2020 was an awful, tough year for so many reasons. Cinematically, it's bound to be remembered as a low point, the year when Bond was benched, Dune was done in and Black Widow was ensnared in a web of ever-shifting release dates. And then there's the others- Ghostbusters, Last Night in Soho, The Green Knight, F9, Candyman- it's been a dark 12 months at the multiplex. And yet it's important to remember what did get released in 2020, the films that provided an invaluable salve at a time they couldn't be needed more. Yes it will go down as a year of delays and shut screens, but 2020 delivered so much quality cinema, so many genuine gems of sound and vision that the usual annual top 10 has had to be doubled. Ultimately, I think it'll be defined as a year where, against all odds, cinema still found a way to triumph
As always, there's oversights, this year more than ever. In particular, I couldn't catch Never Rarely Sometimes Always, First Cow, The Vast of Night, Onward, Possessor, Wolfwalkers, Another Round, Sound of Metal, Kajillionaire or American Utopia in time for this list. And then there's Promising Young Woman, Palm Springs, Minari and Nomadland, films that have yet to be released in Ireland. Speaking of which, I've stuck to my principals when it comes to release dates, so apologies to Uncut Gems, Parasite, The Lighthouse and Portrait of a Lady on Fire, but they're last year's greatest. Also a shoutout to the blistering, truly excellent Sorry We Missed You, which did get a release in many countries in 2020 and I saw last year, but actually came out in Ireland in November 2019. All of these are great films that are worth your time, so seek them out when you can and support cinema if you can. For now, here's my celebration of the films that saved 2020
20. His House
In spite of- or maybe because of- how dark 2020 was, it's been an incredible year for horror. Remi Weeks' debut was electrifying on arrival, a horrifying and empathetic portrait of the refugee experience. The film is full of small-scale but frustratingly relevant observations that belie deep, visceral terror. It's inventive and elegant, mining scares from everyday moments of dread, a creeping feeling of displacement, and the lingering horrors of national trauma. His House is a ghost story in the truest sense, as much about what remains as it is about loss, brought to life by Sope Dirisu and Wunmi Mosaku. The film finds universal terror in specific details, and as a result, is scary in a way that feels eerily relevant in 2020
19. Weathering With You
If it's not quite on the level of his 2016 masterpiece Your Name, then Weathering With You is still proof that Makoto Shinkai and his team are still singular talents in animation right now. The film looks stunning but has the substance to match, capturing climate anxieties and teenage disillusion perfectly before weaving them into a story that's so optimistic that it almost feels out of place in 2020. It's a film that excels at articulating the big and the small; the same amount of passion is put into painting the huge, sky-shaking miracles as it is into the little routines of the everyday. This doesn't create contrast as much as a sort of dueling beauty of the massive and intimate forces that shape the world and the people in it
18. The Trial of the Chicago 7
Although it occasionally suffers from an overuse of Sorkinisms and showy direction, The Trial of the Chicago 7 was an awards heavyweight done right, shot with sincerity and brought to the screen with polish. The script is as sharp as any Sorkin offering but what really made Trial sting was how it mirrored the past and the present to find some sort of order amid the injustice. The riot sequences were electrifying and heartbreakingly true, but the highlights came in the courtroom sequences, where the heavyweight cast are bringing their A-games, clashing and strategising and exploding at each other. It's stagey but thrillingly so, with genuinely hard-hitting moments of commentary. Special mention too to Sacha Baron-Cohen in arguably his best performance to date, going full tilt and raging against the machine in one of the performances of the year
17. The Invisible Man
One of the delights of the first half of the year was the surprising rebirth of the Dark Universe. After The Mummy came to us DOA, Leigh Whannell came in with this about-turn, a genuinely thrilling, shocking and exciting one-and-done horror. It was such a smart, fresh take on trauma and abuse in a way that's rarely seen in the mainstream, refusing to ever romanticise the central relationship or portray it as anything other than toxic. Elizabeth Moss was possibly at her best too, keeping Cecelia as a complex, difficult character who is as empathetic as she is frustratingly human. The scares are full-blooded but the film works most in the small moments, drawing the audience in and forcing them to recognise what they're seeing. It feels like such a smart reninvention, cementing Jason Blum as the closest thing we have to a modern Roger Corman
16. The Half of It
2020 felt like a crucial year for cinema in so many ways, and The Half of It felt central to so much of the dialogue. It contributed to conversations about both distribution and onscreen representation while also feeling like an smart, fresh addition to the canon of modern teen cinema. It uses an age-old plot (Cyrano de Bergerac) to provide a vision of where the industry could be headed. In a year where Tenet an I'm Thinking of Ending Things employed intricate storytelling techniques in an effort to create something new, The Half of It demonstrated how effective simple stories can be when they're executed with intelligence and emotion, and was all the better for it
15. Mangrove
Steve McQueen's Small Axe was arguably the cinematic event of 2020, five incredible standalone TV movies that further prove that he's one of the essential storytellers of our time. Mangrove, the first of the quintet, is such a hard-hitting courtroom drama that really hones in on police brutality and systemic racism in a year where they've never been more relevant. Crucially, it was a film that transcended its time and place: these issues extend out of 1971 Notting Hill and become universal and honest. It was tough in the way that feels unique to McQueen but there's a jaded optimism that blends with the film's sense of genuine danger. It's the total opposite of escapism but by facing difficult truths head-on, it becomes honest and essential and deeply moving
14. Les Misérables
Unrelated to the Victor Hugo doorstopper and the Tom Hooper musical smash, Ladj Ly's incendiary debut felt like the most 2020 film of 2020, one that's impact is bound to be felt more in the years to come. It echoed the spirit of La Haine but still managed to feel so unique, bridging the frustrations and anger of an entire city and the forces at work within it while still acting as a propulsive, exciting thriller in its own right. What made it so effective was how it addressed the systems at work in its story. They're inherently broken, and totally unfit to protect the most vulnerable members of society. It was an epic, and a film that will undoubtedly get better the further we get from it
13. Calm With Horses
In a surprisingly strong year for Irish cinema (see also: Dating Amber), Calm With Horses was top of the pile. It was stylish, stark and striking, a violent, brutal tale of love and loyalty that, for all of its proudly-displayed influences, still feels new and raw. It's a heady blend of tones, bleak realism carefully mixing with something softer and dreamier, a secret ingredient that keeps the film from ever feeling obvious or played out. At times it feels like director Nick Rowland is trying to escape his own subject matter, edging the plot towards a tender portrait of a wounded father looking for some sort of redemption before the film yanks him and Cosmo Jarvis' enforcer back into the shadows of the underworld. The result is one of the most exciting pieces of Irish cinema of the last ten years
12. The Devil All the Time
Antonio Campos' latest has proven to be one of the years most divisive films, and it's not hard to see why. It's a hard film to love, so harsh and restrained and often frustratingly bleak. It urges the viewer to give up, to stop digging, and yet amid the sticky Southern heat and moral decay lies a quiet, disturbing beauty. It's the story of an America that's simultaneously buzzing with life and consumed by death, a chaotic primordial soup of crime and violence that births one of the year's best ensembles. MVP has to be Robert Pattison, spinning a web of sordid sin while spitting the lord's words through a thrillingly overcooked Southern drawl. It's a cruel film, but openly so, and those willing to engage with its dark charms will be greatly rewarded
11. Da 5 Bloods
All things being equal, Da 5 Bloods is the film of the year. Nevermind that it misses the top 10- that's just personal preference- because no film articulated the year's anguish and frustration better than Spike Lee's war epic. Upon its arrival in June, it was an angry, mournful elegy for a country that's been fighting the same conflicts for decades, projecting deep-seeded rage in lush, colourful bliss that packed a poignant sting. It took on another meaning two months later when Chadwick Boseman passed away at just 43 years old. Suddenly, the film revealed another layer of itself. And while it's not his final film, the image of his Stormin' Norman bathed in the reverential sun of the Vietnamese jungle was as striking as it was deeply, deeply heartfelt, immortalising him in cinema as a galvanising screen presence gone too soon
10. First Love
It was a tricky year for blockbusters. Birds of Prey was huge amounts of fun and Tenet brought the thrills but by and large, 2020 was a year where the box-office heavyweights were almost entirely benched. In their absence, Takshi Miike's First Love blazed in off the 2019 festival circuit to bring action, comedy and insane scrapes the likes of which Hollywood could only dream of. If it lacks the scale of a Fast and Furious or a Marvel, then it doubles the sheer energy and chaos and adds animated interludes, (nearly) naked ghosts and exploding dogs. It's hard to think of another film from this year that's as fun as First Love, which somehow keeps up Miike's 100+ film streak of fantastic, batshit crazy films
For all of the scrapes, scraps and setpieces, it's still Miike's romantic comedy, and it's in its softer moments where the film really comes alive. The characters are immediately lovable and the charm is off the charts, resulting in a furious thriller that is as good-natured as it is absolutely insane. It flew under the radar when it was released on Valentine's Day without much fanfare, but if it's thrills you're seeking, it's a hit of pure adrenaline, with added sugar and some dark laughs for good measure
9. Babyteeth
Babyteeth has a deceptively morbid premise. If, after a year like 2020, you weren't quite up to watching a film about a sixteen year-old girl dying of cancer, that's completely understandable, but Babyteeth approaches its difficult subject matter confidently and calmly, leading to a film about death that's weirdly life-affirming. It's dryly quirky and darkly hilarious, but neither of these things come at the expense of the film's emotion. Instead, they aid director Shannon Murphy as she lines up the film's sucker punch, lending the bizarre world of suburban Australia enough colour to combat the encroaching tragedy. It's a countdown towards the inevitable that, much like Eliza Scanlen's disaffected heroine Milla, refuses to let morbid circumstances get in the way of what's important
Babyteeth is a film about death that's not really interested in the end, instead analysing how such a dark, difficult situation warps and changes everyone involved in it. Babyteeth is at its best when Murphy shows the audience Milla from the perspectives of the people around her, from her worried parents to her troubled older boyfriend. Crucially, all of these characters are framed with love. The film likes all of its players, and ensures that you do too, and the result is smart, poignant and hugely engaging
8. Lovers Rock
Lovers Rock is a monument to human connection and the black experience in a year that couldn't have needed it more. The best of the Small Axe films sees Steve McQueen construct a safe space for a group of West London partygoers in 1980 before letting them have at it for a transcendent 68 minutes. It's light on plot but rich with feeling and detail. It's a film that revels in specificity, painstakingly recreating the sights and sounds and smells of its time and place and encourages the viewer to immerse themselves in this world McQueen has built. Maybe it's not as hard-hitting as the rest of the series but that never feels like a problem: the film is a heady, euphoric concoction that's at its best when it just lets its characters be
It's a beautiful piece of cinema that always feels vital. The rush and excitement of a night out where anything can happen and everything can change permeates this film. It buzzes from the opening minutes where the party is meticulously prepared, and explodes into something immensely powerful when an entire room of people break into an a capella rendition of Janet Kay's Silly Games. It's a celebration of community, of coming together to celebrate just because they can. By the end, you're left slightly bereft, wishing that it could have lasted just that little bit longer, which is perhaps the best thing a film can do
7. Dick Johnson is Dead
Dick Johnson is Dead opens with a man playing with his grandkids. When he's done, he gets up and begins to go home, only to get crushed and killed by a falling air vent. And then he gets up, revealing that the whole thing was a set up. He dies a few times over the course of the film, a gloriously off-kilter documentary from his daughter Kristen that captures a man she's gradually losing to dementia onscreen. It's weirdly fun for something that directly engages with death and loss, but what makes it work is how it leaves everything out in the open. It's a film dealing with huge existential absolutes, but by depicting death and heaven and even Johnson's own funeral as quirky shorts, it conjures up surprising amounts of warmth and comfort in an entirely transparent way. Kristen Johnson doesn't just want you to know why she's doing this; she wants to show you
how, too
The best thing in it though is Dick Johnson, the best character in a 2020 movie. It's almost hard to believe this man is real, so unquenchable is his lust for life and penchant for mischief. He's easy to love and makes good company for 89 minutes, and when the film tips into morbidity with a glorious eleventh-hour bait-and-switch that slides into tearjerker territory, he yanks the audience back into the his weird world with an incredible reveal and a wonderful prank. It's one of the strangest, funniest and most moving movies of the year.
6. Soul
Pete Docter's Pixar outings have steadily been edging further and further into weighty existential territory. If Monsters Inc. tackled parental responsibility, Up dissected the grieving process, and Inside Out visualised the inner-workings of the brain, then Soul takes it up a notch to question our very reason for existing. Narratively the film feels very on-brand for Pixar, like a remix of their unmistakable story beats and images put together to create something new. What feels fresh is the conclusion the film reaches. It's a slightly harder truth achieved in a more abstract way, but something about that feels exciting. It's visually stunning in the bizarre world of the Great Before but the heart of the film lies in the warmth and detail that New York is rendered in
It's a film with a passionately argued case for the small joys of life. It frames the huge cosmic ideas of its story as utilitarian and unremarkable compared to the beautiful things we see everyday but often miss. Ultimately it works out a little smaller stakes-wise when compared to most of Pixar's catalogue, and viewers craving the studio's trademark emotional gutpunch won't find it here, but that's not what Soul is going for. Instead, it's a film that triggers thought and reflection, urging the audience to walk away with a refreshed appreciation for the things that make them who they are. And 25 years deep into telling these beautifully crafted stories, that feels like the right place for Pixar to be
5. Mank
When Mank released at the start of December, it arrived at quite possibly the optimal time. If the film release schedule had gone as planned, it would have come after a fairly standard year at the movies, with the usual franchise fare and festival big hitters, and Denis Villeneuve's Dune being released just two weeks later. Obviously, none of that happened, but that gave Mank an eerily perfect context. After all, it's a film about Hollywood at a precarious time, looking backwards and forward at the same time to arrive at a truth it already knew from the start: the movies are a machine, entirely fueled by the green stuff
If that sounds cynical, then it's not giving credit to the love with which Fincher renders Tinseltown. Written by his late father and gloriously brought to life by a team of true artists, Mank's vision of a Hollywood on the cusp is a delight, a space to inhabit for 131 wonderfully transportative minutes. Gary Oldman's at his boozy best but it's Amanda Seyfried who steals the show as a light among the bitter cynicism who ultimately winds up as another cog in the machine. It's funny, it's poignant and it even allows itself moments of dogged optimism. Mank is one of the real feats of the year, a deep dive into the dark heart of entertainment, where everything is politics. To borrow from the Hollywood Review's take on Citizen Kane, Mr. Genius has come through again
4. True History of the Kelly Gang
January 2020 saw the release of Sam Mendes' immense 1917, an engaging, engrossing war poem about a collective loss of innocence. It was a great showcase for lead George McKay, whose greatest work to date snuck out onto VOD a few months later with this snarling, viciously warped take on history. True History of the Kelly Gang is a powerful fusion of tones and moods. It takes actual figures and events, frames them in the earthy, naturalistic cinema of 70s Herzog, combines that with bloodsplattered Ozsploitation and then sets the whole thing to a skull-scorching punk soundtrack and proceeds to laugh as it gleefully destroys the very notion of a conventional biopic
That may sound like a lot- and it is- but True History succeeds by telling its story so confidently. From the start, it assures viewers that it knows what it's doing, so when it lapses into experimentation, it ensures that you're dragged along for the ride. It's a demented explosion of bad taste and cinematic tradition that thrums with this otherworldly, dangerous energy that Justin Kurzel wrestles to the screen with surprising elegance for something so chaotic. It takes colonial powers to task and has a damn fun time doing it. It's big yet focused, exercising great discipline while doling out huge amounts of madness. It's a film that doesn't settle for the accepted version of the story, instead ripping any sanitised version of history open to ensure that it's left to interpretation. Is this what really happened? Who knows, and who cares. True History of the Kelly Gang certainly doesn't, and is all the better for it
3. Rocks
Rocks is an absolute miracle of a film. It's a monument to sisterhood, a love letter to the power of friendship and a celebration of collaborative filmmaking. It captures a specific time and place, preserving this moment in late 2010s London on film forever, leaving it behind for future generations. Its story- about a 15 year old girl and her brother are left to fend for themselves on the streets of London after being abandoned by their mother- sounds grim, but in execution, that couldn't be further from the truth. Instead, the film uses a kind of weaponised positivity, refusing to give into the harsh circumstances at the centre of the story and suggesting that even everything if else goes wrong, love will always come through in the end
It's a refreshing take on a coming of age story too. At a time when it's become fashionable for stuffy thinkpieces to blame young people for struggling with problems they didn't ask to bear, Rocks directly rejects this way of thinking and holds its heroine up as strong, capable and optimistic. She never feels sorry for herself and the film never defines her by her situation, and as such Rocks begins to feel like such a tonic, an antidote to encroaching pessimism that urges the audience to have faith in the next generation. It already feels like a classic, a breath of fresh air in British cinema that seeks to counter increasingly insurmountable social issues with huge amounts of hope and it is truly special
2. Bacurau
I feel like I've talked about Bacurau a lot this year. To be fair, there's a lot to talk about, but forgive me if I repeat myself. Kleber Mendonça Filho's film is so full and complete and alive, covering so much ground in 132 minutes that it's amazing that a) it exists at all and b) that it's such an elegant piece of genre storytelling. It's a full-blooded action film that builds on Mendonça Filho's knack for creating self-contained, dynamic worlds while also providing a scathing commentary on Western entitlement. Along the way it flirts with science-fiction and horror and makes the whole thing feel like a spaghetti Western. And if that wasn't enough, Bacurau is filled with pathos and heart, drawing so much eerie dissonance from the feeling of being an outsider in your own home
The way all of these ideas and tones are conducted is nothing short of masterful. The first half makes use of this gorgeous, menacing slow-burn before hitting the audience with this hard shift in tone and perspective and then cranking it up to eleven in the climax with hardcore gore and venomous social commentary. In a year where the future of cinema seemed to be constantly up for debate, Bacurau felt like a hybrid of everything that film can do at its best. It was a remix of the past that signaled what could come next. It was exciting, both in its high-octane, trippy thrills and its hare-brained fusion of well established styles in cult cinema with more tradional arthouse sensibilites. It felt like such a passionate reminder of why filmmaking matters, and for that, it stands out as something truly magnificent
1. Saint Maud
Religion and horror has always made for a good combination. Saint Maud is a religious horror in the most literal way, where the terror in the story doesn't come from supernatural forces or some sort of demon, but from the deeply distressing acts committed in the name of God. The genius of Maud, however, comes from how it uses perspective. We see everything through Mofyd Clarke's nervy eyes, but crucially, the film never frames her as clearly good or evil. Instead, Rose Glass uses this to tell a story about faith, about how it tricks us into doing the wrong thing, about how anything can become a sign or a challenge, and about how acting on blind devotion can lead to both tragedy and salvation. There's so many individual moments of genius packed into 84 brisk minutes. Glass is an economic master of horror who often gets the best scares from sharp, deliberate jolts rather than a sense of lingering dread
Along the way, the film reveals itself as something darkly beautiful. It's so layered and nuanced and full of love. Seeing that love be misplaced and misinterpreted and used to justify all sorts of evils is this film's wicked genius; the masterstroke that generates huge amounts of terror and tragedy. The performances stun, not least Mofyd Clarke in one of the most striking star-making turns I've ever seen. Saint Maud is a masterpiece of horror, not just in 2020 but of the 21st century in general. It is stunning, and it leaves me so incredibly excited to see what Rose Glass does next
