(This article is part of our Best of 2024 series.)
Every year brings its own unique flavor to the world of cinema, and 2024 was no exception. This year, more than any in recent memory, felt overstuffed with quality. Most blockbusters were DOA but there were a lot of gems — from the big budget to the extremely independent — sprinkled throughout the year. It was also a strong contender for the greatest year in horror in at least the decade. It was the gift that kept on giving and I hope this year is at least half as great.
These are my five favorite films of 2024 (plus 65 honorable mentions).
20. Deadpool and Wolverine
As entertaining as Deadpool & Wolverine is, it feels like an ominous warning of what’s to come. In some ways, this is worse than Eternals because while that film was forgettable in every way, you could tell they at least tried to do something new and interesting. This is the laziest movie they’ve ever made. The plot is so thin, the only thing it can support is the non-stop nostalgia it shovels at the viewer. But like Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, another film that assaults you with a sledgehammer of member berries, I was beaten into submission. I hate the nature of modern cinema but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t laugh at some of the references and love seeing Blade team up with Gambit.
The constant callbacks were amusing but the reason I enjoyed this was the depictions of the titular characters. Director Shawn Levy does a great job merging the irreverent humor of Deadpool with the brooding intensity of Wolverine, creating a dynamic contrast between the two iconic characters. It’s weird to say but Hugh Jackman might actually be better here than he is in Logan. Reynolds and Jackman share a palpable chemistry, and their performances are commendable. Reynolds embodies Deadpool’s chaotic energy, while Jackman delivers a nuanced portrayal of a weary warrior. Their dynamic together makes for the best buddy cop duo since Gibson and Glover. I hate that I liked this. I feel like the victim of weaponized nostalgia.
19. Daaaaaalí
Despite being portrayed by three of the best actors in the world (Robert Pattinson, Ben Kingsley, Adrien Brody), Salvador Dalí has never had a biopic worthy of his brilliant and eccentric life. Enter Quentin Dupieux, the only director almost as crazy as Dalí himself. Daaaaaalí! is a surrealist odyssey that defies conventional narrative, much like the works of the iconic artist it references. The film follows a reporter who is desperately trying to interview the famed artist, only to be stonewalled by some sort of bizarre digression, usually created by the artist themselves. In addition to its vignette style narrative that unfolds like a dream, it’s other notable gimmick is the fact that multiple actors play Dalí. Gilles Lellouche, Édouard Baer, Jonathan Cohen, Pio Marmaï and Didier Flamand all play him at various ages. None of it makes sense and it ultimately doesn’t add up to much but it perfectly captures the essence of one of the weirdest humans to ever live.
18. Wicked
In the grand tradition of cinematic spectacles, Wicked emerges as a film that seeks to enchant and dazzle its audience. This is a visual extravaganza that harkens back to a bygone era of filmmaking, a big budget musical made with grandeur and genuine talent behind the camera. Jon M. Chu did an impeccable job of adapting the beloved Broadway musical but as much of a visual feast it is, the lion’s share of credit belongs to Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. At the heart of Wicked lies the intricate relationship between Elphaba and Galinda and the two performers do an incredible job of making you forget this relationship was already perfected on stage years ago.
Erivo’s Elphaba is a study in depth and nuance, capturing the internal struggles of a character ostracized for her uniqueness. Grande’s Galinda, on the other hand, offers a performance that balances comedic timing with a portrayal of a young woman whose outward confidence masks deeper insecurities. Their dynamic is the film’s emotional core, providing a narrative that is both compelling and heartfelt. Since this is just part one, I’m forced to save my criticisms and nitpicks till I’ve seen both halves but so far, they’re minor, all things considered. I enjoyed the musical numbers for the most part but while I wish the songs were a bit more catchy, I loved the chemistry between the leads so much, it doesn’t really matter.
17. Perfect Days
Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days is a quiet symphony of the everyday, a film that does not rush to its conclusions but instead lingers in the spaces between moments. It is a story that unfolds not through grand events or dramatic confrontations, but through the gentle rhythm of a man’s life, where meaning is found in the simplest of gestures. The film follows Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho), a janitor in Tokyo whose days are meticulously structured yet profoundly poetic. He wakes early, tending to his plants with care, before heading out to clean public toilets—spaces that, under his touch, become near-sacred. He listens to cassette tapes of classic rock, reads paperbacks, and takes photographs of trees with a cheap film camera. On paper, his life may seem mundane, but Wenders and Yakusho elevate it into something transcendent.
Existential films are hit or miss with me. I’m all for simple slice of life films as long as they’re entertaining or if I’m invested in the routine of the main character. Calling this film entertaining would be a stretch. It really doesn’t break from its established rhythm nor does it build to a dramatic third act but nevertheless, I was enthralled. And that’s due almost exclusively to the main performance by Yakusho. His performance is one of profound internal depth. He does not rely on dialogue but instead conveys everything through the way he moves, the way he pauses, the way his face barely shifts but somehow speaks volumes. There is a history in this man that the film does not spell out for us. We see glimpses—a strained family connection, a past that lingers in the background—but Wenders trusts us to fill in the gaps. He does not force meaning upon us; instead, he invites us to observe. What you get from this film is what you put into it. There’s a whole world living beyond the frame, if you can’t see it, you aren’t paying attention.
16. Flow
In the realm of animated cinema, where dialogue often serves as the primary conduit for storytelling, Flow emerges as a bold and evocative departure. This Latvian film, devoid of spoken words, invites audiences into a world where visual narrative and ambient soundscapes weave a tale of resilience, unity, and the profound beauty of nature. Flow isn’t the only silent film I saw released last year and while I think that one is ultimately more tailored to my specific tastes, this one is still a minimalist masterpiece. The narrative centers on a solitary black cat whose existence is upended by a catastrophic flood. Displaced from its familiar surroundings, the feline protagonist finds refuge aboard a makeshift ark, shared with four other animal species. Together, they navigate an enigmatic, waterlogged world, confronting external perils and internal trepidations. The absence of dialogue invites the viewer to interpret the story however they’d wish. You could project onto it whatever metaphor or theme you’d like or just take the story at face value. Either way, if you’re engaged with the story, you’ll have a profound experience regardless.
15. Strange Darling
“Are you a serial killer?” This ominous question kickstarts the most unique and fucked up psychological thriller in recent memory. Strange Darling is divided into six chapters that are told out of order. Due to its nonlinear structure, the viewer is often immediately confronted with the aftermath of violence without any context, forcing them to continuously reevaluate their assumptions. The film chronicles a one-night stand that spirals into a deadly game between a man and a woman. The man is chasing the woman with the intent to kill but we don’t know why. Is she a victim, a predator or is this a perverse game they’re both playing? The structure is what gets people excited to recommend it but the two leads are really the film’s secret weapon. Willa Fitzgerald delivers a performance that is both captivating and unsettling.
Her portrayal of the unnamed female lead oscillates between vulnerability and menace, capturing the audience’s attention even when they’re confused by the timeline. Kyle Gallner complements her with a brooding presence that is designed to work differently on a second viewing. The two are dynamite together and their explosive chemistry is what keeps the energy going scene to scene. Director J.T. Mollner must’ve been doing backflips every time he watched the dailies and saw how great they are together and cartwheels every time a scene looked like a frame from a painting. The film’s visual aesthetic is undeniably striking. Shot entirely on 35mm film by Giovanni Ribisi, the cinematography exudes a nostalgic charm, reminiscent of thrillers from decades past. It’s one of those minor masterpieces that isn’t perfect but is so well executed, I can’t think of a single flaw.
14. Abigail
The worst thing about Abigail is the fact that it’s a victim of its own premise. In order to sell someone on it, you have to give them the hook but revealing the hook would rob someone of a lot of enjoyment they would have. It’s very much like From Dusk Till Dawn or Cabin in the Woods — a film you have to go in as blind as possible to really enjoy but doing so is almost impossible. The premise is a delicious one: a group of criminals, each with their own specialty, kidnaps a 12-year-old girl named Abigail (Alisha Weir), the daughter of a wealthy and powerful figure. They are to hold her hostage in a secluded mansion, awaiting their ransom. Once they start dying off in gruesome fashion, they realize they’re not alone in the gigantic safe house. A famous hitman might be with them or might be one of them in secret.
One of the film’s great strengths is its understanding of tone. Many horror movies struggle to balance terror with humor, often tipping too far in one direction and diluting the impact of the other. Abigail walks this tightrope beautifully. It is terrifying when it needs to be, darkly funny in moments of tension, and never afraid to embrace the sheer absurdity of its own premise. This is a film that knows how to have fun with horror, much in the way Scream or Evil Dead II did before it. Radio Silence know how to craft a bloody enjoyable romp and this might be their most bloody and most enjoyable to date.
13. Robot Dreams
The Wild Robot came out of nowhere and stole everyone’s hearts but I think there was a better and more emotional film about a robot released last year. Robot Dreams follows Dog, an unassuming loner who crafts a companion in Robot, a boxy but tender-hearted automaton. Their relationship, built on small joys and simple pleasures, eventually turns into a wordless symphony of companionship built on an almost telepathic understanding of one another. I say wordless because the entire film is silent, but when characters communicate this well nonverbally, you don’t need dialogue. After going to the beach and swimming in the ocean all day, Robot’s limbs lock in place due to rust and Dog is incapable of moving him. He leaves to get something to move him but by the time he comes back, the beach has been closed for the winter.
What follows isn’t just separation but the slow, aching process of moving on, where memory becomes both a refuge and a burden. Dog’s grief isn’t overwrought—it’s found in the way his routine changes, in the way he tries to replace what’s irreplaceable, in the way the world keeps moving despite the hollowness left behind. He’s forced to accept that his best friend might not be coming back and watching him try to readjust to a world devoid of happiness is heartbreaking. Robot Dreams is a film that understands loneliness. It’s not an absence, but a presence, a lingering echo that shapes who we become. It’s a deeply moving film about how profoundly sad it is that joy is always on borrowed time.
12. Anora
Sean Baker has a gift for finding beauty in the margins, for taking lives that Hollywood often renders as caricature and illuminating them with empathy, humor, and an unsentimental honesty. In Anora, he continues his streak of humanistic storytelling, crafting a film that’s raw, electric, and profoundly moving. As with The Florida Project and Red Rocket, Baker’s approach is one of near-documentary realism, capturing the textures of Anora’s world with an almost voyeuristic immediacy. The film follows Anora (Mikey Madison), a young Brooklyn stripper who suddenly finds herself at the heart of a whirlwind romance with the son of a wealthy Russian oligarch. As good as the story is, the film belongs to Madison. Her performance is nothing short of revelatory.
The way she moves through Baker’s frame, with a mix of street-smart bravado and underlying vulnerability, is equal parts movie star levels of confidence and character actor subtlety. We’ve seen characters like Anora before, but rarely with this level of nuance. She’s a deep well of sadness that often has to resort to screaming and fighting in order to hold onto the last bit of happiness she has left. What makes Anora so gripping is its unpredictable structure. What begins as a seemingly Cinderella-like tale soon morphs into something closer in tone to Chan is Missing.
The middle section is a full on comedy where she’s forced to team up with the most inept henchman in the world in order to find her missing husband. It’s a wonderful digression that inevitably turns back to reality. Baker isn’t interested in fairy-tale endings. His characters live in a world where every choice has consequences, where love is complicated by power dynamics, economic desperation, and the weight of societal expectations. There are hardly any happy endings in his worlds because life doesn’t work like that. Life is nothing but lessons that either help us or leave scars. Anora is the latter.
11. Oddity
Oddity is a masterclass in atmospheric horror, weaving together elements of murder mystery, supernatural dread, and home invasion thriller into a cohesive and unsettling narrative. The film opens with a woman home alone in the middle of nowhere with a strange man at her front door. He’s trying to convince her to let him in because he saw someone enter without her noticing. That incredibly tense scene is the catalyst that propels the story and it only gets more unnerving from there. McCarthy’s direction is meticulous, utilizing the unique architecture of a stone house to amplify tension. The setting becomes a character in itself, with its labyrinthine corridors and shadowy corners providing a perfect backdrop for the unfolding horror. Oddity excels in its restraint, favoring slow-building suspense over cheap scares. The film understands that true horror lies not in what is seen, but in what is suggested. Which is almost ironic considering the most famous thing about this movie is the deeply unsettling wooden mannequin that occupies the house.
Part III | Part V
Are you surprised by my ranking?
