As we bid adieu to 2024, let’s take a moment to spotlight the titles that delivered the goods in the last 365 cinematic days. 2024 has been a year of big swings, where creativity often outpaced cohesion, challenging conventions more than its predecessor, yet it fell short of reaching the heights of greatness we’ve come to expect (The Zone of Interest, Poor Things). Nevertheless, while not every gamble paid off, the spirit of innovation was impossible to ignore. A particularly striking shift is the dominance of Cannes on my top ten list, with six titles claiming their place among my favourites, while Venice contributed only two- a far cry from the usual, more even split. These films, bursting with creativity and distinct voices, have not only entertained but also provoked and inspired, Fi their place in the ever-changing story of contemporary cinema.
Oh, and a quick reminder to avoid any confusion: my “films of the year” rule isn’t bound by local release dates. Whether you’re catching early releases in New York or pirating them in York (don’t do that, by the way), the universal premiere date is king. It’s about when the film first hit the world stage, not when it finally crawled into your local cinema.
So, pop your kernels, dust off your watchlists, and in the spirit of this annual tradition, let’s be kind and rewind 2024.
10) Good one – India Donaldson
17-year-old Sam goes camping with her dad, Chris, in the bucolic of upstate New York. Yet, they’re not alone, and the father-daughter trip is third-wheeled by the goofy and messy Matt, Chris’ best buddy, attempting to cheer him up after his divorce. Trekking along the forest, the power dynamics shift and affections unravel, as the two old pals banter, bicker, and crack jokes while the young Sam quietly watches, clearly the most mature in the group. Good One is an easy-going, well-written, light-hearted comedy… until it clicks, suddenly delivering a devastating emotional punch, and irrevocably changing the perception of the characters on screen, the film’s genre, and even the mood in the theatre. I shall not spoil the plot twist, but it happens so subtly and naturally that it feels realistic rather than cinematic, in the best possible way. This is an bold, brilliant debut feature by India Donaldson, and I personally can’t wait to see where she takes us next.
9) Miséricorde - Alain Guiraudie
Here’s another film that effortlessly shifts genre in a dazzling fashion. Jérémie returns to his small-town in rural France for the funeral of his former employer, the local baker, stirring sympathies, long-buried rivalries, and awkward tensions among the sleepy villagers, especially with the new widow, her son, and the town’s priest. Unsettlingly offbeat, the film unfolds into a twisted web of homoeroticism, repressed desires, and bleak humour, tangling the viewers in an absurd state of discomfort. Its unpredictable turns juxtapose the idyllic with the weird, and it audaciously presents a pastoral fever dream smashed against the gritty realism of a true crime doc. Guiraudie continues to be a master of pushing boundaries, reminding us why cinema exists to challenge and disturb as much as to entertain. There’s much to unpack in Miséricorde, but trust me, the less you know going in, the more you’ll savour it.
8) Maria – Pablo Larraín
Chilean director Pablo Larraín is the master of unconventional biopics, forgoing the Wikipedia-style treatment in favour of intimate glimpses, enough to encapsulate the essence of some pragmatic figures of the 20th century, mostly female. After last year’s El Conde, which reimagined Augusto Pinochet as a vampire, Larraín returns to form with Maria, exploring the twilight years of Maria Callas. Once the voice of a generation, Callas now haunts the streets of Paris, chasing the spotlight she can no longer command, her lost voice echoing like a ghost of her former self. In a poignant parallel to Spencer, where Princess Diana sought privacy, Callas craves the stage, her life mirroring the great tragedies she performed at La Scala. The film’s operatic flashbacks evoke Amadeus, as Callas becomes her own Salieri, grappling with her decline. Angelina Jolie stuns with a career-best performance, blending fragility and eccentricity— her trembling lips alone worthy of an Oscar nod. Elegantly shot on film, mesmerising compositions alternate with zesty dialogues written by Steven Knight, and Larraín, once again, proves he’s in perfect tune.
7) Anora – Sean Baker
Sean Baker is back with his signature downbeat vision of America, this time through the lens of Mikey Madison as Anora, a vibrant stripper chasing her golden dream. Sex work has long been the staple of Baker’s indie storytelling, but never through preachy moralism. Instead, he crafts relatable, humorous, and human characters that never feel like caricatures, giving them dignity and depth to let the story unfold naturally. In this class comedy, money can indeed buy happiness- at least until trouble catches up. When Anora falls for Ivan over a lap dance, an ultra-rich, spoiled Russian playboy, she is suddenly cast in a champagne flavoured world of excess in the form of mansions and private jets. The modernised Pretty Woman turns rather into Nights of Cabiria, as our Cindarella lives in a capitalist kingdom where magic does not exist, and romanticism is traded for realism. According to Baker, “without humour, any given situation is not real”, and with the exhilarating Anora he proves once again that he knows how to blend sharp storytelling with unapologetic honesty, confirming to be one of the most vital voices in contemporary American cinema.
6) Hundreds of Beavers – Mike Cheslik
The exception to my rule: technically it premiered in some festivals in 2022-2023, but since it got a limited theatrical and on-demand distribution only this year, and overall proper attention, I feel compelled to include it. Why? Because it’s hands down the funniest film I’ve seen in 2024. Picture Guy Maddin directing Looney Tunes, and you will have a good sense of what’s happening in this silent spoof, at times parodying Keaton, at other times pursuing his genius. In the snowy North American wilderness amidst the Gold Rush, cider maker Jean Kayak declares war to, well, hundreds of beavers, hilariously played by actors in cheap, furry costumes. His journey to become an experienced trapper is a surreal live action cartoon that delivers relentless laughs defying logic and reason. A blissful, zero-budget triumph that doesn’t ask you to think too much, but instead, just to surrender to its madness and enjoy the ride, that will leave you gasping for air and smiling from ear to ear. The film’s sheer absurdity and unrelenting sense of humour tapped into something primal, turning me into a child again, even if only for 100 minutes.
5) Universal Language – Matthew Rankin
This film is a delightful surprise, serving up a wildly original cocktail of cultures: stirring an Iranian twist on Winnipeg, set in a surreal limbo between Canada and Tehran where Farsi language reigns supreme. Iconographies collide as childhood parables à la Abbas Kiarostami meet Roy Andersson’s deadpan humour and muted aesthetics, all garnished with Guy Maddin’s eccentric Canadian pride. The narrative is a kaleidoscope of intersecting storylines— a pair of kids on a mission to retrieve a frozen banknote, a chaotic turkey stampede, and a tourist guide showcasing this bizarro Winnipeg’s “finest” landmarks, including the illustrious broken fountain at an outlet mall. With this film, Rankin aims to reassess his culture, influences, and himself, through the mystical postmodern prism of Iranian cinema. It’s a total delight, and a constant, sophisticated laugh.
4) Emilia Perez – Jacques Audiard
Jacques Audiard goes full throttle, delivering a pop opera that never loses its rhythm, constantly surprising with genre shifts that pirouette seamlessly between melodrama, action, and comedy, without a single faux pas. It’s a cinematic wonder. Set in Mexico, the film revolves around three captivating female characters: Rita (Zoe Saldaña), a frustrated and undervalued lawyer; Manitas (Karla Sofia Gascón), a ruthless drug lord; and his wife, played by Selena Gomez. Remember when Tony Soprano decides to go to a shrink, and his weakness might cost him dearly? Well, Manitas takes his secret one step further: he wants to become a woman, leading to a stunning transformation that reshapes the film itself. Metamorphosis is at the heart of the picture, both personal and cinematic, and the film morphs from a gritty cartel narrative to something more lyrical, blending captivating choreography, ear-worm musical numbers, and fluid, dance-like camerawork. Despite its crazy premise, Audiard never judges or mocks the intimate themes at play. Instead, he explores complex, relatable characters grounded in the lead actor’s personal experience of abandoning a former masculine identity. Emilia Perez is a lot of things, but eventually they can be summed up by a passionate quest of love and redemption.
3) A Different Man - Aaron Schimberg
This was, without a doubt, the biggest surprise of the year for me. I walked in blind, unfamiliar with the director, and when I heard it tackled disabilities I braced myself for yet another preachy, feel-good slog. Lesson learned: never judge a film by its poster. A Different Man flips the script entirely, delivering a sharp, dark comedy that gleefully swims against the tide of shallow, performative “acceptance” narratives. Edward, our protagonist, is an actor whose genetic condition has reshaped his face, relegating him to a pitifully small pool of unflattering roles. His unrequited crush on his playwright neighbour (Renate Reinsve) seems like a lost cause—until, in a surreal twist, his face sheds, revealing a devilishly handsome Sebastian Stan underneath. Yet, as his external appearance changes, his internal struggles remain stubbornly the same, raising the unsettling question of whether the real problem was always within. The film spirals into a gripping rollercoaster of absurdity, culminating in Edward’s encounter with his doppelgänger, Oswald, a man who embraces his diverse appearance with enviable ease. It’s part Charlie Kaufman’s absurdism, part Woody Allen self-deprecation, wrapped in a darkly comic exploration of self-perception and the futility of escaping one’s own nature. Equal parts hilarious and thought-provoking, A Different Man is a brilliant, unsettling gem that provokes and questions whether we can ever truly escape who we are— or if we should even try.
2) Grand Tour – Miguel Gomes
Few films transport us to another dimension, and Miguel Gomes’ transcendental new picture is a rare exception, questioning the very essence of fiction and reality and finding the answer to organically embrace both. Set against the backdrop of the crumbling colonial empire at its sunset, the story begins in 1918 with Edward, a British civil servant, fleeing Mandalay just as his fiancée Molly arrives to reunite with him. What follows is the titular "Grand Tour", a whimsical chase across Southeast Asia as Molly refuses to give up her lover despite Edward’s punctual desertions. Narrated in native tongues depending on the ever-changing locations, it unfolds like an odd screwball comedy, where the leads never share a scene. The brilliance lies in its form: Gomes intersperses period-perfect black-and-white, old-fashioned studio scenes with modern documentary footage, observing the unexpected grace in the real world, voyeuristically captured as he retraced Edward’s fictional journey. These inserts—showcasing shadow puppets, folkloric dances, and street life—merge the fantastical with the real, effortlessly blurring the boundaries of cinema and life itself, complimentary of each other. If you don’t sigh at the sound of Singapore slings, Tibetan temples and Saigon’s monkeys, you might be immune to this film’s charm. The film revels in its exhilarating depiction of exotic fetishism, the romantic, illusory westernised gaze upon South-Asian iconography, celebrating a mythical East that exists only on the silver screen. According to the Portuguese filmmaker, the ticket to embark on this journey across space and time is belief. A faith that relies in the images, and that the viewers must have in order to appreciate the magic on screen. There is too much effort to show reality on film, and it’s good to believe in the unbelievable again.
1) The Brutalist – Brady Corbet
When the flickering Vistavision logo proudly lit the room, I could tell something truly special was happening: Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist had begun. “Monumental” barely captures it: the film’s scale mirrors Corbet’s gargantuan ambitions, and it’s reassuring to see Universal Pictures commit to such a colossal production, despite its unbelievably small budget (less than $10 million). In an era where films tend to stretch unjustifiably long, The Brutalist clocks in at a staggering 215 minutes: but this is not a regular movie, but the chance to experience a proper epic, overture included, in similar proportions to when Lawrence of Arabia or 2001 were firstly released. This odyssey is an American one, following the life of Laszlo Toth, impeccably played by Adrien Brody, emigrating from Budapest to the United States after surviving the Shoah, and looking for fortune trying to achieve his architectural dreams in a world that neither appreciates his skills nor his vision. The “brutal” in Laszlo’s life isn’t just his architectural style, but also the cards that life as an immigrant deals him. Laszlo battles to carve out his place in The Land of Dreams, crashing against concrete realities. A hell disguised as paradise, whose devil has the shape of charismatic millionaire Harrison Van Buten (played with sinister charm by Guy Pearce), who becomes Lazslo’s patron, blessing, and curse, who offers him the hope to reinstate his reputation building a titanic Cathedral on a hill outside Philadelphia. The Brutalist is more than a film: it’s an essay on post-war collective psychology and the rise of modern architecture, wrapped in a story of resilience and obsession. With its towering ambition, breathtaking visuals, and profound exploration of art, identity, and survival, this is pure cinema, cementing itself as not just the best film of the year, but a timeless piece that will resonate, I hope, for generations.
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