And in fact, just like last year, not only are all of the movies on this list more than worthy of strong recommendations, all of them are were awarded 4.5/5 or 5/5 by me on Letterboxd (shameless plug), and they collectively represent an incredible range and diversity of voices telling entertaining, powerful, and important stories that should be sought out by everyone reading this if at all possible. And while there are several titles listed below that many have probably never even heard of (as neither Top Gun: Maverick nor the new Avatar sequel are on this list), I strongly believe that they are all worthy of viewing and serious engagement even if they ultimately don't work for everyone like they did for me.
Now, as always, before I get into my top 15, here's a list of 15 films from 2022 that I have NOT yet seen but definitely want to as soon as possible:
All the Beauty and the Bloodshed
Bad Axe
Bones and All
Close
EO
The Eternal Daughter
God's Country
Hit the Road
Mad God
Moonage Daydream
No Bears
The Quiet Girl
Return to Seoul
Three Thousand Years of Longing
The Whale
And as I say every year now, these 15 films I'm about to list (and the order in which I list them) may not be what some would consider the BEST films of 2022; but rather, they are my personal FAVORITE films that, for one reason or another, impacted me as a film reviewer and as an aspiring filmmaker and that, in my opinion, speak in some way to the broader world we all live in. So, without further ado, here are my top 15 favorite films of 2022 from 15 to 1:
#15. Stars at Noon -- The first of several films on this list that deserved a better fate than it got, here is the second of two 2022 films from the great French auteur Claire Denis, whose work I had the opportunity to study this year in a grad school class at the University of Wisconsin-Madison under the teaching of French cinema scholar Kelley Conway. And while Denis' first film of 2022, Both Sides of the Blade, didn't work for me at all when I saw it at the Chicago Critics Film Festival this past May, Stars at Noon immediately grabbed me upon my first viewing of it at the Marcus Point Cinema in Madison, WI (where I was one of three people in the theatre) and inspired a 20-page paper for that class. And while I am not going to rehash that 20-page paper here (if you are interested in reading it, let me know 😉), I will say that this film fits right in with Denis' best work in the way it delicately mixes art film and genre film codes to create a uniquely compelling cinematic experience. In this film's case, it manages to be both a political thriller and an erotic art film and it works in a tremendously effective fashion on both levels. While certain film critics have criticized the two leads here (Margaret Qualley and Joe Alwyn) for not having great chemistry, that's not really the point of their relationship. Their two characters (a stranded American journalist and a wealthy British businessman) are both alienated and isolated in impoverished and unstable COVID-era Nicaragua and find themselves thrown together simply because of their circumstances and, later, the danger they are both forced to share. And also much like Denis' best work, she makes a careful and intricate use of an elliptical narrative structure that requires the viewer to pay close attention and, in many ways, places the viewer in the mindset of Qualley's character as she tries to grasp the gravity of her situation. And aiding that in a powerful way is Qualley giving her best performance in a film to date (still need to catch up with her miniseries Maid), exquisitely embodying the psychology of a troubled young woman trapped in an impossible situation and forced to desperate measures to survive. Even Joe Alwyn, despite being best known as Taylor Swift's romantic partner and supposedly being the third choice for this role, gives a grounded and understated performance as an enigmatic figure who can never fully be trusted. So while I understand why this film might not be for everyone, I still think it is incredibly compelling, thought-provoking, expertly-made by a 76-year-old auteur at the top of her game, and for patient viewers, ultimately rewarding. And side-note: the fact that Margaret Qualley and Joe Alwyn doing this film directly led to Taylor Swift and Jack Antonoff doing Midnights is my favorite thing of all time (currently streaming on Hulu).
#14. Cha Cha Real Smooth -- From the moment I saw Cooper Raiff's Cha Cha Real Smooth as part of the virtual Sundance Film Festival at the beginning of this year, I knew this film was going to have a special place in my heart. As a fellow Zillennial, cinephile, and lifelong hopeless romantic, I was fully on-board with everything Raiff was up to here, from the equal-parts cringey and bittersweet opening flashback sequence to the sincere, heartfelt, and honestly-rendered relationships portrayed throughout. Rather than simply a "straight cis white guy tries to figure out his life" story, as some have predictably classified this, Cha Cha Real Smooth is a film that speaks profoundly and beautifully to the current generation of people in their 20s, taking inspiration from other films like The Graduate and Garden State and making it relevant to the here and now. And much like Bo Burnham did with Eighth Grade (albeit not as consistently effective), Raiff uses both tonal mixtures and certain subtle choices with directing and cinematography to evoke the deeply empathic nature of his protagonist Andrew as he cares for both Dakota Johnson's Domino and Vanessa Burghardt's Lola, both of whom absolutely shine in their roles. Johnson, in particular, gives one of the absolute best performances of her career, giving a beautifully understated performance tinged with sadness and regret in a way that always feels real and never manipulative, while Burghardt's performance is not being talked about enough in terms of its groundbreaking representation of autism in cinema (because, for once, an actor with autism is playing a character with autism). And while I understand why Cooper Raiff might not be everyone's cup of tea, I was endeared to him from his first moment on screen and, by the end of his film, I legitimately wanted to be friends with him, and I honestly don't care if he casts himself in twenty more movies after this, I enjoy spending time with him. But although this film might not break any new ground from a storytelling or stylistic perspective, I certainly think this is one of the best crowd-pleasing dramedies of this or any year, one that is made with a refreshing lack of cynicism and that celebrates empathy and hopeless romanticism in a way that wins me over every time I go back to revisit it, and for that alone, it more than earns its spot in my top 15 (currently streaming on Apple TV+).
#13. After Yang -- Yet another film I had the privilege of seeing almost a full year ago at the virtual Sundance Film Festival, writer/director Kogonada's long-awaited follow-up to his remarkable 2017 debut feature Columbus shows once again that he is one of the most exciting new filmmakers working in the humanist drama space today, even if he is expanding into the science-fiction space in After Yang. But much like Denis Villeneuve did with Arrival (albeit on a smaller scale), Kogonada maintains such a steady focus on the characters and deeply profound themes related to family, loss, grief, the very meaning of life and the nature of what artificial intelligence can and cannot do throughout this film, all themes that were extremely relevant at the beginning of this year and are perhaps even more relevant now. Although futuristic technology is baked into the plot of this film (the titular "Yang" is a robotic child bought to help raise a couple's adopted daughter), the film is careful to not get lost in the extraneous details related to it. Even when it does explore the different futuristic sci-fi capabilities, it provides the film with some of its most soulful sequences, in particular when Jake (Colin Farrell) discovers Yang's memory bank and uses it to watch his memories. And Farrell, continuing in the vein of his work with Yorgos Lanthimos on both The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, delivers a quietly heartbreaking and devastating performance here, one that quickly got overshadowed by his work in another 2022 film to mentioned later on this list (no, not The Batman) but one that should not be forgotten about. And supporting work by Jodie Turner-Smith, Justin H. Min as Yang, and even Columbus star Haley Lu Richardson in a small but crucial role, help to further ground this film in a melancholic but powerful emotional reality. Nomination-worthy cinematography by Benjamin Loeb (just like in Columbus, the film's shots are often static but never stiff) and a hypnotic score by ASKA and Ryuichi Sakamoto round out this film's exquisite craft, but overall, it is the commanding work of Kogonada on this film that make it one of the year's best, one that has quickly been forgotten about after being dumped by A24 in March but one that deserves to be remembered as yet-another essential addition to 21st century canon of emotional sci-fi dramas (currently streaming on Paramount+ and Showtime).
#12. Decision to Leave -- Here is a 2022 release that I have only been able to see one time (which was, thankfully, on the big screen at the now-closed AMC Madison 6), but I cannot wait to go back and revisit soon, especially since I'm taking a Film Noir class at UW-Madison this coming semester where we will be studying several classic films of the genre that certainly influenced writer/director Park Chan-wook's approach to this story. And while Park has absolutely worn his Hitchcock influence on his sleeve before (his sole English-language film, 2013's Stoker, is essentially an updating of Shadow of a Doubt), Decision to Leave is one of the few 21st century neo-noir thrillers that more than earns genuine comparison to Hitchcock, taking a concept with more than a hint of resemblance to the story of Vertigo and executing it with such intelligence, depth, and incredible filmmaking prowess that it never once feels stale or unoriginal. In fact, the way in which Park skillfully structures his screenplay and uses pacing, tonal shifts, and other subtle directorial choices in order to allow the viewer to understand the nature of both our detective protagonist (Park Hae-il)'s obsession and our femme fatale (Tang Wei)'s alienation is what truly elevates this film into being one of this year's most special achievements, as it really becomes an exploration of what happens when two broken and troubled people become entangled in a toxic and dangerous fashion. And this all ultimately culminates in the one of the most heartbreaking and haunting third-act finales I've seen in some time, one that will stay with you long after the credits roll, and one that is aided significantly by nomination-worthy cinematography from Kim Ji-yong, whose work here also makes this one of the year's most visually hypnotic cinematic works. In a span of five years that has brought such great South Korean cinema as Burning, Parasite, and House of Hummingbird, Decision to Leave continues the incredible run of great cinema from South Korea, and offers yet another compelling argument for certain moviegoers to get over their aversion to subtitles. As Parasite director Bong Joon-ho said almost three years ago now, "once you overcome the one-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films." (currently streaming on MUBI).
#11. Everything Everywhere All At Once -- The first of three films on this list that could accurately be considered go-for-broke anarchist works of filmmaking, Daniel Scheinert and Daniel Kwan's absurdist postmodern philosophical genre-blending exercise is one that I, unfortunately, have not been able to see a second time since my first viewing of it on Easter at my local AMC multiplex in NW Indiana. However, that first viewing nearly eight-and-a-half months ago made more than enough of an impression on me to warrant its placing just outside my top 10 on this list. An exploration of the multiverse that single-handedly humiliates every attempt by the Marvel Cinematic Universe to explore it, as well as perhaps the most intelligent evocation of life on the Internet over the last six or so years that I've seen, Everything Everywhere All At Once is tremendous filmmaking achievement regardless of how you decide to read it. Although it certainly lives up to its title and then some, both Scheinert and Kwan, as well as their DP Larkin Seiple and production and costume designers, go to such great lengths to make every single one of these alternate universes unique and compelling in their own way so that nothing about this film feels half-baked or haphazard or anything less than seamless. And while it could have been very easy for this film to simply be about the universes themselves and the various bells and whistles therein, what helps to make this film special and why it still stands tall amid this year's crop of films so many months later, is the real, genuine emotion that Scheinert and Kwan ground this film in. The mother/daughter relationship between protagonist Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh in a career-best performance) and Joy (Stephanie Hsu in an incredible breakthrough performance) is one of the most profound of the year, and a climactic scene between the two of them late in the film hit me emotionally in a way that I was not expecting. Additionally, Ke Huy Quan's tremendous comeback performance as Evelyn's husband is one of my favorites of the year and more than deserves its Best Supporting Actor frontrunner status. So yes, while this film might have placed higher on my list if I had gotten to see it more than once, the sheer passion and craft on display makes it easy to embrace upon one experience of letting it wash over you, while certainly leaving a desire to step into the everything bagel many more times (currently streaming on Paramount+ and Showtime).
#10. Women Talking -- Now for the complete polar opposite of Everything Everywhere All At Once, here is a film I had been eagerly anticipating for a while before attending a sneak preview screening at UW-Madison this past November. Ever since getting to see the documentary Stories We Tell at the very first Chicago Critics Film Festival in 2013, I have absolutely loved Sarah Polley both as a filmmaker and as a human being. The problem was, after seeing that film (and meeting her at the screening), she didn't put out another film for almost a decade. While I would later learn that this was due to becoming a mother and a life-altering concussion she experienced in a freak accident, it still made me even more excited when she finally did release her long-awaited follow-up to Stories We Tell. And the film she chose as this follow-up, an adaptation of Miriam Toews' novel Women Talking, did not disappoint at all. While there have already been many jokes made about the film's title summarizing its content (i.e., it consists of "women talking"), it really trivializes the work that Polley is doing here, which is constructing both a supremely compelling actor's showcase and a deeply intelligent morality piece that raises incredibly thought-provoking questions regarding how to persevere in the midst of unspeakable evil and terror. Polley's screenplay is one of the best of the year, giving each of the women (and the one man, played quietly but powerfully by Ben Whishaw) a distinctive voice that makes the various debate scenes all the more engaging, and the ensemble cast she assembles is likewise one of the strongest of the year. In particular, Rooney Mara and Jessie Buckley give nomination-worthy performances as two of the focal point characters during the debate scenes, acting as foils for each other in a way that never draws attention to itself but helps these scenes to flow effortlessly, and Mara's chemistry with the aforementioned Whishaw allows for some of my favorite scenes in any movie this year. In addition, the unique visual language that Polley had been developing with Stories We Tell is expanded here, using distinct cinematography and color grading to make this film feel both historical and urgent, and it looks absolutely beautiful on the big screen. So while this film is still only playing in limited release, it is definitely worth seeking out, as it will no doubt provoke interesting and important conversation, even if it's just about how great it is to have Sarah Polley back making movies. She is absolutely one of the best and brightest filmmakers working today, and one who everybody should make a point of supporting (now playing in select theaters).
#9. The Banshees of Inisherin -- While not away from filmmaking as long as Sarah Polley, it had still been five years since Irish playwright-turned-filmmaker Martin McDonagh made his previous film, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, one of the most intelligent, sad, and darkly comedic films of the last decade, and one that spoke to 2010s America as well as any other film of that decade. And while his follow-up to that film, the 1920s Ireland-set The Banshees of Inisherin, is certainly a departure in terms of period and setting, McDonagh's singular understanding of how to effectively blend dark, biting satirical comedy with genuine human tragedy is fully intact, and the result is not only one of the most stunning accomplishments of the year, but perhaps a new creative peak for McDonagh's relatively young career. Reteaming his In Bruges co-stars Colin Farrell (who had an amazing 2022) and Brendan Gleeson, McDonagh crafts another simultaneously tragic, darkly comedic, and deceptively simple story, this one about the ending of a friendship by an aging man increasingly desperate for his life to have some sense of meaning and purpose while his now-former friend tries and fails to understand what is actually going on. Imbued with McDonagh's signature gallows humor and wit, as well as perfectly-placed elements of Irish folklore and history (it is no coincidence that the backdrop to this film is the Irish Civil War), this film is an absolute feast for analysis, and like Women Talking, it manages to be at once old-fashioned and surprisingly timely. Since McDonagh wrote much of this screenplay during the COVID-19 lockdowns, it's easy to guess that much of Gleeson's character's anxiety regarding the need to create and be remembered was a reflection of McDonagh's own pandemic-driven anxieties regarding the fleeting nature of life and the urgency of being middle-aged and needing to solidify your legacy. Likewise, the mirror image of the Irish Civil War and the fractured friendship at this film's center can easily be seen as a bitter reflection of our current societal divisions, where lifelong friends and family members with different social/political views and voting patterns are increasingly turning on one another. And the bleak yet strangely beautiful depiction of its fictional Irish isle further adds a sense of urgent unease and melancholy to the proceedings. Further bringing this all to life are two of the best performances of both Farrell and Gleeson's careers, with Farrell at his sad, befuddled best, earning his status as a dark horse in this year's Best Actor race. But the film's true acting MVP is Kerry Condon as Farrell's character's sister, quietly stealing the film at times from its two male leads and making a forceful case for both a Best Supporting Actress Oscar and leading roles in major films. So while The Banshees of Inisherin might not make you feel great afterward, it certainly is another impressive display for some of the best writing, acting, and overall filmmaking craft of the year, and it will likely leave you impatiently clamoring for future Martin McDonagh works (currently streaming on HBO Max).
#8. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On -- Perhaps the most underrated would-be crowd-pleaser of the year, here is a film that I had absolute pleasure of seeing for the first time on the big-screen at the Chicago Critics Film Festival this past May. Having had no familiarity with the short film series of the same name, I had little idea of what to expect from this film, but what I got was maybe the most adorable ninety minutes I had ever seen projected on a big screen. The eponymous anthropomorphic shell, voiced by Jenny Slate and created by her (as well as her ex-husband Dean Fleischer-Camp, who also directed this film), immediately grabbed my heart and didn't let go for the entire running-time. The way in which the screenplay and Slate's vocal performance bring Marcel to life in this film instantly places him in a class of fictional children's characters alongside Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables and Wilbur from Charlotte's Web, as his incurable optimism, contagious sense of whimsy, and wide-eyed fascination with everything the world has to offer makes him a welcomed and much-needed antidote to our contemporary societal cynicism. But lest you think that Marcel the Shell with Shoes On is a mere kids movie, both Fleischer-Camp and Slate imbue this film with some profound philosophical messages regarding the loss of innocence, the need for community and connection, the fleeting nature of celebrity and the increasing loss of privacy in the Internet/social media age. In many ways, this film belongs in the same category as Inside Out, Wonder, and Greta Gerwig's Little Women, as they are all PG-rated family films that possess uncommon insight, depth, and genuine human emotion that allow them to work equally well for children and parents and have the ability to provoke great family conversation (unlike, say, the Minions movies). But balancing out this film's surprisingly deep and profound themes, it is also one of the funniest films of the year, as some of Marcel's sweetly innocent quips are among the best and most memorable of the year. I will not soon forget seeing this in a packed crowd at Chicago's Music Box Theatre and laughing and crying amongst a sea of people on the same wavelength watching this film. And while no home-viewing experience can accurately match that, I still strongly recommend that everyone, but especially any families reading this, to seek this out and watch it together. Any family film that refuses to treat children as dumb or fragile needs to be seen, supported, and embraced, and Marcel the Shell is certainly the best of the bunch to come along this year (currently available to rent for $3.99).
#7. RRR -- One of the most unexpected surprises of 2022, here is a film that completely caught me by surprise when I first began hearing people rave about it this past summer. Having had basically zero exposure to any sort of genuine Indian cinema outside of film history classes, this film would have never been on my radar if it hadn't been for multiple film people I follow praising it. But thankfully, I finally sat down and watched all three hours and seven minutes of S. S. Rajamouli's absolutely insane, audacious yet intelligent and profound RRR (which stands for Rise Roar Revolt) on Netflix, and I now completely understand why this has successfully crossed over with Western audiences. Much like Everything Everywhere All At Once and another film to be mentioned later on this list, RRR takes a maximalist, anarchist, go-for-broke approach to genre filmmaking that takes the epic approach of Marvel films such as Avengers: Endgame and completely blows it out of the water. While on the surface a story about a friendship between two revolutionaries and their friendship before they team up to fight against the British colonial forces in 1920s India, Rajamouli steers this film from serious historical drama to action film to romantic comedy to full-blown song-and-dance musical and back again with amazing skill and without ever feeling jarring or messy. And not only does it veer back-and-forth between these genres with uncommon skill, all of the genre elements present in this film feel fresh and well-done. From the film's critical examination of British colonial rule in India, to hero Bheem (N. T. Rama Rao Jr.)'s forbidden romance with Jenny (Olivia Morris), the niece of the villainous British colonial administrator, to the numerous stunningly maximalist action sequences and their (for once) not-distracting use of CGI, to the multiple (!) elaborate song-and-dance numbers that do nothing to advance the plot and yet are so engaging, well-choreographed, and just plain fun that their lack of relevance to the plot somehow doesn't matter. But at the heart of this story is the friendship/bromance between Bheem and Imperial Police officer-turned-fellow revolutionary Raju, brought beautifully to life by Rama Rao Jr. and Ram Charan, two actors who can take down the entire British Royal Army and lead a flamboyant song-and-dance number with equal ease. It's not an exaggeration to say that their chemistry is completely intoxicating and puts the chemistry/banter of every Marvel character to shame. My only real regret regarding this film is that I didn't get to see it in a theatre with a crowd, which is clearly how a movie like this is supposed to be seen. But it is out there for people to stream at home, and this is one of those rare movies where I can honestly say that there is something in it for everyone, so please do yourself a favor and watch it immediately. You will almost certainly not regret it (currently streaming on Netflix).
#6. Girl Picture -- Perhaps the most overlooked and ignored film of a year full of overlooked and ignored films, here was my absolute favorite film from this past year's virtual Sundance Film Festival, one I watched twice in 24 hours and quickly spread the word about, only for it to be effectively dumped by its US distributor this past August with little-to-no buzz. And that is a real shame, because Girl Picture, this year's Finnish submission for the Best International Feature Oscar from director Alli Haapasalo, is perhaps the most effortless film I saw in 2022, one with three of the best lead performances of the year and one that captures the highs and lows of female adolescence with maturity, depth, brutal honesty and sincere, genuine humor. As I've said numerous times, even just here on this blog, those who know me know that two of my favorite types of films are coming-of-age films and films with female leads, and Girl Picture offers three great female coming-of-age stories in one perfectly-constructed piece of filmmaking. Using quintessentially European styles of cinematic naturalism and casual approaches to more taboo aspects of female adolescence, director Haapasalo and her writers bring the personal lives of their three female leads beautifully to life, taking a nonjudgmental view of their various decisions that feels refreshingly honest and heartfelt. But unlike 2019's preposterously overrated, gratingly pretentious, and all-around awful female coming-of-age film Booksmart (which, full disclosure, was cited by Haapasalo and her writers as an inspiration for Girl Picture), this film never places its lead characters on any sort of pedestal, just presenting them as real, flawed human beings who make mistakes and oftentimes don't use their best judgment but are still genuine and real enough to be worthy of the audience's empathy and care (in stark contrast to the unbelievably smug and annoying Booksmart lead characters). And playing a tremendous role in bringing these lead characters beautifully to life are Aamu Milonoff, Linnea Leino, and Eleonoora Kauhanen, giving three of the best lead performances of 2022 in this film, embodying their characters with sensitivity, grace, and often understated power. But if I had to pick a single stand-out from this group, I would give the edge to Leino, who plays Emma, a competitive figure-skater and closeted lesbian who begins a desperate and passionate love affair with Milonoff's Mimmi, allowing her to both blow off steam and find some sense of purpose outside of her strict, harsh and unforgiving athletic regimine. The subtle but devastating ways in which Leino communicates her inner turmoil, despite being outwardly more "together" than her two co-leads, allows for some of my favorite moments in world cinema this year. So since I'm guessing most people reading this had not even heard of this film prior to it showing up on this list, I strongly urge you all to seek this film out wherever you can. Films this sophisticated about teenagers' personal lives don't come around very often, and people need to see and support them whenever possible, even if doing so requires reading subtitles. So do it! (currently available to rent for $3.99).
#5. TÁR -- From the very first film festival circuit rumblings I heard about Todd Field's Cate Blanchett-vehicle TÁR, it initially did not do much to spark my interest. After all, Cate Blanchett already has two Oscars, so does she really need a vehicle designed to win her a third Oscar not even a full decade after her last? And as somebody with not much of an interest at all in classical music, how interesting could a film set in the stuffy, elitist world of classical music possibly be? Well, it turns out, when you have a writer/director as intelligent as Todd Field and a lead actress as magnetic as Cate Blanchett, it can one of the most deeply interesting and necessary films of the year. Much, much more than the cinematic thesis on cancel culture that many have been quick to label this as, what Todd Field is really doing here is crafting a cinematic portrait of a troubled figure who has long abused her power and prestige to satisfy a sick need for control only for that history of abuse to come back and destroy her. Having seen this exact thing happen just this year with a formerly-beloved authority figure in my own life, I was on the edge of my seat for much of this film's more than two-and-a-half hour running time, as Field uses a brilliant combination of pacing, a slow-burning sense of dread, and a strict adherence to anti-hero Lydia Tár (Blanchett)'s point-of-view to expertly build suspense and keep the film from ever feeling like it's lagging. In addition, Field's screenplay is so meticulously researched and intelligent regarding both the classical music world and contemporary American societal discourse that it never once hits a false note regarding the various aspects of both that it portrays. Even just the film's opening scene, which depicts an interview with Lydia by Adam Gopnik at the New Yorker Festival, is so realistic that it almost feels as if the film we're about to watch is a biopic of a real-life classical music conductor/composer (which it isn't, but just the fact that some thought it was is a testament to the brilliance of this screenplay and film). And then later, as Lydia's world begins to crumble beneath her and the film does begin to deal with cancel culture, Field shows how, in this case, Lydia's routine grooming practices and abuse of power were more than just cause for her being "cancelled," but even then, it is a gradual realization that sets in more than a message that Field beats the audience over the head with. It almost goes without saying that Blanchett's performance as Lydia Tár is nothing short of outstanding. Field wrote the role specifically for her, and it shows, as her transformation into Lydia and the various subtle and non-subtle ways she embodies this woman are such that you literally cannot imagine anyone else in the role. While Blanchett's performance is the dominant one, the various others surrounding her, such as Noémie Merlant as Lydia's disillusioned assistant and Sophie Kauer as the Russian cello player Lydia begins to groom, are also quite strong and play a large role in making this whole world feel so real. And for a film that is so much about music and sound, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that the original score by Hildur Guðnadóttir and the sound design are two of the best displays of cinematic craft this year. So...yeah, this is a deeply special film, one that people should absolutely seek out and keep an open mind while doing so. This is an astonishing piece of work (currently available to rent for $5.99).
#4. Blonde -- Now for a film that, um, did not get the sort of critical or general cinephile praise that films like TÁR or RRR or others on my list did; in fact, as of this writing, it currently has a 42% on Rotten Tomatoes and an average rating of 2.1/5 on Letterboxd, so...yeah, not exactly the kind of response that foreshadows a placement in my top 5 favorite movies of the year. But, nevertheless, after hearing rave reviews of Andrew Dominik's long-gestating adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates' novel Blonde from a couple trusted Chicago film critic friends (shoutout to Nick Digilio and Erik Childress, if either of you are reading this), I went ahead and watched this late one night on Netflix and, wow, did this film deeply affect me. As someone who previously did not have much background in Marilyn Monroe's film work, I had only known of her growing up as this iconic sex symbol emblematic of Old Hollywood and classical femininity (in fact, I have a vague memory of being at Disney or Universal Studios as a kid and meeting a theme park cast member in cosplay as Marilyn Monroe, very much forwarding that fake image). But what Andrew Dominik and his star, the otherworldly Ana de Armas, accomplish here is not merely just an important and long-overdue deconstruction of the mythology surrounding her, it is a true reframing of her story (and the story of innumerable women who have been used, objectified, chewed up and spit out by the media and predatory men in show business, as this is ultimately a work of historical fiction) as a painful American tragedy and a scathing indictment and condemnation of misogyny, exploitation, objectification of women, and the very men who have constantly perpetuated this throughout generations. In fact, this could accurately be considered a companion piece to Dominik's previous masterpiece, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, which likewise deconstructs an American legend to underscore how deeply toxic this country's relationship with the notion of fame and celebrity is. Among the brilliant things that Dominik does in this film include allowing the audience to see Monroe's grotesque mistreatment in both the obvious ways (i.e., in the way he eviscerates, among countless things, the iconic image of of Monroe with her dress lifted up and her sexual relationship with John F. Kennedy) as well as in the way this affects the most personal areas of her life. The lack of a single healthy father figure in her life stems from her real father not caring for the women in his life, which in turn leads to her calling nearly every older male sexual/romantic partner "Daddy" in a way that I know has been cringey to certain viewers but ultimately points right back to what this film is actually about. The horrific abortion scenes are also a result of the men in Monroe's life wanting to keep her active in their various machines, completely negligent of Monroe's deep desire to be a mother and break the vicious cycle of abuse (one particularly gut-wrenching scene where she has a conversation with the child in her womb tragically underscores this). And ultimately, by this film's end, the lack of a single real father figure in her life, or any healthy parental figure to truly empower her, is what leads to her death and the deep tragedy of what could have been. So while this film is certainly graphic and definitely not for everyone, I firmly believe it to be an exquisite, heartbreaking masterpiece of modern art cinema with perhaps the best performance in any film this year by one Miss Ana de Armas (who will in all likelihood not get recognized by the Academy, which is a real shame) and a bold, daring cinematic vision from Andrew Dominik, who brilliantly uses an overwhelming combination of gorgeous cinematography, aggressive and confrontational editing, and one of the best musical scores of the year by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis in order to assert his status as one of the foremost deconstructors of American mythology and a truly unique voice in cinema. So while it's maybe the furthest thing from a feel-good movie this year, it's also one of the most brilliant and important, and one that everyone should at least give a chance (currently streaming on Netflix).
#3. The Fabelmans -- While the most jaded, cynical film critics and cinephiles might have rolled their eyes upon the first news that Steven Spielberg was going to make a film about his childhood and how he first discovered the magic of movies and filmmaking, I immediately became excited and put this film at the top of my "must-see" list. And when I did finally get a chance to see Spielberg's The Fabelmans at Thanksgiving with my family, not only did it not disappoint, I immediately became enraptured by the emotion and sincerity on display in this film, and was ultimately affected by it in the most personal of ways. The opening scene of this film, which portrays a young Sammy Fabelman (Spielberg's stand-in, played as a young boy by Mateo Zoryan Francis-DeFord) being taken by his parents (Paul Dano and Michelle Williams) to see The Greatest Show on Earth in theaters and being both scared and fascinated by it, reminded me of being taken to see Finding Nemo in theaters by my mother when I was six years old and also being scared and fascinated by it. Later, Sammy's obsessive desire to understand how the film was made and recreate it reminded me of seeing Home Alone when I was seven and going as far as to write my own sequel to it. And as Sammy grew into adolescence (he's played wonderfully as a teenager by Gabriel LaBelle), I completely related to his need to express himself through film and to use it to communicate at certain difficult moments. While I didn't quite film everything in high school like he did, I would use my status as my high school's film critic (hosting the TV news segment that gave this blog its name) to communicate certain things about myself and help people understand me when I didn't think they did. In addition, one of the most brilliant things that Spielberg does here from a storytelling perspective is foreground not just Sammy and his own journey, but also that of his family, specifically his parents' marital problems and their eventual divorce. While this has been a primary topic of criticism among this film's detractors, I personally felt that Spielberg's decision to zero in on this perfectly reflected Sammy's own empathy and tendency for observation, and it provides some of this film's most impactful scenes, such as one where he shows his mother a home movie he had taken on a family camping trip in order to communicate with her when his own words turn out to be unintentionally destructive. Although Spielberg had previously disclosed several aspects of his personal life to fans and audiences throughout his five-decade career, oftentimes watching this film feels like the audience is his mother and Spielberg is Sammy in that scene, using the art of filmmaking to communicate the most sensitive and painful aspects of his life experience. And that pain, sensitivity, and passion is brought into every single aspect of this film, from the amazing attention to detail in the costume design and production design to the passion in several of the supporting performances, particularly Michelle Williams' (regardless of what Universal says, Williams gives an amazing supporting performance, and it's ridiculous that she's being campaigned in lead). While it's very easy to group this film in the recent wave of memory films such as Roma, Belfast, and Armageddon Time, The Fabelmans is easily my personal favorite of all of them, one that serves as both a memory film and a testament to the power of what the art of filmmaking can do on the most personal of levels. I also believe that The Fabelmans is Steven Spielberg's best film since Catch Me If You Can two decades ago, and it is one that I truly believe will just get richer with each viewing, and I cannot wait to revisit this again and again (now playing in theaters).
#2. Aftersun -- Although The Fabelmans had long been on top of my list of most-anticipated films of 2022, one that quickly shot right up there with it was another very different sort of memory film. Rather than the long-awaited memory film of a legendary Hollywood filmmaker, Aftersun was the debut feature of an unknown Scottish filmmaker named Charlotte Wells. However, the film's trailer immediately intrigued me, and I eagerly anticipated my first chance to get to see it in a theatre, which turned out to be over Thanksgiving weekend at the Music Box Theatre in Chicago. And right from the film's cryptic opening shot and throughout its entire one-hour-and-forty-minute running time, I was locked-in and mesmerized by the truly brave and artful work that Wells was doing in making this film. Much like The Fabelmans jogged various childhood memories of discovering the art of cinema, Aftersun jogged various childhood memories of vacationing with my parents and capturing those vacations on miniDV tapes, much like the ones that protagonist Sophie (played by an astounding Frankie Corio as a child and Celia Rowlson-Hall as an adult) watches as an adult in an attempt to understand the person that her father was when raising her. While I am blessed to have had a happy childhood with two loving parents who I never felt distant from, like the vast majority of people, it wasn't until I was older that I was forced to grapple with their humanity, and the fact that they have pain and trauma and regret and all the things that everybody faces. And perhaps more than any film I've ever seen, Aftersun exquisitely and painfully captures that feeling of grappling with the humanity of a parent much later in life, when it's too late to actually have a real conversation with them. Like many of the great art filmmakers, Wells constructs this film as a cryptic puzzle, slowly revealing information throughout while still keeping it vague (i.e., real) enough that different viewers can come up with differing interpretations as to the nature of this specific father-daughter relationship and what exactly the adult Sophie is trying to understand about her father. And while I will not attempt to offer up a pat interpretation of what exactly is going on in this film, I will say that strong undercurrents of clinical depression and repressed sexuality run throughout the entirety of this film, and it's portrayal of the former specifically is right up there with The Perks of Being a Wallflower in terms of most realistic portrayals of mental illness that I've ever seen in a film, one that is brought to life by a quietly devastating Paul Mescal performance, one that deserves to be recognized with awards and that should begin to make him a leading man in other films. In addition, the way this film uses music to evoke its primary time period (i.e., 1996-97) is absolutely brilliant, and it culminates in the single best needle-drop of the movie year 2022, one that utterly transforms a certain classic song in such a way that I will never hear it the same way ever again. It is an absolutely inspired and heartbreaking artistic choice that further culminates in a final shot that furthers the abstract and ethereal nature of the entire enterprise, but once again works beautifully and caps a film that deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Moonlight and Portrait of a Lady on Fire in terms of greatest art cinema works of the 21st century (if you ask me, Aftersun is better than both of those films). Even if you don't regularly engage with art cinema, you will still likely be affected by this film in some capacity, otherwise I seriously question your humanity. So while it's not the lightest viewing (which is something I know I've said about most of the films on this list), it is one of the most emotionally rewarding and profound, and one everybody reading this should make a point of undertaking (currently available to rent for $19.99).
And...#1. Babylon -- So up until Christmas Day, I seriously thought that no other film could top Aftersun as my #1 film of 2022. And while Aftersun may still very well be the objectively best film of the year from a purely artistic standpoint, for me, no other 2022 film brought me more pure joy or made me as viscerally excited about cinema as both an art form and medium of entertainment as Damien Chazelle's magnum opus Babylon. While definitely not for everyone as it is filled with chaos, debauchery, and borderline-gratuitous excess, it is also one of the best movies I’ve ever seen about the history of Hollywood, one that single-handedly debunks the romanticized, sanitized myth of its era that’s been perpetuated for decades in films like Singin' in the Rain (which features prominently in a key, heartbreaking scene late in this film) and even as recently as 2011’s The Artist. And it does so with a deep, passionate love for cinema as an art form and the possibilities it has that Damien Chazelle has displayed in his more than decade-long career. Even the way in which he brings back to life various forgotten figures from the silent era in this film (specifically a female silent film director who is a composite of both Lois Weber and Dorothy Arzner, two women that film history books have egregiously ignored for decades) is worthy of tremendous celebration. Anybody calling this film anti-Hollywood is missing the point of what Chazelle is doing artistically in this film. Although it is heavily critical of several aspects of the American film industry during the transition to sound, it still makes a point to celebrate the art of cinema and the potential that the industry can have to produce great works of cinema. And this is driven home beautifully during the aforementioned key, heartbreaking scene late in the film where a screening of Singin' in the Rain gives way to a breathtaking montage that goes through decades of Hollywood history up until the present day, acknowledging various technological breakthroughs throughout the history of film in such a way that simultaneously celebrates them and mourns what they've changed. Even Chazelle's stealing from various contemporaries like Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino is deliberate, loving, and endlessly creative, as re-contextualizes their work in a way that doesn’t feel cheap or lazy (and as an aside, while there are deliberate parallels to Anderson's Boogie Nights, to call it any sort of remake of that film is an exaggeration that, once again, cheapens what Chazelle is really doing here). He also helps to get career-best work out of Margot Robbie, who’s been one of my favorite working actresses for a while and does absolutely heartbreaking and profound work in a role that could have easily become a caricature (and I might actually start a riot if she doesn't get nominated for this). And the entire cast from Brad Pitt to Mexican actor Diego Calva is stellar, radiating with passion and affection and melancholy that is captivating for the entire three hours and nine minutes of this film. And yes, this movie is three hours and nine minutes and not a second of it is wasted. In fact, not only did it absolutely fly by for me, it could have gone on for another hour and I wouldn’t have cared. I’m just so thankful that a passionate auteur filmmaker can get hundreds of millions of dollars from a Hollywood studio and use it to make something bold, daring, original, intelligent, enlightening, and grounded in real human emotion. In other words, I’m incredibly thankful that a film on this scale that’s not a Marvel or Avatar movie has gotten made and released in theatres. So, although I completely understand why this film wouldn’t work for some people, I absolutely loved it, I can’t wait to see it again and pick up on more things I missed the first time (mostly film history nerd things but other details as well), and if you can stomach the more wild and insane parts of the journey through a pivotal chapter in Hollywood (and broader cinema) history, I think you’ll find it to be rewarding (now playing in theaters).
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And, for anyone who's curious, here's a list of 15 runners-up, i.e. films that are really good (and, in some cases, great) that just missed the cut for my top 15, listed in alphabetical order:
Amsterdam
Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood
Armageddon Time
The Batman
The Fallout
Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery
Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio
The Menu
Navalny
Nope
The Northman
To Leslie
We're All Going to the World's Fair
White Noise
The Woman King
