The Best 100 Films of the 2000's

WRITTEN BY ANDREAS BABIOLAKIS

---

Flash back to the year 2000, in case the intentionally dated banner above hasn’t already. Societies across the world were relieved that the new year didn’t cause a systemic crash (Y2K). Beanie Babies were deemed the next currency, until Ty backed out on the discontinuation; many Beanie Babies are worth peanuts now. The internet was hideous, and millennials were learning how to code with HTML via Geocities or Neopets (eventually Myspace). Throughout this transitional period, where the future was originally a dream (that quickly vanished), the ‘90s colours and sounds were melted together to try and capture that a digital age would be like. Independent studios were being bought by corporations, so the lines between indies and mainstream cinema was beginning to blur. Suddenly, our excitement for the new age became a nostalgia for how things were. Trending styles were clashing with demands for comebacks. Things got a little ugly.

I said after my 2010’s list that I would be looking at every previous decade in reverse order, and today I carry out the start of this promise. For months, I have coursed through countless 2000’s films, trying to find the one hundred definitive films of this decade. Separating the remnants of the ‘90s from the prognosticators of the ‘10s was interesting itself, as it reminded me how quickly films can evolve within a ten year period. It also served as an indication that the 2000’s had quite a distinctive style. It was a mutt caused by film and technology, as celluloid began to warp into pixels for good; the digitization of film for older DVDs also helped merge the two mediums. Colours were rich, and yet they fizzled. Sounds were fluid, and tinny at the same time. This was the wasteland between analog and digital, and it was glorious.

Many of these one hundred films longed for the days of old, while others awaited — or feared — what was to come next. Cyber-worlds mixed in with dystopias. Biopics coexisted with reinterpretations. Statements of old continued to ring true (and they still do). The internet started off as a somewhat reliable source, but it became the controller of all by the decade’s end. This helped misunderstood films gain new life, and popular films be spoiled by selfish social media users. These seemed like uncertain times, but in a more blissful sense than now. Twenty years ago, we thought the world was going to end because of a glitch. Nothing happened, and it seemed like we had an eternity ahead of us. Now, I look back at the finest works of that decade, which feels so alien to me now. Here are the best one hundred films of the 2000’s.

Disclaimer: I haven’t included documentaries, or any film that is considerably enough of a documentary (mockumentaries don’t count). I haven’t forgotten about films like Waltz with Bashir or My Winnipeg. I’m keeping them in mind for later (wink wink).

Be sure to check out my other Best 100 lists of every decade here.

100. Almost Famous

Cameron Crowe’s experience as a young Rolling Stone writer was all the content needed for his finest film (which plays in a semi-autobiographical tone, perhaps slightly). Through a modern lens, Crowe charged into the new millennium with the same fears addressed in the film: music as we know it will cease to exist. With clever — yet conventional — uses of popular songs to sew lead character William’s adventure with Stillwater together, we get the soundtrack to a life on the road through a young, non-naive mind. On that note, I may never hear “My Cherie Amour” the same way again, after having seen William’s love disguise such a traumatizing moment.

99. Best in Show

You can count on Christopher Guest to round up the usual suspects (usually involving the ringleaders Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara) to partake in a silly mockumentary fugazi. Every character is beyond a stereotype, and it doesn’t matter. They’re all here for their dogs, whose lives they take pride in before their own. These poor canines, clad with scowls on their faces, have to put up with the buffoonery of their owners, who think they are doing their pets any favours. By competition time, you may not care who even wins, because every human contestant is as insane as the last one. You may have favourites (I always root for Jane Lynch’s Christy), but one thing is for certain: Fred Willard should commentate every event from here on out.

98. Junebug

For a film that’s inherently about outsider art (given Madeleine’s expertise), Junebug sure likes to disguise itself as a more friendly story. Really, we’re being exposed to the outlier perspective of a well-off art dealer and the family of her husband, who she comes to realize she barely knows after all. Junebug verges towards dark comedy (some of the folks here really are lunatics, or downright awful people), but really it’s all held together by two central forces: Embeth Davidtz’s accepting Madeleine (perhaps for her own job, but still, her methods seem pure), and a wide-eyed Ashley, played by Amy Adams in her breakout role. Junebug is for those that never got fully integrated into society, and those that accept society’s faults to survive.

97. Million Dollar Baby

The sacrificial lamb in the age of the internet, Million Dollar Baby was us learning that online communal spaces could now lead to a new problem: spoilers. Set up in the least expecting way, Clint Eastwood’s Academy Award winning underdog drama toys with an unassuming audience to remind us that sometimes life simply is not fair to all of us. A fighter will always be a fighter. Stubbornness can be cured, if eyes are opened. The irony of events is not a curse or an omen, but just a coincidence. The film and its players are all still worth rooting for, because we can all identify with any of them at any time: an overlooked warrior never chosen, a person let down by society, or a has-been that the world has forgotten.

96. Atonement

What carries this romantic epic is the fear of going too far without the proper rectification. Atonement carries a dark secret upon its shoulders, as young Briony (the role that gifted us Saoirse Ronan) is unsure of what the right action to do is. Do we blame innocence, or spite? Either way, World War II waited for no one. Comparing a love put on hold with a guilt held onto, Joe Wright’s adaptation of Ian McEwan’s acclaimed novel is a test of patience, as all is put on hold during the war. Atonement is the use of legacy to try and rectify the past.

95. Caramel

Nadine Labaki’s debut film is much more welcoming than her later works may be, particularly the challenging Capernaum, but it’s still a powerful statement about her motherland. Five different Lebanese women — some more in tune with each other than others — experience their own burdens in an unforgiving society. I’d argue none of these tales take a dark turn, but they each have their own woes that you know represent entire societies that don’t get a chance to be heard. A lighter political film, with enough laughs and smiles to outweigh the frowns, Caramel is sweet enough for you to keep wanting more.

94. Little Miss Sunshine

So, we put up with the Hoover family for as long as we can, and deal with all of the neuroses and ego problems. We want to stick together for little Olive and her pageant, right? Plus, it is fun to see this family bounce off of one another, but it’s all the more nurturing to see when they get along. We finally get there, and you simply cannot predict how it ends up going the way that it does. The build up to the climactic scene in Little Miss Sunshine is a fine piece of unexpected comedy, especially because of all of the reparations needed to make this trip work out at all. Now that is how you balance drama and hilarity.

93. Enter the Void

From the seizure-inducing opening credits, you know Gaspar Noé is up to his usual bullshit. However, Enter the Void is likely the best his experiments will ever get. From a drug trip to a transcendental rebirth, Enter the Void is the first person perspective exercise that still continues to split audiences. If you’re prepared for Noé’s unforgiving filmmaking style, and his obsession with excess (was that internal shot near the end absolutely necessary?), you may get a passionate piece on the futility of life in the grand scheme of things, especially when we are all interconnected by reincarnation (according to the film). Be prepared to enter many voids with this one, and leave a little bit more spaced out than you entered.

92. District 9

I would have called you crazy if you told me Neill Blomkamp was going to be a one-off director that collapsed afterwards (there’s still hope, but who knows). District 9 was such a promising debut. What starts off as a mockumentary swiftly turns into a full-on action bonanza as soon as privilege is stripped away from a main character (Wikus van de Merwe). Representing the apartheid years in South Africa, and the current ghettos that remain worldwide, District 9 is a smarter-than-usual action flick that never gives up on its brains at any time. I’m still waiting on that promised sequel, but maybe it’s for the best that we stick with what we have here.

91. Let the Right One In

Probably the only acceptable vampire film in a time where the genre was being romanticized (and bastardized), Tomas Alfredson introduced a virtuous youthful romance in the form of a bullied child and his new female friend. Part coming-of-age horror, and part coming-out drama (with Eli’s androgyny and declaration that she isn’t a girl), Let the Right One In is a multi faceted relationship that could have easily rested upon the back of its gimmick: it’s got vampirism. Luckily, that’s not the case, and we get a much more nuanced set of metaphors and emotions. By the imaginative finale (what a way to represent a literal bloodbath), this vampire film stood out in a time when the subject was over-saturated, and still won with flying colours (mostly red, of course).

90. Gosford Park

One of Robert Altman’s final hurrahs in his brilliant career before his passing, Gosford Park is a whodunnit that takes forever to get to the actual murder. You may take the buildup for granted, waiting for the good stuff. In the meantime, you’re missing out on juicy drama between classes and industries, a meta character that represents Altman’s fascination with the genre (the Bob Balaban character), and all of the clues you will need for the actual case. The case hits, and it’s too late. You didn’t study. Luckily, the payoff is witty enough to be rewarding, even if you didn’t suspect the right players.

89. Requiem for a Dream

Sure, it seems easy to include a college dorm favourite here, especially with society's obsession with Clint Mansell’s “Lux Aeterna”. However, it’s 2020, and I would argue the film holds up insanely well. The manic editing is something heavily employed by thrillers today. The overwhelming content is a staple in the filmographies of Darren Aronofsky and his contemporaries. Matthew Libatique’s shots resonate now as a product of the last dregs of the ‘90s: better than ever. Requiem for a Dream seems like the lazy choice, but we’re here to argue that it’s considerably fantastic. It set a tone for psychological thrillers and addiction dramas, and it continues to be a notable example of both worlds.

88. Hot Fuzz

While Shaun of the Dead is also hilarious and a must-see, I am going with Hot Fuzz in the Three Flavours Cornetto trilogy. It’s the funniest (to us) of the three films, and arguably the most clever. The World’s End is a film promoted as sci-fi, so the twist is waited upon. Shaun of the Dead is a clear-cut zombie parody. The cultish bloodbath in Hot Fuzz that sends the buddy-cop satire through the roof is simply the best moment of the entire trilogy. With amazing one-liners (they did the buddy-cop genre proud) and some gutsy action, Hot Fuzz does whatever it takes for the greater good.

87. Cowards Bend the Knee

Guy Maddin has to be Canada’s strangest filmmaker, and that is saying a mouthful. Either way, the guy — pun intended — knows how to make films. Who else can shoot a silent film on Super-8mm about himself as a hockey player, ghost love-triangles, abortions and wax figures that are treated like religious idols, and make it watchable? Cowards Bend the Knee is an experimental film success that somehow hypnotizes you from frame one. It’s like someone made up nonsense on the fly, and yet you are enthralled the entire time in this fictitious reality. Only someone like Guy Maddin could pull this particular film off.

86. Tsotsi

What good is self vindication if we don’t learn from our mistakes? Tsotsi is a brisk hour and a half, and yet you experience the titular character’s entire lifetime. Having accidentally stolen a baby in the car he was jacking, Tsotsi begins to reevaluate his life of crime. Are these bad deeds bettering him in any way? Much of this Academy Award winner is about reassessment, and it’s interesting that this type of vision takes place in such precarious situations (usually with guns pointed at someone’s head). And yet, this is where characters are able to think their clearest decisions, usually. I guess this is because everything changes once changes are made. It takes a lot of encouragement, but Tsotsi’s change-of-heart in a dismal world is as thrilling as it is affirming. 

85. Capote

There are a few generation defining performances this decade that I would have loved to include. Marion Cotillard in La Vie en rose. Forest Whitaker in The Last King of Scotland. Truth is, the films themselves don’t hold up quite as well to these legendary performances Luckily, in the case of Philip Seymour Hoffman and Capote, we have a match made in heaven. Hoffman’s Truman Capote is beyond mesmerizing, and Bennett Miller’s film surrounding this lead role is just as naturally captivating. The writing of In Cold Blood is represented in a barebones manner, with just the subjects and their conversations to get you by. It’s all we needed. Capote remains an acting vehicle film that continues to hold our attention fifteen years later.

84. Slumdog Millionaire

Somehow, when it comes to recent Best Picture winners, Slumdog Millionaire continues to get the short end of the stick. Disregarding its handful of controversies and judging the film simply as a film, I feel the film is misunderstood. Of course it’s heavily based on conveniences and irony. It’s a film literally based on impossible fate. In this case, I feel this kind of writing gets a pass. The mixture of Bollywood filmmaking (Dutch angles, gel colours, dance numbers) and Hollywood conventionality renders this sleeper hit at least an interesting juxtaposition. The chasing of dreams is something many films focus on, even in secret. Slumdog Millionaire is unapologetic with this mission. It may be off putting to some, but not to us.

83. Mystic River

Who knew where writer Brian Helgeland would go after his masterwork L.A. Confidential. Clint Eastwood — even in his filmmaking prime — works best with efficient writers. You see where I’m going with this. Mystic River is a neo-noir mystery that also works as a match made in heaven. It’s a frigid Boston world already dampened by a traumatic childhood presented at the start of the film. Towards the end of the second act, another robbing of a young life takes place, and this time the three main boys are now men that have drifted apart. Lingering ghosts turn into current anxiety, and it’s the desperate acts of the un-whole that drive Mystic River. Even if you predict the many twists (or have seen the film already), it is powerful enough to get by regardless. 

82. Hero

One of many wuxia works to make it big in the 2000’s (you can thank a certain Ang Lee film featured higher on the list), and a return by the great Zhang Yimou (who will be featured again later as well). Hero was a worldwide sensation, thanks to its  colour-based story telling (each iteration of the truth is painted monochromatically). Somehow, the same tale being told a number of times is still thrilling to us, likely because each story is so drastically different. It doesn’t matter that we may be listening to a lie. Wuxia is already a fantasy based art form, so any stretching of truths are welcome here nonetheless. Each end result is gorgeous, so we’re fine with it.

81. In the Bedroom

One of votes for most underrated film of the decade, Todd Fields’ In the Bedroom continues to be slept on nineteen years later, and I’m not sure why. The rawness of this domestic drama is enough to linger with you for days. How should grieving parents of a slain son respond? Is the son’s lover supposed to feel guilt if their ex-partner is responsible for the murder? There is so much moral complexity in this film that continues to be debatable. Maybe too many people prefer films that tell them how to specifically feel. I personally love the freedom of choice in In the Bedroom, as it raises much more interesting discussions.

80. Water

The best of Deepa Mehta’s powerful elemental film series, Water is far from the easiest watch. Exposing the horrors of child marriage practices in 1930s India, Water is a much-needed feminist and societal discussion. With the parallels between the lead characters and Mahatma Gandhi’s rise as a figure of hope, the oppression against women featured is difficult to swallow. Much of Water is driven by hope, though: hope Mehta has in women worldwide, especially in this new generation. Lovers of foreign cinema were already aware of Mehta’s uncompromising visions, but Water is the moment where the entire world stopped still and listened. 

79. Before Night Falls

The world was finally introduced to Javier Bardem in Julian Schnabel’s arthouse biopic Before Night Falls. An interesting take on Cuban novelist Reinaldo Arenas and his sexual and political liberations, the film weaves in and out of the figure’s thoughts, ghostly visions, and realities. It’s as if Arenas’ autobiography was taken in a literal sense. When he speaks to us, so does Bardem’s portrayal. When he reflects, we’re a part of that longing. Sure, we got some amazing Schnabel films and Bardem performances ever since, but the breakout point of both careers is largely to thank. Before Night Falls is an invigorating take on the biographical film. I’m still livid that Bardem didn’t win Best Actor as well.

78. Ghost World

Based on the widely beloved graphic novel, this adaptation of Ghost World has similarly achieved a cult status. Maybe it’s those that loved Thora Birch, and had hoped for more from her career once this film dropped. Maybe it’s recent fans of Scarlett Johansson who have gone backwards in her filmography to see where she started. It could be the Steve Buscemi fans, eager to seek out his best work. Either way, we all somehow end up finding this peculiar look at love and loneliness in the big, bad world. There’s a message for all of us misfits here.

77. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

You know a trilogy is brilliant when its weakest entry is still high enough on such a massive list of this nature. Sure. The Two Towers is the bridge between the two better The Lord of the Rings works (only if I had to pick a worst film of the three). It’s still beautiful. Even though many of its components rest on the previous and latter films that bookend it, we still get heartfelt moments (especially the climactic speech that oversees all of the pain and anguish, as if Samwise Gamgee became Galadriel). This is a sequel that could have phoned-in all of its parts just to act as a cash cow, but it did anything but that. The trilogy as a whole is bettered as a result.

76. The Host

Many monster films have communities functioning in unison against their predator, outside of armed forces and authoritative figures, of course. Bong Joon-ho was more considerate of the lower classes when making The Host, though. How would poorer citizens be treated during a pandemic and a crisis? In that same breath, what would a family with nothing left to lose do to save one of its trapped members? There's also the more obvious statement on human interference with nature, especially with the dumping of chemicals, but that has been brought up before in films. It’s Joon-ho’s refreshing take on society's collapse during this type of turmoil that makes The Host hurt more than your usual building-stomping fare.

75. Mary and Max

It won’t take you long to discover this Australian cult animated feature is absolutely not for children; it’s just a warped view of our real world. Mary is a neglected and bullied child that decides talking to anyone else on earth is better than her own surroundings (unless that nice Greek boy across the road strikes up a conversation with her). The recipient of her random letter is Max: an introverted adult that has been diagnosed with Asperger syndrome. The two unlikely friends learn more about each other. Max discovers the hardships of society through a child’s eyes, and Mary seeks to find out more about mental illnesses. Mary and Max is as heartfelt as it is kooky.  

74. The Constant Gardener

Usually the transition into English language works can be challenging for foreign filmmakers, no matter who they are. Luckily, Fernando Meirelles’ crossover hit The Constant Gardner was relatively seamless, thanks to the boldness of the film’s subject matter (and the booming performances that accompany these statements). The hunt for answers surrounding a loved one’s death ends up becoming the discovery of a conspiracy plot (and other ghastly revelations), as if political injustices are the weeds in a garden that need to be pulled (you have to do it if no one else will). The few good things in life are the other plants, deserving to be nurtured. Do we focus on daunting revelations of our past if our present is more demanding? What’s the proper course of action?

73. Sideways

Alexander Payne’s wine tasting road trip is of course going to be interesting, since he’s a fine director and an even better screenwriter (Jim Taylor’s assistance helps in major ways here, too). Even though the wine sessions are split up, it’s as if each stop adds more to the proverbial drinking session; either a glass of wine being poured overflows with each bit of wine, or the consumer becomes more drunk and outspoken by the end of the night. Paul Giamatti’s borderline drowning himself in wine at one point. That’s the extent of nonsense we can take from life sometimes. Sideways hits that testing of patience on the head so well, self inflicted or not.

72. Michael Clayton

Another one of those films that the world forgets about once the awards season is done. Not us. Michael Clayton is a constant force of dirt-digging that deserves to be discussed far more often. You have George Clooney having never been better than he is here, other fine supporting roles by all of the players, and Tilda Swinton’s considerably brief role stealing the entire cinematic year. Maybe the incredibly stiff 2007 competition is why Michael Clayton is dismissed (it was one of cinema’s strongest years), but it should be a part of that debate, not omitted. It’s stellar political and legal anxiety.

71. Primer

If you ever want to make your debut film one that everyone will talk about, take Shane Carruth’s lead and make a perplexing work like Primer. The trick is you must know what you’re talking about. Carruth — a software engineer and mathematician first and foremost at the time — is a numbers expert that can conjure up a logistical take on time travel better than most of us. He’s also one to show his work in extensive form, and this translates to his many different roles in filmmaking (director, writer, actor, editor, composer, et cetera). Primer was a viral sensation, because people needed affirmation that they weren’t going insane. None of this time travel indie flick made sense, but all of it was engaging and revelatory. Many years, discussions, and watches later, Primer remains a singular take on science fiction.

70. A History of Violence

Even at his most reserved, David Cronenberg relishes in the extents of humanity’s darkest capabilities. His first time pairing up with Viggo Mortensen (see another prime example later on in the list) was a great success. Mortensen could use his Lord of the Rings status to branch out and do demanding works, and Cronenberg could create realistic depictions of savagery. Here, the topic of the hour is morality, and whether or not a man surrounded by murder and pain could be a legitimate father figure once he turns coat. Does the discovery of a damning past change the person you now know? That’s up for us to decide in A History of Violence.

69. Up

The opening act is arguably Pixar’s finest hour, and considerably their greatest short (which so happens to be attached to a longer film). The rest of Up rides on the emotions created by the tragic tale of loss, as if Carl has a new lease on life to honour his late wife’s memory (and uphold the promise he made to her decades prior). Up becomes a thrill ride with loveable characters picked up along the way, but it also turns into a cautionary tale about putting too much stock in your idol. Only those you know on a deeply personal level won't let you down, especially if you aim to head in the other direction once and for all.

68. The Squid and the Whale

Before Marriage Story, one of Noah Baumbach’s first takes on divorce (a topic he knows personally) was the much-more-awkward The Squid and the Whale. Messier, sillier, and much more open ended, this earlier take on the topic established Baumbach as a writer-director for this generation. Much of this success comes from the conversations, actions, and tantrums that make sense to no one but these characters. The film is incredibly humanistic. The strange title comes from an ending shot found in a museum that can only be seen as the most sensible depiction of a young person’s acceptance of their parents’ separation. Whatever makes sense of life’s worst hardships, of course. It’s odd, but it's beautiful, and it’s the kinds of secrets we keep to ourselves, not knowing we’re more alike than we imagined.

67. What Time is it There?

For a film so persistently based on the seconds within a day, Tsai Ming-liang's opus is unconcerned with taking its time. Part of What Time Is It There? is the realization that you’re not going to witness life going any faster, and that's around the moment that you begin to be hypnotized by the intricate cinematography and all of the empty spaces. For instance, each character is clock-watching for different reasons; mainly for lovers to return. You hop between the two main vantage points (Taiwan and France) and see the commonality between the two leads, despite their incredibly different interpretations of their own brief encounter at the start of the film. The smartest device is having actor Jean-Pierre Léaud show up in France, while The 400 Blows takes up much of the Taiwain timeline; his past is another's present, and his present is due to become someone else's past.

66. The Pianist

The survival of composer Władysław Szpilman during the Holocaust was absolutely deserving of the cinematic treatment. Adrien Brody, who seems to have all but vanished from this peak, was the perfect candidate to play the titular musician and all of the tribulations he endured. The notion of music is an important one in The Pianist, mainly because it resembles a voice rising above hate for the world to hear. Moments like Szpilman practicing on the top of a piano rather than its keys (as to not be heard in his hiding place) supply additional punches, but it's the final performance — intended to be his swan song — that stole 2002’s film scene altogether.

65. Juno 

Honest to blog, Juno is as awesome now as it was upon release. Although sadly misrepresented as an anti-choice film (isn’t Diablo Cody’s screenplay abundantly clear about the choices that maturing teenagers can make?), Juno still holds up in every other way. Its weird lingo is a cute indication of its time and place. The songs also work in a similar time-capsule way. Its domestic dramas are universally felt, though, whether you've experienced any of the life changing events here or have been a bystander to them. Quirky but not naive, Juno is a warm take on a difficult topic made by hearts meant to nurture.

64. Bad Education

Leave it to Pedro Almodóvar to find an interesting way to replicate repressed memories and haunting images of one’s past. Bad Education features the art that Almodóvar knows best (what else? Film!). Using the gift of cinema, the lead director character reenacts lingering nightmares of yesteryear as a means of coping, and eventually capturing the attention of the featured abuser. It’s a multilayer experience that is purposefully misleading the first time around, in typical Almodóvar fashion. However, Bad Education is a bit more of a difficult swallow than his usual genre-bending ways, but that makes this film all the more important in his canon.

63. Before Sunset

The one strange thing about doing these best-of lists in backwards fashion, is revisiting these series in reverse order. Take the Before series, for example. We began with the struggling marriage of Celine and Jesse in Greece during the 2010s. We're not quite where the two distant lovers met just yet. We’re currently in Paris, as Celine finds Jesse during his book tour to reconnect once again. As per usual, the Before series is known for creating worlds out of everyday, common dialogue, and Before Sunset is no different. It’s the second chance to make sure a pairing of two people (romantic or platonic) is done right, even if that plane is missed.

62. Whale Rider

Should tradition stand in the way of progress? That’s a dilemma found at the heart of Niki Caro’s feminist drama Whale Rider, starring a fascinating Keisha Castle-Hughes at the age of twelve as Paikea. Paikea’s constant efforts to win over her grandfather can be grating, but we are only shown the gravity of his mourning over the loss of his potential grandson at just the right moment: when her whale visions come to life and provide Whale Rider with a surreal final act. Systemic standards are built upon old philosophies, so any form of progression will cause a rift in the comforts of all. Whale Rider is a polite, emotional, and beautiful version of this truth, fit for all ages and crowds.

61. The Royal Tenenbaums

If the world wasn't caught up with Wes Anderson after Rushmore, it was impossible to not know his signature style after The Royal Tenenbaums took over the zeitgeist of the new millennium. His wide range of cast members — now an obvious Anderson element— was done just right here, but it’s interesting to see what someone owning an Anderson role looks like (that would be Gene Hackman as the selfish, insane patriarchal figure of the Tenenbaum family). Maybe one of Anderson’s less-grounded efforts, Tenenbaums is now the benchmark for representing dysfunctional families in a comedic way in the twenty first century. Only Anderson could make this unlikeable crew seem like a modern day François Truffaut cinematic poem, with a pinch of The New Yorker; thus, we love those we would never want to come across in real life.

60. Millennium Mambo

Nostalgia can be blinding, and Hou Hsiao-hsien put these goggles to good use in Millennium Mambo: a mixture of three different decades. Told from a 2011 perspective in (and of) 2001, while saying farewell to the ‘90s, Millennium Mambo is a neon painting that drifts as it progresses. Seasoned with some dated — but undeniably catchy — techno tunes, this observation of toxic masculinity feels like a night club experience going wrong and right at the same time. We're seeing the failures of a troubling relationship from an older, wiser narrator now, and the promise of the right person as well. We can't change our past, but we can reflect, and Millennium Mambo is a memory disguised by a prediction of cinema's future.  

59. The Dark Knight

Arguably the definitive superhero comic book film ever, Christopher Nolan created an adaptation for the ages with The Dark Knight. Secretly a political thriller (well, not that secretly), this Batman sequel is perfectly made to be a stand-alone debate on how a society should be represented: by a sole face (Harvey Dent), a silent force that does what it needs to do (Batman/Bruce Wayne), or an unstoppable chaos that destroys the government (The Joker). None of these aspects are clearly right, but The Dark Knight enjoys weaving through each possibility with “what if” scenarios. Favouring brains over action (although it has tons of that too), The Dark Knight was the perfect balance found in a superhero film that we still haven’t seen matched yet. 

58. The Lives of Others

This Berlin surveillance drama is stuffed to the brim with dramatic irony. We know what HGW XX/7 knows, because we can see him listening in to, well, The Lives of Others. However, we also know more than he does, as we spy on him ourselves. We become enthralled by each different layer of context and subtext, as we reflect on the literal happenings of citizens leading up to the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the implications of many actions that may not be apparent to those living within the film. Audible (and, in our cause, visual) voyeurism is presented rather gracefully here, and you don't feel intrusive. You feel included, as if you were there during the final years of Berlin's split.

57. Eastern Promises

This is what David Cronenberg operating at his best in the new millennium looks like. It’s a mobster thriller that uses the clues of the dead to try and help the living solve a case. Eastern Promises is extremely loopy, and it savours its moments of gore and extreme disturbances for exactly the right moments. After its late game twist (and I do mean very late in the game), you will absolutely need to watch the film again. The first viewing is an understanding of crime's control over society. Afterwards, it's the extent of what someone has to do to survive. Cronenberg has publicly stated that he is content never making a film again after Maps to the Stars. If that’s the case, then Eastern Promises remains his final masterpiece.

56. Fish Tank

After the breakthrough short film Wasp made its rounds (and won an Academy Award), Andrea Arnold seemed set to do whatever she wanted. She followed up the short with the feature Fish Tank, which operates in a similar capacity: poverty stricken families finding it difficult to cope with their struggles in sensible ways. Mia is distanced from her family and the world, but she knows she has a few destinies. She has to save that horse she is concerned about. She has to partake in that dance competition, since she practices every day. She needs a new life, and these could be her entryways. With her future being muddled by those she trusts, including her mother's new boyfriend, and her dreams being crushed, she exists in the titular world: a fish tank she cannot escape, but can only look out of.

55. The White Ribbon

Systemic abuse unfortunately goes way back, and Michael Haneke isn’t one to mince words. Strangely, as vicious as The White Ribbon is subject wise, it remains one of the decade’s most well shot pieces of cinematic art. The natural lighting — digitally edited to look black and white — feels like a mixture of milk and tar slushing together. You cannot take your eyes away from the film, which makes all of the corruption even more difficult to withstand. White garments represent clergymen, peace offerings, bandaging and purity. Here, they only resemble pain every time someone is marked by a ribbon. This is Haneke’s unveiling that powerful beings, even in well respected organizations, have always been capable of being monstrous.

54. Infernal Affairs

First came Andy Lau and Alan Mak’s Infernal Affairs. This was a straight forward rat-versus-rat chase with melodramatic music to exentuate important deaths. Otherwise, this police thriller was all about the basics. You can learn about people as the action is delivered. Infernal Affairs was all about professional identity, more than personal. This includes respect in the workplace (how long can someone be an informant for before they are released and taken seriously in their field?). Infernal Affairs is the linear approach to this particular story, and it makes the revelation of each truth a reward for each checkpoint.

53. The Departed

Then you have Martin Scorsese’s American answer with The Departed. It’s much more chaotic, and functions more like a web of narratives, rather than one clustered path. The Departed is more interested in personal vindications, since the people here feel more corrupted and a part of a terrible society. There’s also all of the excessive E’s: editing blitzes, exciting exposition, and expletives galore. It’s difficult to pin both films together. They’re so similar (moments are shot-for-shot nearly identical), and yet so distant. The Departed gets only the slightest edge, because of its extra work creating a backbone for a toxic Boston. Otherwise, consider these two films one entry: a powerful source material, and the miraculous adaptation.

52. The Headless Woman

How do you approach the possibility that you may have been involved in a hit-and-run? How do you tackle this topic as a filmmaker, whilst trying to be refreshing about your attempt? Lucrecia Martel went for a hyper realistic tone with The Headless Woman, almost in a sense that you are looking for your own hallucinations from delusional guilt. You pay extra attention to certain sounds and images, and wonder if you are letting Verónica’s negligence get to you. The film moves slowly, sending you into a state of mental hysterics. It remains as is: simply a delivery of information. It’s a restrained take on grief and remorse, but done in a way that there is still a heavy weight throughout the film.

51. 2046

Usually, Wong Kar-wai works a little bit more simplistically than the chaotic narrative threading found in 2046. What was meant to be the last part of a loose series (until Blossoms was announced), this mixture of reality and a written science-fiction story within the film is the removal of ordinary senses. We lose the concept of time and space in this distant world, and yet it all still remains familiar. We all experience heartbreak, loss, and isolation. In Kar-wai’s literary world that takes place in the year 2046, or in the reality we currently know, we identify with every character. If you were given the chance to relive your memories and never return to Earth, would you do that? Somehow, Kar-wai makes that impossibility still feel plausible, and freeing.

50. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The only other noteworthy adaptation of any Stieg Larsson Millennium novel is David Fincher’s own 2011 take. For us, Niels Arden Oplev’s first entry in his trilogy is the best of them all. The Swedish The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is gritty, and yet it remains grandiose. While Lisbeth’s narrative serves more as a piece of the trilogy’s whole, it still connects with Mikael’s case well enough, since you learn that many people in this story are untrustworthy, and you’re aware of what the film’s dangers are from the get-go. The mixture of neo-noir elements and a feminist revenge tale render Dragon Tattoo a cathartic — yet difficult — experience hinged by two people doubted by their own society who aim to only rely on themselves (and, eventually, each other).

49. A Prophet

In this prison epic, the tests of endurance take a hold on you. How much can Malik take? You are given a sentence duration at the start of the film: six years. Half an hour in, year one is complete. That’s when you realize you’re in this for the long haul. Every passing day, the rules of the game get more and more tumultuous. A Prophet is led by a bravura performance by Tahar Rahim, who oozes every bit of fear, agony, and reservation the lead character required. You need to follow this man, but you must also understand the gravity of his situation. For two and a half hours, we do. We’re glued to every second.

48. Millennium Actress

It goes without saying that filmmakers enjoy the medium they have taken part in, but not many directors are as blatantly in love with cinema as Satoshi Kon. Even a work like Paprika finds a way to be tethered by the movie going experience. So, a full on tribute to cinema like Millennium Actress is bound to be one hell of a statement. Using an aged actress’s history and filmography — merged together — to tell a story, this experience becomes a commentary on the roles that performers take. We’re in the shoes of the interviewers trying to figure out her life story, as we coast through film sets, fictional worlds, and the memories of a wounded soul.

47. Inglourious Basterds

At the time of release, Quentin Tarantino was implying that Inglourious Basterds was the best film he ever made. The story ends with the claim that this will “remain my masterpiece”; clearly a line from Tarantino to his audience. Eleven years later, and one thing remains certain. This is definitely Tarantino’s strongest use of tension building in any of his works, by far. The opening conversation (straight out of a Sergio Leone film) is enough anxiety to set the tone for the entire film, and yet we’re never quite prepared for the lengthy, gripping bar sequence no matter what. This is one way to go about revisionist cinema, especially one that has very little to do with historical accuracy. Let’s remember that we’re invested in a film that makes up a glorious way for Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party to go down in the same way they treated non-Aryan art: in flames.

46. Syndromes and a Century

You know you’re in for a treat when Apichatpong Weerasethakul wants to put his spin on a type of story. Syndromes and a Century is his way of appreciating how his parents got together, in his own unique way. The film has two parts, and the dialogue in both is borderline identical at times. It’s like the same story is being told twice, rather than a new second story at all. Both settings are within the medical field, although the second part is in the city, and the former segment is in the countryside. See this as advancement, the shifting of memories, the loss of self, the inevitability of fate, or in any way you want. Syndromes and a Century is a gutsy take on love that not many filmmakers would even dare approach.

45. Oldboy

Certainly one of the more memorable films of the 2000’s, Park Chan-wook’s grizzly Oldboy is a lesson in ethics and philosophy that you may never forget. One of the great sadist films of the twenty first century, you do not go into this thriller expecting a good time. Even the opening delivery of the film’s premise is damaging enough, but Chan-wook’s undeterminable extents he’s willing to go will only keep going as the film progresses. By the brain scrambling conclusion, you will be beyond numb, like you’ve achieved a zen status out of the worst disgraces in the human code. Shortly after a time when lighter, hip, philosophical works like Donnie Darko and Fight Club made their rounds, Oldboy took the wave and shot it in the backyard for good. 

44. Adaptation.

What a great film, and an even better screenplay. The genius behind Charlie Kaufman’s “adaptation” is impossible to limit to one paragraph. Very barely based on The Orchid Theif, Adaptation. is basically Kaufman’s answer to how far an interpretation of a work can go. So, he also shimmies real life around. It couldn’t just be about him. It had to include a fake twin brother of his (who also was credited as a co-screenwriter for this film, I might add). Adaptation. is all Charlie, until it succumbs to the conventions that “twin” brother Donald learns about in film 101 classes. The final product within the film is literally the film we just witnessed. It’s fabulously insane. 

43. Russian Ark

Before the one-shot film was as popular as it is now, it was arguably perfected by Alexander Sokurov with his ghostly history lesson Russian Ark. You saunter through time and space, in the eyes of a dead soul unconstricted by linearity. You interact with “the European”, and only he can see you; everyone else stares at him like he is insane when he talks with you. During this one-shot extravaganza, dolly zooms and extreme closeups are still employed, but you drift into each step as if you are falling down another level in your dream. Russian Ark isn’t afraid to be goofy, either, as to not pretend it’s only for the high class viewer. It’s cinematic gymnastics for an hour and a half.

42. The Savages

You know a dramedy is going to be good when a family can get away with an on-the-nose last name like Savage, and the entire film doesn’t collapse right there and then. The titular siblings in The Savages have their own separate ways of trying to figure out how to deal with their senile father, particularly because they have felt the need to fend for themselves for so long. The family toxicity here is not too bitter, but sarcastic enough that every honest effort is due to be slapped away by either smart ass Savage. Much of the film is about the amount of wrongdoings a human being can do, down to the minutiae of living (the balloon for the funeral is the cherry on top).

41. Dogville

There may not be a director currently working as one-or-the-other as Lars von Trier. His attempts are either beyond try-hard, or you get something as disgustingly profound as Dogville. Stripped of almost all production and effects, this Dogme 95 staple (well, with a few exceptions o the rule) is noteworthy for the inability to hide anything that’s in plain view. Heinous actions take place, and townsfolk are only a few steps away, and yet they’re blocked by invisible structures. There’s also the concept of pity, mob mentalities, victimization and revenge: all driven by eyes rolled back in the heads of deviants. This is a rare time where a von Trier film has lasted longer than its initial buzz, as it has been reevaluated in recent years as the challenging art piece that it is. 

40. Ratatouille

One Pixar classic we’re glad hasn’t faded away is the commentary on passion versus critique known as Ratatouille. The debate about a love being a hobby or a profession is discussed throughout this living caricature of Parisian cooking circles, and it all starts out with us walking in the shoes of a maligned rodent: the rat. We’re forced to accept a being humans are too quick to kick away every day, and we find comfort there. By the magnificent conclusion — where adoration transcends into a life altering art form — you will understand what little good undermining someone’s efforts will do. As a critic, this is a personal Pixar favourite of mine, and I love the different approach to criticism Ratatouille champions.

39. Half Nelson

Addiction is not easy, and trying to discuss addiction properly is also its own challenge. Half Nelson doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, but it does a great job of providing a wide spectrum of who can be affected by drugs. There’s a teacher that cannot kick his damaging habits, and his student who is being forced into the life of drug dealing. They share a bond, with student Drey scared about what happens next, and teacher Dan being the surprising portal into what the future may bring (as he maintains professionalism while teaching). More of a series of situations than a clear cut story, Half Nelson is an indie parable without the pretension. 

38. Amores perros

The debut film by Alejandro G Iñárritu is a devastating triptych all hinged around two topics: neglected dogs, and a pivotal car accident. You visit different class systems in Mexico City, and endure the different day-to-day dramas of three vantage points: a healing model, a man forced into the dog fighting rings, and a geriatric hitman. None of these stories get absolutely resolved, either. All we need to see is that turning point for each person, all created by the car crash catalyst after their lives are tested on multiple occasions. You can see flashes of Iñárritu’s now-infamous punishing style throughout Amores perros, and the film also acted as a major bridge way for crime films to make their way into the new millennium (this is what they were going to be like from now on).

37. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

This is where it all starts. It took one year into the new millennium for Peter Jackson’s perfect The Lord of the Rings adaptations to change fantasy cinema forever. The Fellowship of the Ring remains a fan favourite, likely because of the heartfelt cheers and love felt during the first act (which will take hours to return to during the trilogy), thanks to the big Bilbo Baggins party. Maybe it was Galadriel’s haunting opening that let us know things were going to be different. Likely, it’s the assembling of the titular fellowship, and the short time they are actually all together as one unity. Either way, you can likely tell which of the three films is my favourite now, but Fellowship was the guinea pig film that ushered the fantasy genre, action cinema, novel adaptations, and special effects into a new age without any reservations (and all of the marvel, which still remains).

36. White Material

Claire Denis has been able to release at least one decade-defining gem each era. For the 2000’s, White Material was her most intense project, created for the sole reason that Denis and Isabelle Huppert wanted to work together (thank you both). So Huppert was given an incredibly difficult role as a coffee plantation owner somewhere in Africa (it’s not specified where), and Denis throws every single difficult conversation at her and the film. There are no clear heroes in this civil war crisis, mainly because most decisions are made frantically as a means of staying put during a time of change and suffering. White Material festers and boils until it pops, and it resonates as arguably Denis’ most explosive film to date.

35. Spirited Away

When the Best Animated Feature Academy Award finally started to exist, the first award went to Shrek. It was the year afterwards that a precedent was set by Hayao Miyazaki, and it’s a bar that sadly doesn’t get met too often anymore. Here is a feature that transcends style, tropes and conventions. Spirited Away is heavily reliant on the unknown, but a filmmaker with a massive heart like Miyazaki is capable of spinning this type of a story into a modern day fable. It’s so easy to get lost in this absurdist world, but focusing on the story is just as engaging; you get a new approach to the coming-of-age tale. Spirited Away exercises what animated films — and our imaginations — can understand, and it takes us to the highest of highs.

34. Monsoon Wedding

Mira Nair started creating her opus while studying filmmaking at Columbia University. That alone is an impressive feat, considering Monsoon Wedding is a romantic drama for the ages; how could a student be this good at story crafting? Well, believe it. Monsoon Wedding has the foundation of a straightforward story, being about a wife-to-be being acquainted with her fiancé in an arranged marriage. However, the film goes to much greater lengths than that. With Nair wanting to get many messages out there (the constant mistreatment of women, the pressures of bonding, shifting familial identities), you get a palette of solid drama here. With all of the essentials out of the way, Monsoon Wedding becomes a heartfelt celebration, but it never loses sight of the compelling dilemmas that make it fantastic.

33. House of Flying Daggers

Not to step on any toes, but for us Hero walked so House of Flying Daggers could fly. An essential piece of the new wave of wuxia films, Zhang Yimou’s romantic epic is a stunning display of visual motifs. Sure, the action here is part of the fun (and it’s arguably the best choreography found in a Yimou film to date), but it’s the heightened passion that leaps off the screen that sets Flying Daggers apart from some of its contemporaries. The rich colours and sublime sets — mostly natural — burn the best moments into your brain for life; it’s visual poetry. The blood-soaked finale in the midst of a blizzard is a coup de grace moment of the 2000’s: gore usually isn’t this gorgeous. 

32. Brokeback Mountain

It seems strange that Brokeback Mountain caused such a stir, but 2005 was clearly a different time. A much-needed film to help change the course of cinematic history, Brokeback Mountain was clearly an important work. However, the quality of the film still needs to be taken into question. Fifteen years later, we can safely confirm that Brokeback Mountain is amazing. The humble approaches to a forbidden romance ensure that this sad tale rests solely in your heart. A clear rebellion against the macho — and arguably misogynistic — cowboy films that came many years before it, Brokeback Mountain remains as vital as it is exquisite. 

31. Y Tu Mamá También

I can think of many filmmakers that couldn’t take a sex-romp road trip and turn it into a profound piece of cinematic splendour. Well, Alfonso Cuarón doesn’t like to keep within the guidelines of film too often. Teaming up with frequent collaborator Emmanuel Lubezki, Cuarón’s first gem of the new millennium is much more prepossessing than it arguably deserves to be. With the selfish, sex-driven actions on screen for its entire duration, there’s no need to be turning perversions into art; and yet it all still works. The one-note fantasies of two young boys becomes the expulsion of pain for an older woman, and the ménage-à-trois transforms into complete exploration for all members. Y Tu Mamá También ends bitterly, with a forever-affected friendship, and a tortured soul released.

30. Memento

It’s obvious that Christopher Nolan refuses to create a simple narrative, and I knew this as soon as his opus Momento dropped. This neo-noir is told both forwards and reverse at the same time, with the two storylines meeting at the middle in the final seconds of the film. Essentially, you’re meant to figure out who murdered Leonard Shelby’s wife, as he deals with short term memory loss by creating — and tattooing onto himself — clues that he can use as reminders down the road. It starts off as a neat game, as we are pressed to come to a conclusion against all odds, and yet Memento ends on the notion that we are often the masters of our own fate, willing to turn a blind eye and lie to ourselves if it fits our own master plans being blocked by guilt.

29. Caché

Voyeurism can be incredibly threatening when dealt with in such a perverse manner (I don’t encourage voyeurism of any sort, to be honest), as can be seen in Michael Haneke’s 2005 thriller. The Laurent household continues to get suspicious video tapes — and violent drawings — sent to them, in ways that feel obviously like warnings. The way Haneke conducted Caché is as if we are also spying on this poor family, and so we feel horribly about ourselves as well. Without many guidelines to make you feel certain emotions otherwise, Caché becomes incredibly unpredictable, and it contains arguably one of cinema’s most frightening moments ever. Are we sick for enjoying the misery and challenges of others in the cinematic medium (even if these are narratives, and not documentaries exclusively)? 

28. Happy-Go-Lucky

We seem to have lost the bulk of films as freeing and vigorous as Happy-Go-Lucky, but luckily we have Poppy’s escapades to hold onto. Poppy, played perfectly by a then-under-utilized Sally Hawkins, is a loveable burst of energy that seems to annoy most of the other people in the film (outside of her friends and family). That’s okay, because the miserable grimaces of the cynics here is for our gain as well. The main storyline is her confrontation with her serious, soul-deprived driving instructor: her first real foil in life. This series of constant disagreements becomes our lessons on moderation: if you had to either be constantly bothered or permanently optimistic, Happy-Go-Lucky makes its case for choosing the latter abundantly clear. 

27. Inland Empire

Many auteurs practice their own versions of Frederico Fellini’s 8 1/2, and of course David Lynch’s approach is easily the most insane. This video shot, three hour, cohesion-lacking nightmare is luckily being reconsidered in recent years, since it was heavily forgotten about for a short while after its release. Featuring the greatest performance of Laura Dern’s career, and all of the demented low-budgeted imagery you can actually be spooked by (only David Lynch can succeed here), Inland Empire is an amalgamation between one’s darkest fears, and the magic of filmmaking. Sets become living quarters. Scripts become inner thoughts. Flashbacks become the shattering of time. This may be Lynch's most challenging film (and that is saying a lot), but what a piece of abstract digital art it makes.

26. Volver 

Trust Pedro Almodóvar to put such a unique spin on ghost stories. So, here’s the skinny. Raimunda’s mom in Volver isn’t actually dead, but she thinks she is. Raimunda is currently dealing with her own personal problems, and believes she is being haunted for her sins. As dramatic irony goes, it may not get any better than this. As for Raimunda (played by Penélope Cruz), we see a new life within her bursting to get out, best resembled in the song sequence at the heart of Volver. It takes a lot for a decades-old medium to reinvent personal demons on film, but such was not an impossible task for the always-creative Almodóvar.

25. Persepolis

How do you accept that your life is trapped in a cul-de-sac? Marjane Satrapi delivered her final acknowledgements of her motherland in comic form with Persepolis, so it only made sense that she was a major voice in the film adaptation of her story. The Iran she grew up in has been changed by revolution, and the world outside of her motherland is also unforgiving. During her adolescent and young-adult years, Satrapi grew a sense of herself as a voice, but not as an identity. This schism, depicted in two dimensional cartoon form, is a chapter Satrapi may not know how to bundle up in a specific form, but all of its exposed fragments are here for us to pick up and piece ourselves. The key theme is desolation, and Persepolis speaks for the millions of citizens of the world that have had to make do with their ever-changing lives.

24. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

We have finally reached the reason why this list has a handful of wuxia (or wuxia inspired) works. Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I don't even need to say any more, since there's a good chance you have been a part of the hype at some point. Twenty years later, and nearly every effect and stunt still holds up as cinematic perfection. Lee took a resting genre and brought it to a new age, but he did so correctly. There weren't any cut corners here. This includes the story as well, and the tales of love (old and new) here cut deeply. Every single decision in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was done out of love for a style of yesteryear, with the intent of breathing new life into it. With all of the wuxia films since (and yet none of them quite match this vision), Lee clearly succeeded.

23. The New World

After many years away from filmmaking, Terrence Malick returned with The Thin Red Line. The world was ready for this. His next project, appropriately named (in this case) The New World, wasn’t quite as understood, as it acted as a bridge way between the Malick of old and new (see The Tree of Life and onward). Now, I think we understand this new take on the Pocahontas story much better. Told via fleeting memories, The New World is a lavish comprehension of the evolution of civilization, through a familiar story (which Malick himself bastardized as much as every other fictional form has). Much more coherent than some of Malick’s latter-career works, The New World is definitely a cinematic triumph we can respect with new perspectives. 

22. WALL-E

Picking one Pixar film to crown the reigning feature is almost insensitive, considering the quality of the studio’s finest works (quantity, as well). I finally decided on WALL-E, since it encompasses all of the studio’s finest capabilities. The animation remains untouchable. The story telling is invigorating. The first half, done in mostly dialogue-free fashion, is like an extended short that you never want to end. The second half is a cautionary tale, originally hidden from us to keep our world perfect (despite being ridden by abandoned trash). As much of an exploration as WALL-E is, it continues to be a stern message that remains essential. Pixar’s films usually contain the love of animation in mind, but WALL-E also considered the loves of life and existence in mind throughout. It shows in its uplifting, preternatural ways.

21. The Hurt Locker

When the trailer for Kathryn Bigelow’s Best Picture winning war drama dropped back in 2009, it seemed as though this preview gave the entire film away. Noticing the final moment of this trailer only happens a quarter of the way through The Hurt Locker, all bets were off. Who the hell knew where this film would go? This over-two-hour heart attack boldly abandons conventional plot for one mission: to get out of Iraq alive. At first, this seems like a straight forward idea, until the unorthodox Sergeant James comes in and throws a wrench in his squad’s plans on a continual basis. Now, protocol is non existent, and any passing second could be a final one. War conditions fighters in different ways, and The Hurt Locker’s nerve wracking endurance test is about discovering who gets affected in which ways.

20. Pan’s Labyrinth

Nearly fifteen years later, and still no one has perfected the adult fairy tale the same way Guillermo del Toro did with Pan’s Labyrinth. This understanding of civil war through young eyes is as enlightening as it is harrowing. Punches are never pulled here, as the gratuitous violence matches the fleeting imagination of a traumatized mind struggling to cope. With young Ofelia’s real life being partially hidden by her conjured up fantasies (and vice versa), you never get the absolute full extent of either situation, and it’s this mystery that helps Pan’s Labyrinth remain the bittersweet fable that it is. We know what actually happens at the end, and yet we can play dumb and pretend something beautiful took place instead.

19. Away from Her

How do you accept the failing mind of your life partner, especially if they begin to forget that you exist? Sarah Polley’s audacious debut feature followed the Canadian independent cinema guidelines (be stationed in Canada, have an all-Canadian cast sans one notable name [Julie Christie here], and work with what you have), and told a powerful-enough story that breaks its oppressive mold. The clever juxtaposition of Grant’s deepest fears and Fiona’s developing Alzheimer’s makes Away from Her a story about regrets, the pursuance of adoration once more, and the difficult choices a lover has to make. The film is shot to feel like a tender recollection of moments, despite the difficult realizations happening in each scene, as if we are feeling memories being snatched away from us. Polley’s vision is exquisite, and Away from Her can be comfortably considered a high point in Canadian cinema.

18. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring

Off the bat, I’m going to admit that I don’t agree with a number of Kim Ki-duk’s choices (particularly his nonchalant approach to animal abuse in films, as well as the recent allegations of abuse attributed towards him), so bringing up this masterful South Korean experience feels a little daunting. However, I try my best to separate art from their artist, and in doing so are reminded of what a soul-cleansing experience this Buddhist allegory is. Each season of a “year” takes a character’s entire lifetime to experience, so we know this isn’t a literal story but a slice of folklore. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring turns human culpability into a form of meditation, either by repetition or trials of mental strength. The film is cyclical, reminding us that every new life is a means of rediscovering zen permanence and avoiding virulency.  

17. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days

Some topics can’t be danced around lightly, and Christian Mungiu knew this while making 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days. The subject of abortion is already guaranteed to get some emotions going, and Mungiu used the communist backdrop of Nicolae Ceausescu to heighten the severity of the situation, particularly in how women are misrepresented in the argument. The entire film is based around all of the steps procured to successfully achieve an illegal abortion, and every single moment is a tribulation that’s tough to behold. On a literal level, this film is a mission that only gets worse with every step. Symbolically, this is the uphill battle many women endure, even to this day. The film’s title signifies the length of the pregnancy thus far, but this tale represents an eternity to many.

16. Synecdoche, New York 

How strangely time reveals the irony of some artworks. Charlie Kaufman’s debut as a director, Synecdoche, New York, was heavily misread upon release. Much like the ambitions of the playwright character Caden Cotard, these efforts resulted in a complete collapse. Now, we can appreciate Kaufman’s vision in a whole new light, considering the extent of detail found in this metaphysical depiction of art and life (the need to capture everyone as a star, and not a supporter, of their own narratives). Maybe we can stomach this film — and understand it — better because of our recent fascinations with existentialism in the digital age, and the disintegrations of the perfectionist. Confused upon release, it seems that Synecdoche, New York is almost too accurate to many of us now.

15. The Wrestler

It’s bizarre to see Darren Aronofsky operating in a more level-headed capacity, considering how gruesome The Wrestler still is. I’d argue it’s possibly his most challenging film, since you can argue that very little of Randy “The Ram”’s experiences shown here take place in his head (outside of that one part where he hears the crowd chanting for him to go work in the deli). There’s no hiding behind the “psychological thriller” label here. The self destruction of Randy leads the way in a film about struggling workers trying to be noticed as humans, even at the expense of loved ones; his estranged daughter, who gives him a second chance, is ghosted by him in the same way society turns their backs on him. In an authentic way, The Wrestler encompasses the daily suffering of someone “wrestling” with life, all for the minor moments where things are actually joyful.

14. Traffic

When discussing hyperlink cinema, there aren’t many finer examples than the drug drama Traffic, considering how effortlessly the film juggles the many battles found in cartels, dealing, and using substances. Despite being shot in vicious gel colours (and sometimes made purposefully grainy), the content here is hyper realistic to the point of being disturbing (a moment where Caroline gets high and collapses in a near-unconscious bliss is a key example). My favourite aspect of Traffic is how there isn’t a clear winner, outside of Javier who abandons the War on Drugs entirely to try and better his community. Otherwise, we all lose. Arrests are controlled by opposing cartels. The poor are preyed upon. Overdoses are treated like crimes and can’t be handled properly. This crime epic may be Steven Soderbergh’s finest hour.  

13. Children of Men

If the human race became infertile, what would happen? Apparently a hell of a lot. Alfonso Cuarón’s adaptation of the P. D. James novel The Children of Men is heavily anchored by the natures of reading. Long passages have lengthy single shots. More frantic moments dart around a lot (either with cuts or by sharp camera pans). His reunion with Emmanuel Lubezki allows Children of Men to have a sliver of hope in the form of natural lighting; otherwise, this all feels too real, with every texture appearing touchable and every detail being highlighted. The actual plot to preserve human life (in more ways than one) show that humanity is as inept as it is advanced. So much of Children of Men’s destruction is self inflicted, and none of it feels too far off from how this situation would actually turn out. As moving as it is thrilling, Children of Men is — at times — a euphoric dystopia. 

12. Memories of Murder

In 2020, Bong Joon-ho is cinematic royalty. We can thank his blistering big break, Memories of Murder, for the genre-bending, Hitchcockian work he has put out since. However, this second feature of his remains one of his finest works, especially in tandem with the real string of killings the film is based on. Initially used as a commentary on the complexities of morality and authoritative positions (would slaying someone you think is the serial killer do you any good?), Memories of Murder gained an extra amount of oomph once the real cases were finally — seemingly — solved in 2019. It puts Park Doo-man’s search for the murderer in the audiences of venues everywhere to rest. On its own, Memories of Murder is the physical brutality of a sick mind, and the slow deterioration of sanity trying to solve these twisted games.

11. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

Arguably the greatest fantasy film of all time. Peter Jackson, cast, and crew, pieced together the Lord of the Rings trilogy right: by working forwards, backwards, and at the same time. All three films carry the same amount of weight, and they end as strongly as they begin (if not, even better). The Return of the King starts off savagely as well, representing Sméagol as a healthy Hobbit before the One Ring takes control of him. Then, we flash to where we are now: the remaining Fellowship members trying to finish off the mission of destroying the One Ring, whilst holding back any opposing armies. Somehow, the fights get even better than the rest of the trilogy (perhaps it’s the gravity of these particular fights), and the conclusion of the trip is done as powerfully as necessary. Don’t give us any nonsense about the ending being too long. You realize the amount of storylines that have to be concluded over the course of this insanely long trilogy? The Return of the King ends just right, and it bows to no one.

10. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Julian Schnabel’s uncompromising look at the final years of Jean-Dominique Bauby’s life, whilst suffering from locked-in syndrome after a stroke, is a decade defining moment that I still don’t think has been fully realized yet. The entire first act being from Bauby’s perspective (including the sewing up of one of his eyes) is a risky opener that not many filmmakers can pull off. From there on, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly opens up many portals, including Bauby’s past and his dreams (which converge with his awake state). Bauby’s adaptation to communicating with a single eye turns the heart wrenching dialogue between him and his loved ones into the impossible task of containing emotions in between lines. Yet, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is still captured magnificently as if Bauby’s last days were a living Elle editorial. This turns the challenges into perseverance, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly into an everlasting hallucination.  

9. Yi Yi

Edward Yang’s swan song is a domestic epic about the different priorities and afflictions of varying generations, particularly in one household. The film starts with a wedding and ends in death: a fate that all in the Jian family are susceptible to throughout the course of Yi Yi (a title which directly translates to “One One”, or “One and Two”: an implication of the next step in the circle of life). Life’s all about change: children discovering passions, parents having to change careers, and teenagers discovering the melodramas of love. Cinematographer Wei-han Yang has a knack for being able to capture the stillness and minutiae of life in every single frame, and Yi Yi becomes a visual puzzle as a result. We stare life and mortality in the face for three hours here, and every single second is potentially existence altering.

8. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

How often do we squander the present? Michel Gondry and Charlie Kaufman teamed up for one of contemporary cinema’s most inventive romances with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: a test of memories versus anguish. As Joel Barish’s mind gets erased in backwards chronological order (of every memory he shared with former lover Clementine Kruczynski), you are taken from the most painful parts of their breakup to the moment they fell in love. It’s a reminder that there was something magical here at some point. This mission become a curse, as Joel and Clementine fight to hide in his subconscious, as to preserve what neither party thought they had. Meanwhile, Clementine remains his interpretation of the real person, and their flawed depictions of each other (positive and negative) are a reminder of the inevitable. Still, fate struck twice, so maybe this is meant to be handled responsibly, and with the possibility of hearts hurting in the chase of butterflies.

7. No Country for Old Men

The more time that passes on, the more apparent this is the finest film the Coen brothers may ever make. This bleak, nihilistic western neo-noir is as dismal as they come, but that’s what makes it ironically charming. Not many films are as eager to showcase the darkest depths of the human soul. It’s actually hilarious at times. Anton Chigurh epitomizing the inevitability of death doesn’t help either, as he is caught in between a geriatric sheriff on his way out, and a man caught up in a scandal he knew better than to be involved with. Part cat-and-mouse chase, part open ended surrender to the emptiness of the existential void, No Country for Old Men only manages to be more fitting as we venture forward in the mutually hopeless digital, social age.

6. Talk to Her

I may discuss how often Pedro Almodóvar loves to twist cinema up in unconventional ways, and Talk to Her may be one of his stranger experiments. Two men in care of women in comatose states (one in an actual relationship with one of the women, the other in a pretend one) have drastically different experiences, mirroring toxic masculinity with a man that actually respects women. The two approaches to the comas is at the heart of Talk to Her’s intriguing premise, especially in consideration with the discussions of consent and ethics. In Almodóvar fashion, even the most dreadful moments are represented in illusory ways, as to witness the sickness of humanity from within a comforting, surreal gaze. Always a champion of female voices, Almodóvar provides the extremes of representation in the hands of men in the appropriately titled Talk to Her. 

5. Lost in Translation

Sofia Coppola’s personal goal was to recreate the sensation she experienced while lost in Japan listening to My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless album. A minor step was to hire Kevin Shields to take part in creating — and selecting — music for the film. The most crucial necessity was to capture that fever dream she experienced. She managed to do so with Lost in Translation: a pseudo recollection of her isolation and dreariness during her own separation. The joys and the sorrows are all coated in a cinematic haze, and not many films are as uniform as Lost in Translation (nor are they as intricate whilst being this singular). Every scene runs into each other. The cinematography is flattened like a matte finish. This sleepwalking trance makes all of the pain tolerable. Bob Harris’ midlife crisis and Charlotte’s realization that the real world sucks clash together stunningly, as they experience a new side of life in Tokyo. Existentialism has never felt this inviting. 

4. In the Mood for Love

Most romantic films wonder where it all started, or where it all went wrong. The leading characters in In the Mood for Love are both backstabbed by their spouses, who love each other ironically. So, these two heartbroken partners are now in cahoots, trying to figure out what happened and where to go from here. The secret ingredient in Wong Kar-wai’s millennium staple is longing, and it’s the main reason why both hurt lovers fall for the exact same trap their respective spouses got caught in. Christopher Doyle’s deep reds soak up every single scene, aside from the colours attached to each character that begin to intertwine with one another. The hauntingly plucked “Yumeji’s Theme” in the score acts as the pulsating heart waiting to be loved or torn. In the Mood for Love presents sadness before fruition is even complete, mainly because destiny cannot be predetermined, but society’s scorn can be. 

3. City of God

One of the twenty first century’s first looks at harrowing cinema, Fernando Mereilles’ cautionary tale City of God is a desolate look at growing up in the worst conditions humanly possible. The gunplay is difficult enough to swallow, until you see children with the exact same sadistic natures seconds later. This is a world with zero nurture, and narrator “Rocket” sees a more meaningful life outside of this slum. His foil, crime lord Li’l Zé, remains one of cinema’s most frightening villains, with absolutely zero remorse or concern for life. Between the breath of death on the backs of all and the mocking name of this city, a brighter future has to be achieved. For many, travel destinations like Rio de Janeiro are a privilege. For others, these are the startling truths that are conveniently pushed aside: a society dismissed by the world, in hopes that it will tear itself down. Rocket’s warnings are out of love and fear of his surroundings. 

2. There Will Be Blood

Considerably the finest anti-western ever, let’s look at how There Will Be Blood is a fantastic counter. The town isn’t what shoos Daniel Plainview away: it's what he wants to conquer. He is a lone wolf in a sense that he only works for himself, even though everyone around him wants what they are owed. Technological progression is already long underway, so no old time western tropes are being shooed out. I'd argue that almost everyone in There Will Be Blood has a hidden agenda, and that we only see Plainview’s greed being completely fulfilled, hence why he dominates the picture. Truth is, Paul Thomas Anderson was concerned with the selfishness of all in America’s race for wealth, especially in the head-butting between capitalism and religious cultism. Blood can be the blood of Christ when He returns to cast all sinners to hell, or it can be the figurative blood of oil that seeps from the ground. Either way, There Will Be Blood is a battle of exploitations in search of the promise land (heaven, or a fancy mansion on top of petroleum seepage).

1. Mulholland Drive 

Never has there been a neo-noir for audiences to solve quite like this one. Understandably confusing upon release, David Lynch’s masterpiece Mulholland Drive may have been loved, but not quite in the same way it is now. Its broken narrative is impossible to fully understand the first watch through, but like the greatest case in cinematic lore, it clicks more and more with each subsequent viewing. Now, this abstracted tale of a mysterious accident has become an interpretational dreamscape that lingers in the minds of all viewers for entire lifetimes. Angelo Badalamenti’s haunting score is both retrospective (those Hollywood synthetic strings) and of another dimension (the reverb that clashes all of the sounds together into a cacophony). These melodies make every moment you revisit bittersweet, like the loving memories of a tortured soul on the brink of demise.

Lynch brutally dissects genres he loves the most: teen romances with Blue Velvet, soap operas with Twin Peaks, and road films with Wild at Heart. In Mulholland Drive, he went straight for cinema’s jugular. The darkest corridors of the film industry camouflage nicely amongst the sets of films noir of yesteryear. The dreams of being in Hollywood are almost pornographic here, with overacting and heavenly musical swells. As the film continues, the guilt of the film's subconscious rises to the top until a completely awake state is achieved. Then, there’s no hiding from the truth. Mulholland Drive is no longer a celluloid wonderland. It’s the nauseating present time, stitched together by culpability. All that’s left are memories to keep us company before it all ends, and it ends with a single word: “silencio”. This is a reminder that we have watched a film, and that none of this was real; this irons out the film as a post modern opus, and a testimony that cinema was salvaged and slaughtered simultaneously.

With viewers having to do the bulk of the work in terms of connecting the film's plot, Mulholland Drive does what it needs to do artistically, and every second is sacred (even the uncanny). Upon many visits, it's abundantly clear — to us — that this film is a foggy dream meant to suppress the worst acts of a failed star's life out of spite. This was meant to be her Hollywood moment, but alas even that was not meant to be. The mashing of emotions (euphoria, depression, confused hilarity) have churned Mulholland Drive into one of film's most indescribable experiences. Between the blurred feelings and the jumbled, disjointed story, Mulholland Drive has been heavily discussed ever since it was released. Even at its least understandable form, the film is unquestionably breathtaking. When obsessed over, as a means of figuring it out, it becomes clear. Mulholland Drive opened the new millennium with wonder, splendour, fear and tears. It is the definitive film of the 2000’s, and an insurmountable feat in neo-noir, surreal cinema, and arthouse.

---

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.