange land, but it's so much more- a film about what it's like to lose yourself in a world you thought you recognised. That extends into the narrative and out of the screen: an empathetic parable about realising that maybe you don't understand yourself as much as you thought. It's droll without being dry, cozy but never cuddly, poignant but absolutely not pretentious, a two-hander where a pair of lost souls connect by chance and see their lives changed forever. Scarlett Johansson is ace but the standout is Bill Murray giving the performance I'm sure will define him, wearily caught between the past and future and utterly unable to see what's happening in the present. For a relaxing time, make it Lost in Translation time

The High Point: The warm, vulnerable karaoke scene

55. Four Lions (2010- Chris Morris)

No good joke is ever "too soon". Four Lions sounds horrendously tone-deaf on paper- a comedy about a group of jihadis planning an attack? No thank you. And yet, like all good satire, it's a film that's so funny, so enduringly funny, because so much of it is true. Just because the film is silly doesn't mean it's not important, and in the years since its release, where the threat it's laughing at has become progressively more real, it's only become funnier, and ultimately, more crucial. After all, what better tool to strip a threat of its fear factor than unrelenting mockery? Speaking of, for all the weight behind it, Four Lions is undoubtedly one of the funniest films that's come out in the last twenty years, with joke after joke about exploding ravens and fun-runs-gone-wrong. Every gag feels like another nick at a group that so desperately wants you to cower before them. By the end, Morris has rendered them so utterly ridiculous, disarming them of their greatest weapon with the comedic equivalent of death by a thousand cuts

The High Point: The wonderfully unfortunate negotiation. Forget it Waj, it's Rubber Dinghy Rapids

54. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017- Martin McDonagh)

Three Billboards, depending on who you ask is either the pinnacle of Martin McDonagh's career or a totally misjudged misfire that botches it's weighty social comment. I've spoken about this film extensively enough for you to know I'm the former, and personally I think if it provokes you, then it's succeeded in what it sets out to do. McDonagh's film is an outsider's take on the failings of the American justice system, something that hasn't gotten any less relevant in the three short years since its release. It's angry, confrontational cinema, fueled by mournful fury and helmed by a trio of astonishing performances, but what really stuns is the deep vein of compassion that runs through it. McDonagh seems determined not to turn this into a film about hate, keeping the focus on rage and pain but crucially letting disarming flashes of love creep through as well. McDonagh is mourning for a world that let itself go to ruin, and watching it in 2020, it's more incendiary than ever

The High Point: Three letters, three cries for compassion, mercy and kindness

53. Bacurau (2019- Kleber Mendonça Filho)

The tricky thing about lists like this is that they always have to contend with what's next. Most of this list has been spent tackling the wealth of great cinema that's come out in the last two decades, but Bacurau is the most recent film on this list, and I really struggled to place it. It's hard to know what's going to become a classic in the next 20 years, so by putting Bacurau in the number 53 slot, I'm conceding, refusing to speculate what's going to be remembered as great and just celebrating the most exciting piece of cinema that's come out so far in 2020. After all, what is Kleber Mendonça Filho's film if not a full-blooded remix of what came before it, a heady celebration of cinema's past and present that strives to leave something new for the future? It's a venomous takedown of Western entitlement, a chilling parable of becoming an outsider in your own community and a roaring tribute to genre cinema's most indelible icons. It's truly wonderful, so save your "too soons" and embrace the new flesh

The High Point: Udo Kier and his band of hunters descend upon the town, only to find it empty.... but not for long

52. The Descent (2005- Neil Marshall)

Dog Soldiers was an indication that Neil Marshall was a Brit-horror icon to watch, and The Descent confirmed this, a no-frills pressure cooker of claustrophobic horror. If the greatest terror lies in the unknown, then The Descent is very great indeed, drip feeding dread without interrupting the plot for exposition or explanation. It's harrowing even before the creatures show up, with Marhsall wringing every modicum of fear out of a cave-exploration gone wrong. It's that taut, breathless atmosphere that makes The Descent so effective, a skull-shattering survival horror that's built on a foundation of steady tension and carefully escalating danger. It's genuinely terrifying, turning the horrors of grief and trauma into inescapable sound and vision, and whichever ending you get, one thing is certain: you will be losing sleep 

The High Point: Next time someone tells you that jumpscares are lazy and ineffective, show them the night-vision scene

51. The Lighthouse (2019- Robert Eggers)

If The Witch was quiet, controlled chaos that gradually grew into a roaring folk bonfire, then The Lighthouse is more overt in its madness. Here, insanity is gooey and all consuming, pooling around the viewer's feet before submerging them in it faster than they can say "Why'd ya spill yer beans?" Robert Eggers' second film is much more immediate than its slow-burning sister, but it's just as cryptic, reveling in the unruly horror of a mind in freefall, and taking every chance to throw in a meaning-laden symbol. It's an uneasy push-and-pull between two men who feed off each other just as much as they destroy each other: homoerotic longing clashing with violent insanity. It's one of the purest, most vicious horror films in recent memory, joyously brought to life by Robert Pattison and Willem Dafoe. It's funny and sad and deeply disturbing, a dark cinematic storm that urges you to keep coming back for another hit of black and white madness

The High Point: "HARK!" Wake curses Winslow in hysterically wordy fashion

My Thoughts on Enola Holmes

 

Now, where to begin?

Enola Holmes, based on the 2006 book of the same name, is a sort-of Sherlock Holmes spinoff, focuses on the ace detective's teenage sister, here played by Millie Bobbie-Brown. She's looking for her mother, her closest companion, who's recently gone missing, and with an errant viscount in tow and her two older brothers (Sherlock, but also the overbearing Mycroft) on her trail, the game is well and truly afoot. Immediately the film sets up a lighthearted tone and self-aware sense of humour, and the to-camera addresses aren't surprising considering the film is helmed by Fleabag director Harry Bradbeer. It's assured right from the start, with Enola (it's alone backwards), easing us in with a ridiculously charming narration. But then the plot begins, and the problems follow suit

For a film that's (naturally) focused so much on mystery, it really is a shame how meandering and loose the plot is. There's a lot going on in Enola Holmes- missing mother, runaway nobleman, assassins in pursuit, brothers on the case- and the film just isn't capable of juggling these storylines while keeping them interesting. The central questions are pushed to the wayside in favour of hastily introduced plot threads and new information that never quite has enough time to develop. It doesn't help that the film is constantly chasing distractions. A mid-film interlude in a girl's boarding school is especially egregious, killing the film's pace and doing little more than padding out the film's runtime

The narrative is sloppy and overburdened, something not helped by how blunt the film is with its message. Enola subverts the expectations that people have for her, and while I really admire the film for what it's trying to do, it just feels so stiff and awkward. It raises genuinely interesting ideas about feminism and male privilege, but these insights find themselves crammed into moments that just aren't written to fit them. Suzie Wokoma's Edith provides the perfect example of this in her dressing down of Sherlock; the commentary is on point but the scene takes an abrupt left-turn to accommodate it, and sharp as it is, it just doesn't gel with everything else that happens in the moment. The same can be said of the note the film ends on. I love the kids-are-alright message but can't help but feel that it was done much better in last year's The Kid Who Would Be King. Actually, thinking back, that film actually nailed most of the story beats this one fails to hit

At least the cast are good. Millie Bobbie Brown is a fantastic lead, continuing to impress with her depth of range. She has a real knack for commanding every scene she's in, effortlessly tackling the film's tricky tonal balance of lighthearted fun and slightly weightier intrigue. Her Enola is an ace teen-hero, deserving of a better film. The support's fantastic too. Cavil and Claflin are great as a two-headed brotherly ball-and-chain, an ace push and pull between the measured, understanding Sherlock and the narky, ill-tempered Mycroft. Helena Bonham Carter makes an impression with what little screentime she gets. The rest of the ensemble are solid, too. Suzie Wokoma, Adeel Akhtar and Fiona Shaw light up the supporting roles, and newcomer Louis Partridge is great as the uber-naive viscount. His back-and-forth with Enola is definitely one of the film's high points, even if the plot lets it down

I wanted to like Enola Holmes, I really did. To be fair, it's not awful, but it aims so high and just doesn't deliver, and that's a real shame. It puts the cart before the horse, laying down the right sentiment without a good enough story to back it up. It's bogged down by too many dueling storylines and a wildly inconsistent pace, and despite good intentions it just comes out a bloated, dull mess. I know it's aiming for a younger audience, but even so, it still feels frustratingly elementary

★ ★

Top 100 Films of the 21st Century (Four-Year Anniversary Special): Part 4 (70-61)

 70. Get Out (2017- Jordan Peele)

In which "that guy from Key and Peele" became a master of horror. Jordan Peele's portraits of a uniquely American hell are both wonderful, though his first cut is inevitably the deepest. Get Out is a masterpiece in misdirection, where uneasy racial tensions surface in unexpected ways. Released at the start of the Trump administration, Get Out was an act of unquiet resistance, a politically charged scream at a world rapidly going to shit. And yet what Peele takes aim at isn't the overt bigotry lurking inside the White House, but a more insidious threat altogether; eviscerating the virtue signaling white folks who really want you to know that they would have voted for Obama a third time if they could. Existing alongside the gorgeously intelligent political horror were roller-coaster thrills and sharp, sharp laughs. It's hard to remember another debut that so confidently announces that it's director is here, and I hope he sticks around for a long time yet

The High Point: The ending, where Peele punctures the Twilight Zone thrills with the very real threat of the police's attitude towards POC, before subverting it joyously

69. The Wolf of Wall Street (2013- Martin Scorsese)

You'd hardly call it an unexpected move, Martin Scorsese helming a lengthy biopic of an amoral man headed up by one of his go-to male leads, but something about The Wolf of Wall Street felt fresh, like he was tapping the same reservoir using different equipment. Funny thing is that he wasn't, just remixing and updating the hallmarks of his style for a new era. As evolutions go, it's an effective one, proof that Scorsese's not a master because his style is definitive of a specific period, but because of how quickly and comfortably he's able to adapt that style, spinning a raucous, often totally contradictory yarn that pinballs between satire and celebration, making 180 minutes feel like a tight 90 (all hail Thelma Schoonmaker). It's a film that contains multitudes, like the man it's capturing, or the only nation capable of producing him. It's a blast, a blend of white-hot, barnstorming performances and intricate components that work in total unison. Yep, he's still got it

The High Point: "I'm not leaving"

68. Kill List (2011- Ben Wheately)

Folk horror's been having a bit of a moment lately, what with Midsommar, The Witch and Apostle sowing 70s style dread in pastures new, but in 2011, Ben Wheately made a countryside cult shocker that was more than a tribute to wicker men and witchfinder generals: it was a genre definer unto itself. A cold, eerie thriller that mutates and warps into a terror lying at the end of a path of followed orders, Kill List is Wheately at his breathless, cine-savvy best. It's sparse and bare-bones on the surface but rewatches (if you can bear them) prove that this deceptively simple tale is actually caked with detail and rich with meaning. The most exciting thing about it though, is also possibly the most curious; despite the fact that it's an hour and a half of quality horror, it only really reveals itself as a masterpiece in the last 20 seconds, where the entire film is horrifically re-contextualised in the nastiest, most disorienting way possible. It's as dark as cinema gets, but it's equally exciting

The High Point: The ending. If you know, you know

67. Almost Famous (2000- Cameron Crowe)

Media journalism is tough and thankless, with genuine zest and passion clashing with fragile egos and uneasy peeks behind the curtain. And yet Almost Famous finds a magic- nay, a romance- in it, a piece of woozy road poetry that just doesn't really seem to age. And while it's easy to scoff at Cameron Crowe and pretty much everything he's done since, there's an irresistible charm to his heartfelt ballad of big tunes and bigger personalities. It's a film that captures a moment while temporarily getting captured itself, absorbing the sights, smells and crucially sounds of early 70s rock-n'-roll as Patrick Fugit's fresh-faced journo followed Stillwater (the greatest fictional band of all time). It's hangout cinema at its best, leaving each rewatch feeling like a long overdue meeting with old friends

The High Point: Hold me closer tiny daaaaaaaancer

66. We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011- Lynne Ramsay)

I don't think any filmmaker embodies the phrase "quality over quantity" better than Lynne Ramsay. She's only made three (frustratingly spread-out) films since 2000, yet each one feels like a deeper stab into the dark heart of man. And yet, there's something so lingeringly awful about her third (and best) film, a not-quite-horror fable of a mother struggling to love her psychotic(?) son. It's got arguments about nature vs. nurture aplenty, but the real highlight is the performances: on one side of the struggle is a put-upon, possibly unstable Tilda Swinton, on the other a never-better Ezra Miller, who always feels like they're holding back an unstoppable tempest of darkness. It's a bleak interrogation of parenthood, that quintessentially human horror founded on misguided love and thankless responsibility. It makes us unhappy, and it makes us uncomfortable because complacency is a breeding ground for evil, regardless of whether it's born or bred. 

The High Point: "Why would I not understand the context? I am the context" 

 

65. Stories We Tell (2012- Sarah Polley)

 Documentary is interrogation by design, but what happens when the camera faces the other way? There's been a lot of great documentaries that seek to explore the unseen sides of a wealth of subjects and ideas- many of them this century (Farenheit 9/11, Searching For Sugarman, Hail Satan?, Capturing the Friedmans, Super Size Me, Blackfish, etc.)- but Stories We Tell is that rare thing, a non-fiction film that solely aims to acquaint you with its creator. Essentially, Sarah Polley and her family tell stories, and that's kind of it. Gradually, decades-old family secrets unearth themselves and the truth comes to light in all of it's ugly, love-filled glory, but the real thrill of Stories We Tell is how familiar it all feels. Polley invites us not just into her life, but herself- the past and present, the uneasy future and the intimate rhythms of her and those closest to her. At times it feels too personal, irresponsibly so, and when she finally ruminates on why she did this in the first place, you're right there with her, looking back at the last hour like some sort of raw, naked confession

The High Point: Hard to pinpoint one, but Polley's father recounting his wife's death is devastating

64. You, the Living (2007- Roy Andersson)

It's funny, but Roy Andersson might just be the saviour we need right now. You, the Living, the second installment of his Living trilogy, is a symphony made of a madness that comes from tedium. The episodes are unrelated but packed with carefully composed chaos, each one crawling behind the one before it like a funeral march of human sanity. Andersson's world is grey, empty and hopeless, totally void of comedy.... which is exactly why he's laughing. The comedy in YTL feels like an act of desperate comfort, laughing because laughter means something against a strange, uncaring universe. It's not all doom and gloom, though, because Andersson's vision actually becomes oddly comforting. By the end of it, when we realise that everything isn't pointless and that it's us that give the world meaning, he comes out from behind the curtain and bows from the other side of the screen; his work is done

The High Point: The long winded, crushingly awkward dream sequence

63. Donnie Darko (2001- Richard Kelly)

What is Donnie Darko? A psychological-horror film? A time-travel movie? A black comedy? A cry for help? We may never know. What we do know is that 19 years later, it's still as beguilingly weird and foreboding as ever. Richard Kelly's stunning debut plays out like a dark prophecy, set from the start and steadily ticking towards a horrifying conclusion that still somehow feels like a total surprise. It's an unnerving, chaotic spell that the film sows, where everything onscreen seems to be blasting out of its main character, like the world itself is ending just because he's in it. It's disturbing stuff brilliantly headed up by Jake Gyllenhaal, letting every drop of teen rage flow out of him. Why does it hold up as well as it does? Because it taps into that uniquely teenage feeling that everything is fucked and there's nothing you can do to stop it, just watch as everything comes tumbling down

It's also the only film I own the script for (and it's great!)

The High Point: A house burns, a horrible truth comes out, and a community is left forever changed. Until.... well, you'll see

62. The Babadook (2014- Jennifer Kent)

There's something to be said about the therapeutic effects of horror. It's a release, a way to experience the worst of the world in a controlled environment and let it go at the end. Jennifer Kent's film is a story about, grief, love, and the horrors that exist between them, but ultimately, it's about healing. The Babadook, like all great monsters, is a metaphor, scary because of what's behind it. Kent travels to the darkest corners of the psyche, teasing out loss and pain while crucially giving them space to breath, like exposing a wound to the air to help it close. It's dark without being cruel, always giving its mother and son the hope to believe that things will get better. It rejects the idea that horror is a removed experience, something nasty to be enjoyed at a distance, and instead embraces the audience, inviting them into the experience and ensuring that, if they involve themselves with the plight of the characters, they'll be rewarded. It's an act of love disguised as an expression of terror

The High Point: Amelia takes on the Babadook, owning him and conquering her demons. Literally

61. Parasite (2019- Bong Joon-ho)

Bong's Oscar smash is still the best thing to happen in 2020, and while a lot has gone wrong since, it's an undeniable indication that the industry is changing for the better. Parasite is a uniquely modern thriller, that gorgeous blend of the specific and the universal that Bong does so well. He constructs this incredible world inside the film, where everyone's a parasite, thriving at the expense of someone else. It's a biting social comment, aided by sharp thrills and delightfully dark humour, but what makes Parasite so effective is how big-hearted it is. Bong is lamenting, crying for a system that keeps the have-nots down while reducing the haves to skilless husks, affluent but ultimately useless. It's something he's tapped into before but rarely has it felt this urgent. In the words of the man himself, "We all live in the same country, called capitalism." Well, quite

The High Point: Everything was going so well. And then the doorbell rang