I’ll never forget my first David Lynch movie and the one time I saw the visionary director in person.
Like many other budding teenage cinephiles, I was in a phase where I was actively seeking out “edgy” and “messed up” movies. It was the mid nineties, and I was on a tear: Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, unrated cuts of Natural Born Killers, Scarface, and RoboCop. A friend recommended Blue Velvet as “dark shit”, so I rented it on VHS.
The film’s Rockwellian intro left me a little baffled. White picket fences, red roses, blue sky, fireman waving in slow motion — this was a dark film? But then a man watering the lawn had a stroke and fell to the ground. A nearby child looked confused by what was happening. A dog growled in slow motion as the camera pushed into the grass and the sound gave way to bugs gnawing and one of Lynch’s trademark drones. The transition from idyllic suburbia to dread piqued my interest. Lynch’s direction left me unsettled, even though nothing on screen was as explicit as the many other ultra violent movies I had watched prior.
While their aesthetic and thematic elements differ, small scale, character-driven drama ties together most of my top ten this year. It’s a mostly international list, with only three of my ten picks from American directors, and majority set beyond US borders. I’m unsure if these commonalities reflect the recent guild strikes, my shifting tastes away from big studio offerings, or just random happenstance of what stood out this year, but it’s a trend I wouldn’t be shocked to see continue into 2025.
My list is in alphabetical order; the wide range of genres and subject matter makes pitting individual choices head to head too challenging. While mood and time available may dictate which among the below I revisit, I’d still highly recommend all of them.
After weeks of research and anecdotal experience navigating local multiplexes, it’s painfully clear that small movies have largely disappeared from theaters. If you enjoy original, small, or otherwise offbeat movies that don’t follow the franchise IP or horror templates, you’ll likely be watching them at home.
The clearest evidence of this phenomenon comes from analyzing global box office returns against budget, for which the traditional industry rule is to aim for a worldwide box office of two to 2.5 times budget to ensure profitability. I focused my research on small to medium budget movies ranging from under 10 to 50 million.
The success stories are almost always horror movies that open wide and easily recoup their budget by opening weekend. MaXXXine took a 1 million budget and lukewarm critical reviews yet still made 22 million in theaters. Longlegs was made for under 10 million and generated an astonishing 109 million at the box office. A 2024 remake of Speak No Evil has made 76 million worldwide against a budget of 15 million.
There’s never been a larger concentration of movies available. Paradoxically, it’s often hard to actually find something you want to watch. The enshittification of streaming is the most prominent obstacle; movies disappear without notice, price hikes occur regularly, and engagement tactics prioritize the bottom line over your satisfaction.
One of the best ways to navigate such a challenging landscape is a bit of introspection. Spend a few minutes to capture why you liked a movie, and you’ll likely find the long term quality of what you watch next will improve.
While introspective notetaking at first glance sounds like lightweight film criticism, it’s actually about saving you time and money. Five minutes now could save you two hours and twenty bucks later. Practically anyone, from home theater cineastes to casual watchers, will benefit by the practice.
The more movies I watch, the greater my appreciation for films that reach a pinnacle of what the medium can achieve, even with noticeable weaknesses. These flawed masterpieces are a rare phenomenon, so count me surprised to see two examples – Queer and The Brutalist – a day apart from each other at TIFF this year.
The films have widely different aims. Queer is a languorous, trippy chamber piece drama centered on one lonely person. The Brutalist is an epic, propulsive immigrant story tackling various American thematic elements, from capitalism to art, racism to xenophobia. However, each movie has parallel strengths and weaknesses. Both films have extraordinary acting and technical underpinnings, underscored by visionary directors. Yet each film’s ambition bumps into unsatisfying final acts that wrap up their stories on a sour note.
Queer generates a sense of place that’s unlike any other movie I’ve seen, effectively Edward Hopper on acid. Most of the story takes place in 1950s Mexico City, but the setting has a slippery, hard to pin down aesthetic that splits the difference between realism and fantasy to land on some trippy, hyperreal midpoint. Several elements, like the outfits and acting mannerisms, are grounded and period-appropriate, but they are smashed against an overly saturated color grading with a production design and lighting setup that doesn’t disguise an artificial set. The mix of new and old, natural and hyperreal, extends to the soundscape with an anachronistic soundtrack (e.g., Prince, New Order) and a Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross score that mixes woodwinds with synths, creating an enveloping sense of longing. Watching a well dressed, drunk William Lee (Daniel Craig) stumble down the street as Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” blares in the background is quite the experience.
The Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) plays over 200 films across 18 theaters for eleven days. Such dizzying variety provides countless options for film lovers, but unless you happen to be a high-tier TIFF member or are otherwise very lucky, there’s a strong chance at least one from your wishlist is “off sale,” meaning there aren’t any tickets currently available.
But don’t give up; there’s a chance you’ll be able to get tickets later for that movie mid-festival, even on the day of the screening. If you check periodically on Ticketmaster, new inventory can free up alongside reasonably priced resale tickets. Alternatively, you can try rushing a screening, queueing up at a special rush line for a chance to buy tickets based on any remaining empty seats in the cinema around showtime.
As someone who’s attended TIFF for multiple years, I’ve had a reasonably decent success rate acquiring tickets through rushing and last minute Ticketmaster buys. Both methods form the majority of what I watch at TIFF each year. Certain strategies can dramatically increase your odds of success.
Watching Apple gate their movies so heavily behind their streaming service is a bummer. Reports suggest Apple Original Films is abandoning wide theatrical distribution in favor of negligible theatrical qualifying runs before appearing on Apple TV+. If closing the door on theaters wasn’t enough, Apple has never released Blu-rays for any of their films, and most aren’t available for rental or even digital purchase. Relegated away from most common distribution platforms to a sixth place streaming service, far fewer people will ever watch Apple-financed films.
Some might question if that’s a real loss given Apple’s iffy track record across critical pans and financial flops like Argylle and Ghosted. But I give credit to Apple as a financier behind top tier talent crafting original stories. It’s a strategy once commonplace in the early 2000s and earlier, but an anomaly in today’s four quadrant IP landscape.
Limited series are taking over television. From Baby Reindeer to Shogun, Mr. and Mrs. Smith to Ripley, miniseries, anthologies, and other self-contained story arcs over a few hours are crowding out our TV watching attention. Even more traditional multi-season TV series feel more like limited series because they have longer gaps between seasons, chase more seasonal storylines or temporary supporting characters, and get canceled earlier in their run.
At a glance, the limited series format provides advantages compared to feature length films and traditional multi-season shows. A longer runtime gives room for deeper characterization and more complex plotting than a movie, yet the show remains short enough to ensure its initial concept doesn’t overstay its welcome.
But in practice, many limited series I’ve watched lately struggle to use their runtime well, downgrading what might be a great show to merely good. Most have had unmemorable characters and aimless side plots that feel padded out to hit the runtime of a six to ten episode arc. What could have been an engaging two hour movie sprawls on for an ungainly six or more hours.
The Fall Guy is a throwback, the rare high budget summer movie based on a quasi-original story, leaning on two likable stars to carry a PG-13 mixture of action, comedy, and romance. Helmed by a director who’s proven himself at the box office, it’s about as appealing a draw as you’re going to get that’s not based on four-quadrant-friendly IP.
But The Fall Guy is a flop. The movie made $28 million opening weekend and $110 million worldwide gross after its first two weeks, the slowest start to the summer movie season in fifteen years. With a reported $130 million budget, it’s a likely loss on Universal’s balance sheets.
Cue extensive online discourse regarding The Fall Guy’s stumbles: Ryan Gosling can’t open a movie. Universal should have released the movie in the spring with less competition. The budget was excessive. But the path to success for The Fall Guy, like most movies, was already narrow; for the last decade, the theatrical experience has gotten worse while home viewing has gotten better, and the studios have trained an audience that mega event franchise IP are the only movies worth leaving home for.
I recently watched Frances Ford Coppola’s Godfather Part II and Apocalypse Now on the big screen. Like many other directors of his era, he charted his path through auteur runs: multiple movies in a row with wide distribution and a personal artistic vision. No extended detours into TV. No five plus year gaps between films. No anonymous paycheck gigs. Coppola’s output from 1972 to 1979 – The Godfather, The Godfather Part II, The Conversation, Apocalypse Now – was arguably the greatest auteur run ever. Such directorial stretches used to be commonplace but are rare today, especially for younger directors. It’s a trend that, left unchecked, can threaten film’s cultural relevance.
But before getting too pessimistic about the situation, I did some research. I looked at Sight and Sound’s 2022 critics poll alongside the most popular movies on Letterboxd for a more populist take. From these sources, I hand picked at least forty directors who each had at least one reasonable auteur run: three or no movies in wide release (e.g., available across your average American cineplex or widely popular for rental or streaming) with no gaps greater than five years and no obvious mercenary gigs.
Every decade, many influential directors have had auteur runs at their critical and financial peak. In the 50s and 60s, there was Hitchcock, Kurosawa, Kubrick, Wilder, Fellini, and Goddard. The 70s brought New Hollywood in with Coppola, Scorsese, Altman, Friedkin, and Lucas. The 80s were defined by filmmakers as varied as Spielberg, De Palma, Stone, Carpenter, Cameron, Zemeckis, and Lynch. For the 90s we had Tarantino, Soderbergh, Lee, Linklater, Fincher, the Coen brothers, and Paul Thomas Anderson. I’d argue the 2000s saw a meaningful dip, but we still saw talent like Bigelow, Anderson, Wan, McDonaugh, and Iñárritu break out.