Most Remarkable Films I saw in 2024

In 2024, I saw 385 distinct films, 235 of which I had never seen before. And though I have not yet had the privilege of seeing many of the 2024 awards season favorites yet, I’ve seen quite a few that have tenaciously clung to my consciousness. The most glaringly obvious is Dune: Part 2, which is by far, my favorite, most treasured film of the year, and has the very rare distinction of landing in my mental list of my all-time greats, so it’s been moving for me to see its ascendancy in the collective consciousness of pop culture. I am eternally grateful to have finally seen one of my longtime absolute favorite novels be stunningly adapted to the screen within my lifetime.

 

This was also the year of a big Werner Herzog re-watch, the Ryan Gosling deep-dive, a Claire Denis love binge, and a Denis Villeneuve retrospective. I filled some holes in my David Lynch and Georges Méliès knowledge, sought out some seriously obscure Shakespeare adaptations (a silent King Richard III from 1912!), realized that I’ve never been disappointed by Czech films, and managed to stumble over a mercifully tiny handful of real stinkers. But even the terrible ones were instructive (The Notebook takes the cake, as I learned that there is in fact a filmic equivalent of a lobotomy).

After re-watching Mark Cousins’ phenomenal Women Make Film (2018) series that originally aired on TCM a while back, I made a more concerted effort to seek out multiple films by women directors such as Larisa Shepitko, Kelly Reichardt, Céline Sciamma, Chantal Ackerman, Agnés Varda, Chloé Zhao, and Lynne Ramsay. It’s been an education and an inspiration, to say the very least. 

 

I keep a running list in my Notes app, organized by month, in order of viewing. No ratings—just the title, year, and the director. This actually makes it simpler for me to pan for the ones that stand out, because if I’m still thinking about it, it’ll shine out amongst the grit. Assigning a rating begs one to make relative value judgements, which is near impossible to keep flat across genres and time. My top 25 consist of the ones that are still rolling around inside my brain or pierced deeply into my psyche and/or soul for various reasons.

 

It was genuinely hard to glean only 25. Many I would recommend to those who care deeply about film. The rest, I’d suggest to a select few people. All of them have educated me, entertained me, challenged me. They provoked me and lodged in my heart. These are the films that made me sit up, pay attention, ponder and feel. These are the films whose images and stories arise in my memory as clear and hard as crystal. I live to discover such films, the ones that offer me a silver window to the world without and within.

 

In alpha order:

The Ascent (1977), Larisa Shepitko, Soviet Union

Larisa’s ability to capture dreamlike montage within one frame without any flash or trickery is on full display, and serves to visualize the tragic idealism of the central character, who is thrust into a Christ-like journey set amongst Soviet Russia’s Belarusian theatre in World War II. This was her last film before the car accident that took her young life. Later, her husband, Elem Klimov, made a short film about her, Larisa (1980), which touchingly memorializes a truly gifted and impassioned filmmaker worthy of more renown.

 

The Babadook (2014), Jennifer Kent, Australia

I have never been a horror aficionado, but I try to watch a select few every October, and I finally got to this one. In my experience, it’s the single most convincing argument that women make the most effective horror films. A brilliant, psychologically challenging exploration of how grief must be confronted, lest we lose our humanity.

 

Beau Travail (1999), Claire Denis, France

One of many overlooked and noteworthy films in Mark Cousins’ fourteen-hour documentary Women Make Film (2018), Beau Travail juxtaposes the smooth, sweaty muscular bodies of French Foreign Legion soldiers against the stunningly harsh, hard Djibouti landscape the same way Denis Lavant’s arrestingly rugged visage clashes with the youthful face of the recruit he despises. Like in all her other work, Claire expertly reveals how environment effects the psyche in strange and oftentimes dangerous ways.

 

The Color of Pomegranates (1969), Sergei Parajanov, Soviet Union

An illuminated text brought to the screen in a dreamlike series of hauntingly gorgeous tableau, this is a cinematic reliquary of poetic and political indexes preserving Armenian culture. Watching this, suddenly Alejandro Jodorowsky, Tarsem Singh, and Peter Greenaway make more sense.

 

Caesar Must Die (2012), Paolo Taviani, Vittorio Taviani, Italy

Shakespeare in prison is not a new concept, but this semi-documentary starring many real-life prisoners putting on a production of Julius Caesar is one of the most remarkable and affecting films involving The Bard I’ve ever encountered. Through the eyes of already condemned men, the play’s themes of sacrifice, murder, and redemption take on an especially urgent tone, and emphasize the flaws in humanity’s efforts to achieve honor at any cost.

 

Clara Sola (2021), Nathalie Álvarez Mesén, Sweden/Costa Rica/Belgium/Germany/France

With confident, poetic intimacy, Nathalie weaves a modern folk tale about the middle-aged Clara, who is burdened by her physical deformity as well as her mother’s insistence that she is a faith healer who, despite having the chance at a life-altering surgery, must remain as God made her and deny herself the sin of any pleasure. As Clara begins her sexual awakening, her true power begins to bloom, and she slowly learns how to heal herself. Delicately supernatural but naturally shot, Clara’s story eloquently showcases the deep-rooted societal oppressions all women must face.

 

Come and See (1985), Elem Klimov, Soviet Union

One of Roger Deakins’ favorite films, and justifiably so. It clearly inspired him for his Oscar-winning work on 1917. This is by far the most harrowing and fully realized argument against war ever committed to celluloid. It has, in turns, miraculously delicate moments of beauty and the darkest visions of violent conflict ever known or imagined. 

 

Conclave (2024), Edward Berger, United Kingdom, United States

This tautly crafted mystery about the election of a new pope literally made me gasp out loud. The suspense is finely molded around the humble and earnest core of Ralph Fiennes’ Cardinal Lawrence, who presides over the gathering of cardinals with many secrets and less-than-holy ambitions while they sequester themselves for the vote. Its parallels with world politics and societal anxieties are as clear and concise as its sound and cinematography, and everyone in the stellar cast delivers a precision performance. 

The Dead Don’t Hurt (2024), Viggo Mortensen, Canada/Denmark/Mexico

I do love me a good western, and Viggo does not disappoint with his second turn at acting/directing. Echoing the cinematic sensibilities of Jan Troell and Clint Eastwood, Viggo deftly paints a detailed, tragically romantic portrait of an unlikely immigrant pair who decide to make a life in the wilderness together. Torn asunder by war and violence, they must return to each other on new terms dictated by the harsh realities of America’s indominable expansion, which redefines their honor and self-worth, as well as their love.

Decision to Leave (2022), Park Chan-Wook, South Korea

The masterful Chan-Wook presents a deeply intriguing narrative about a disaffected detective who finds himself falling for the suspicious widow of a murdered man. This twisty, slick neo-noir is slyly romantic and really shines when it paints the detective’s interior life with confidently innovative, yet nuanced strokes. Alternatively gritty and surreal, it’s a modern masterpiece of South Korean cinema.

Disclaimer* (2024), Alfonso Cuarón, United States/Australia/Mexico

I came away from watching this seven-part, nearly six-hour masterwork with the sense that Alfonso remains in top form, presenting a complex palimpsest whose lush, gauzy visuals are a watercolor of Roshomon memories painted over with baroque oils of every character’s dark, flawed perceptions. Cate Blanchett delivers an astounding performance throughout, and her character’s desperate attempt to apply paint thinner to reveal the devastating truth is a harsh lesson about human judgement and close relationships.

 

Elephant (2003), Gus Van Sant, United States

Filmed as a series of 88 extended steadicam shots (the average film has over 1,200), Gus has us follow a handful of students in a typical U.S. high school in the hours leading up to a terrorising attack from two armed teenagers. The shots are reminiscent of third-person shooter video games like Tomb Raider, which allegedly inspired the attackers involved in the Columbine school massacre. This consequently inspired Gus’ choice of filming style, making the viewer feel strangely dissociated from most of the action, and forces one to confront the all-too common gun violence in the U.S. to this day.

 

The Eternal Daughter (2022), Joanna Hogg, United Kingdom/United States

I will never tire of Tilda Swinton playing a double role. She plays a screenwriter and her own mother, spending some quality time together in a creepy old hotel somewhere in England. Challenging and wrencingly beautiful, like Tilda herself. 

 

Evil Does Not Exist (2023), Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Japan

Ryusuke continues to add to his string of filmic pearls with a lyrical meditation on the exploitation of both nature and the human spirit. When a corporate entity wishes to build a glamping site near a small mountain village in Japan, the community pushes back. Even the representatives of the company become wary of their boss’s plan, and begin to question their own complicity with encroaching greed. When the young daughter of one of the villagers goes missing, the search for her transforms into a quest for lost innocence.

 

Fail Safe (1964), Sidney Lumet, United States

One of the most tense and effective depictions of nuclear warfare, Fail Safe is a nightmare filmed with sobering assurance and terrifying believability. Having read Annie Jacobsen’s exhaustively researched book Nuclear Ware: A Scenario, I found the events in this film feel all the more realistic for its time. Having the exact same basic storyline, Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, which released earlier that same year, is an intriguing and provoking pairing.

Fellini Satyricon (1969), Federico Fellini, Italy

Very possibly my favorite Fellini film now? Also, might tell everyone this was Megalopolis. Hieronymous Bosch would have been proud. Watch if you dare.

Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959), Alain Resnais, France/Japan

A lyrical exploration of memory, love, and war, Hiroshima Mon Amour is a dreamy cinematic poem rich with visual metaphor and allusion. Alain skilfully draws from all the grammar of film to both dazzle and challenge the intellect and the soul, sifting out hope amongst the rubble of the past.

I Saw The TV Glow (2024), Jane Schoenbrun, United States

At the recommendation of my trusted friend Connie, I saw this one in the dark early hours before Hurricane Milton tore through Florida and knocked out my power for two days. As a fellow X-Files fanatic, she knew I would deeply understand this story of teenagers becoming obsessed with a supernatural TV show and ultimately allowing it to subsume their souls. Contemplative and mind-boggling in turns, bathed in bisexual neon tones, this one calls out to anyone who’s ever loved beyond normative boundaries. 

 

Incendies (2010), Denis Villeneuve, Canada

A testament to the transformative chrysalis-like effect of Denis’s nine-year break from feature filmmaking (which ended in 2009 with Polytechnique), this poignant adaptation of Wajdi Mouawad’s play ostensibly addressing the atrocities of war in Lebanon was nominated for Best Foreign Language film at the Academy Awards in 2011, announcing the now iconic director to the world. It stands as one of Denis’s masterworks, as soulful and visceral as it is heartbreakingly timeless. (P.S. the blu-ray has Denis’s fantastic audio commentary—pure cinephile ASMR from start to finish)

 

Journey to the Beginning of Time (1955), Karel Zeman, Czechoslovakia

I saw three brilliant Czech films I loved (one about a teenage witch, a clairvoyant cat, and time travelling kids), so I randomly decided on this hidden gem that was recently restored to its full, charming glory. It’s the adventure of four boys who take a boat through a magic cave to go back through prehistory, on a mission to find a living trilobite. Along the way, they encounter beautifully rendered stop-motion and puppet creatures of all shapes and sizes, and the entire thing feels like an exquisite pop-up book come to life. Fun for everyone with cinematic wonder in their hearts.

The Nice Guys (2016), Shane Black, United States

Ryan Gosling’s best movie. Fight me. It’s a pitch-perfect spiritual sequel to Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (2005), and it gave me the most laughs of anything I’ve seen in years. Ryan and Russell Crowe are a deliciously hilarious duo, and Angourie Rice, the young actress playing Ryan’s daughter, handily stands up to these charisma machines in all her scenes. Also features Kim Basigner, Margaret Qualley, and Jack Kilmer. More than makes up for The Notebook.

 

Pecker (1998), John Waters, United States

John Waters’ most wholesome film, in my humble opinion. A lovely campy treat that touches on John’s pet perennial themes of pretense and fame, outcasts and social mores, art and trash, with a truly familial heartwarming lesson in the end.

 

Plein Soleil (1960), René Clément, France/Italy

The original adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Talented Mr. Ripley. Alain Delon, who I fancy as a French Steve McQueen, is scorchingly hot and mysterious, and the luxuriously bright backdrop of the summery Italian seaside slowly becomes as lurid as the murderous envy suffusing Alain’s performance. Halfway through watching this lush and intriguing film, I heard that Alain had passed, and later that day, I saw another film that referenced a handful of Alain’s movies, so it was clearly Alain trying to tell me something from beyond the grave.

 

The Substance (2024), Coralie Fargeat, France/United Kingdom/United States

Honestly, I’m a little bit tired of hearing about it at this point, but one cannot deny that Coralie hit home with her highly original and insanely entertaining hate letter to the inescapable institution of social pressures put on women (and men) to achieve and maintain physical perfection. It’s a daily, repetitive portrait of a woman’s life, recalling Jeanne Dielman, if Jeanne were unfortunate enough to be an aging Hollywood starlet. Ackerman by way of Kubrick, Cronenberg, and De Palma, if you please.

Wings of Desire (1987), Wim Wenders, West Germany/France

After years of having the film poster hang over me in my friend Elissa’s apartment whenever I visited, I finally sat down and watched this beloved film about an angel who is enamoured with a mortal woman and decides to become mortal just so he can experience human love. In the process, he feels and sees things he could have never imagined, good and bad, and is inspired by humanity’s seemingly impossible strength to love despite the horrors.

 

And now, some notable surprises and tidbits I can’t overlook:

Lost River (2014), Ryan Gosling, United States

I watched this (a redneck Mulholland Drive), then saw a wonderful video in which Guillermo del Toro interviews Ryan about his experience in filmmaking, then I found out these two went to Disneyland together, and I fell more in love with them both.

The Wild North (1952), Andrew Morton, United States

This is the only western I’ve ever seen that ends with a man happily cuddling a kitten while staring off into the wilderness, and I will never forget that image.

Les rendez-vous d’Anna (1978), Chantal Ackerman, Belgium, France, West Germany

The second time I saw Todd Field’s Tár (2022) I spotted that he *exactly* reproduces two shots from this film, and I’m still trying to figure out what he was saying with that. My instinct is that they are both about  showing the main character’s isolation and loneliness despite their success and fame.  

It’s Such a Beautiful Day (2012), Don Hertzfeldt, United States

Joe, Elissa, and I watched this while they were visiting me, and we all cried and hugged in the dark.

The Straight Story (1999), David Lynch, United States, United Kingdom, France

I think this might be my new favorite David Lynch film. Slow and beautifully endearing.

Peau d’âne (1970), Jacques Demy, France

Catherine Deneuve and Delphine Seyrig, man. In a fairytale. About a donkey that shits treasure.

A Single Man (2009), Tom Ford, United States

Tom Ford (the fashion designer!) hit this one out of the park on his first try as a movie director. It’s incredible. A lyrical, romantic, bittersweet song of a film.

Megalopolis (2024), Francis Ford Coppola, United States

You know how art is art, and sometimes it is a painting of Jesus made with excrement displayed at the Guggenheim, and it is still art but it is also shit?

The Girl on the Broomstick (1972), Václav Vorlíček, Czechoslovakia

Brilliant, colorful, hilarious. Harry Potter before Harry Potter, starring a super cute girl with the BEST curly hair wig in history.

Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991), Leos Carax, France 

and 

Alphaville (1965), Jean-Luc Godard, France, Italy

Denis mentioned in an interview that he was obsessed by Leos Carax and Jean-Luc Godard at the beginning of his feature film career and these two films just completely unlocked that black box for me. I understand the talking fish now… you know if you know.

*this one I am counting as a long-form film in the tradition of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage (1973), and that’s how Alfonso personally views it, so there.