The darkened movie theater is my temple, my shrine. It is where I go to seek transcendence, or introspection, or refuge. I appreciate the journey to the auditorium doors, and that flash of energy inside when the lights finally dim; I cherish the trance-like feeling after a great film, where it is as if I float on a reverie out of the theater and back into the world outside. Most of all, I crave the totality of the experience, shut off from everything else for the span of 2 or 3 hours.

So, needless to say, this new streaming reality we have is just not for me. It also likely does not help that I own no television nor home to put it in, but that’s beside the point.

What follows are my little odes to every movie theater experience I had of last year’s releases. There are too many I was never able to find, if they were released into theaters at all; I did happen to catch a few of those streamers while visiting family at various points through the year- I thoroughly enjoyed Steven Soderbergh’s No Sudden Move (such fascinating visual and music touches), Reinaldo Marcus Green’s King Richard (brilliant editing), and Don’t Look Up (uneven sometimes, but darkly funny); and Shaka King’s Judas and the Black Messiah was absolutely scintillating.

Now, in an arbitrarily ranked list that I spent way too long considering because us film nerds are messed up:

17. The Matrix

(Quirky theater in Athens)

Ok this was…not very good.

15. Shang-Chi and James Bond

(Family time at big chain theaters)

Two fitfully enjoyable movie experiences, with some choices and sequences that captivated me and other choices that belied a self-seriousness that felt rote and uninspired. The city bus fight in Shang-Chi and the 15 minutes of Ana de Armas in James Bond were some of the most entertaining stretches of any movie I saw this year, and every Ben Kingsley line delivery slayed me. Honestly, with their flaws- and maybe because of the mixture of thrills and flaws- these feel like the quintessential summer movies I grew up with.

13. Spider-Man and The House of Gucci

(Double feature in Prague while I waited for a late night bus)

Two more movies that my high and mighty film critic brain picked apart (but Spider-Man was objectively an aesthetic and plotting mess, right?) while my heart leapt for joy in moments. I was fortunate to be unaware of that plot twist in Spider-Man, so the first appearance had me screaming inside and beaming outside. What was more rewarding, however, was the dynamic between those characters for the next hour: the way each of their life experiences provoked epiphanies in one another, the emotional catharses they unlocked for each other, and the amplification of resonance I felt for them after actual decades of engagement with these movies. Spider-Man was my favorite comic growing up, perhaps because it featured the most relatable central character and always had a knack for humanizing the standard villains (an aspect this movie captured splendidly). The Tobey Maguire version began when I was in high school, and for 20 years those stories have continued to develop and morph thanks to our new ‘extended universe’ reality of the film industry. I am disheartened by aspects of the Marvel-ification of the entire industry (this movie was literally pushing other smaller, worthwhile pictures off of screens just as funding for original, independent ideas dries up)- yet I still very much appreciate the capacity to follow character arcs over extended periods of time and multiple iterations. I can only hope we find some satisfactory balance in the years to come…and that new Spider-Man movies will either spend more time filming away from green screens in the real world or follow the Spider-Verse lead with inventive aesthetic choices.

House of Gucci on the other hand was an experience where the flaws and achievements were often one and the same- it is simply too much, an incredible creation of maximalism. A cinematic opera buffa, full of performative arias and pop-song choruses. I ate the entire chocolate cake, so to speak, though it was so dense and rich I felt a little sick afterwards. Most admirably, it is clearly the work of a legendary director who feels free to create whatever he wants, however he wants…and I think we need more of that. This movie experience also contained a moment I thought I would not live through: at one point, Jared Leto’s performance and accent had me in absolute spasms of laughter as I desperately tried to contain myself in middle of the Czech audience. I could not breathe for at least 90 seconds, or 10 minutes, or some joyously interminable duration. I don’t know how we would qualify such a performance, but hardly anything affected me as much this year.

12. In the Heights

(Big chain theater in Oklahoma with a dear old friend)

Cinematic orange sherbet. Not everything works, some things work better than they should, but the joy on screen here is undeniable. A couple moments stand out in my memory- the image of a lovers duet where gravity is denied, the urgent desperation in an abuela’s voice- but most of all a feeling of community remains, like soft mist in the air on a hot summer day. Sometimes that’s enough.

11. Red Rocket

(Arthouse theater in NYC)

This is the part of the list now where these film experiences have continued to work inside of me, to provoke mental and spiritual engagement long after the credits rolled. Every film Sean Baker makes seems to confront me in deceptive layers; he has a completely unique ability to shock, disgust, and tenderly illuminate, while a sub-textual critique of our society gradually rises within us. His protagonists are often brash and self-destructive, yet he somehow draws out an intimate relatability, a connection we feel that doesn’t make any sense on its face. It’s utterly exhausting, and strangely beautiful, a box of donuts both delicious and poisonous.

There is a profound level he is working at here, as if he is diving into reality-television reality to explore the trickle-down rot of our modern society. This is what it looks like when the maxims and obsessions of media/politics are filtered into the daily lives of those who live on the edge of our capitalist engine, those who are squeezed by the religion of money and a dogmatic assignment of roles into vicious cycles of self-destructive decisions. What makes it all work is his subtle, naturalistic approach to performance and photography; rarely has such foundational rot been so mesmerizing to approach.

10. West Side Story

(IMAX screen in Amsterdam after an edible or two)

Ok; I have many thoughts. Too many thoughts. This is probably too low a rank, and too high. It’s all complicated by my deep love for the classic original, a work that contains heights seldom ever reached in then entire history of cinema. If there was one filmmaker who could pull off a worthwhile remake, it would be Steven Speilberg.

If there was one person who probably should not try to pull of a remake, it would be Steven Speilberg.

On the one hand: this contains some of the most dazzling sequences you will ever see on screen, a sensational blend of editing, cinematography, score and choreography into virtuosic harmony, into a perfect synthesis of cinema. Rachel Zegler, Michael Faist and Ariana Dubose are absolutely incandescent; some of the vocal performances are heavenly. Cinematographer Janusz Kaminski is a mad genius, and there are images here that will stay with me forever. Justin Peck remains the greatest choreographer in the world, to my untrained eyes. The film moved me to tears, multiple times.
But also…the insistence by writer Tony Kushner and Speilberg to ground every single element in ‘reality’ is an oppressive weight at times, unnecessarily grating; attempts to update the more troubling racial realities of the original are very hit or miss. Some choices (the re-imagining of ‘Cool’ and ‘Somewhere’) did not work for me in the slightest. There are times when I wanted less virtuosity from the camera, so the choreography could breathe. The casting of Ansel Elgort is still troubling in a few ways.
Yet at the end, I found myself sobbing even more than I did in the original. Am I just getting old and emotional? Probably.
Am I enormously appreciative I got to see this on a giant screen in a great big theater? 1000%.

9. Dune

(IMAX screen in Colorado after an edible or two)

What I said about the big-screen experience for West Side Story, I’ll repeat for Dune: this is exactly why the theater experience can be so special. The tangible, physical scale Denis Villanueve achieves here is a monumental accomplishment. An alien, recognizable world is brought to life with flair and dust, brutalism and panache. Most importantly, it is a personal vision fully realized, a slideshow of dreams and influences whose power is undeniable even if we don’t share them. For all that I complain about the obsessive way everything in West Side Story seemed weighed down with reality, the same obsession works brilliantly for me here, as if Villanueve manages to make a ballet out of garbage trucks. Mundane, fantastical scale. No single shot of the year has the visceral power of the first sandworm swallowing up a massive vehicle, framed by the silhouettes of Timothee Chalamat and Jason Momoa being lifted to safety above. It works so well because it has been set up by the intricate details throughout the film, and the perfect crescendo of anticipation that leads up to that moment- not to mention the phenomenal power of Hans Zimmer composing at the top of his game.

In the end, this is a specifically immersive kind of magic only possible in one medium, and long may that medium bless us with it.

8. Memoria

(Hip theater in Roma, Mexico City)

Now for a different kind of immersion…all of Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s films invite you into a contemplative state of meditation, a simple existence that suggests cosmic lessons- and this is perhaps a perfect distillation of that hypnosis. Full disclosure- large portions of this film are in Spanish, and I saw it without English subtitles (and without much comprehension) so I was rather lost for long stretches…yet in the end, this is an experience he also intentionally reproduces. We tend to rush through life from one appointment to the next, from one duty or plan to another, all while disregarding much of the mystery in the world that surrounds us.

Something happens to the protagonist, Tilda Swinton, in the very first scene; something inexplicable, surreal. Did it really happen? Did anyone else experience this? Slowly we realize- this is a fundamental question in life. Did anybody else experience something the way we experienced it? Is there an explanation, or another perspective that will truly validate our own? If we are all destined to a future as skeletal remains, mutely excavated by future inhabitants, what is the worth of our vanished memories? Or do they even vanish? If bones remain in the physical realm, what remains in invisible spaces of our invisible thoughts?
Sometimes, even in a medium as physical as film, it is the power of suggestion that remains most potent- something this film reaches for as few ever have before.

7. The Power of the Dog

(Big chain theater in Oklahoma with my pop)

This is a film about deconstructing toxic masculinity, told through the guise of an American western, beautifully shot in New Zealand by a white woman.
All of which is to say that assumptions of who is supposed to be able to make certain films and in which manner are so antiquated and out of touch that they feel like centuries-old fiction (ok they are centuries-old fiction and that’s kind of the point here). This film itself is a psychologically fraught experience that echoes the experiences of faceless victims throughout history- with a vengeful sense of satisfaction woven in. Jane Campion utilizes luscious photography, a haunting score/sound design, and raw performances often as counter-points to each other, exposing us to a constant, unnerving tension in and between elements. At times it can all be uncomfortably bare, perhaps unsubtle; but the effect is exponential over time, admirable in its unapologetic determination.

And a reminder that it is absolutely absurd that Jane Campion just became the first woman in history to be nominated for multiple Directing Oscars, in the year of our lord 2022. How far we still have to go.

6. The Tragedy of Macbeth

(My new favorite theater in the world, Cineteca Nacional CDMX)

I got to experience this stunning work from the third row, claustrophobic black and white images towering over me in expressionist horror. As the first shrouded images morphed into a witchy reveal, I was utterly transported. The entire film is impeccably crafted, but Bruno Delbonnel’s cinematography elevates into the stratosphere. It may be the first time someone has matched Shakespeare’s linguistic virtuosity in a production of his work, lifting off into flights of fancy and delving deep into evocative terror. I don’t know how he pulled off some images, painting the bards words in such complementary vision.
Just as powerful, to me, were the titular performances by Frances McDormand and Denzel Washington, ‘powerhouse’ portrayals that necessitate the use of that cliche. My personal Oscar goes to Denzel in a heartbeat; his capacity to communicate beyond and through the language is irrepressible, a titanic reminder that he has always been one of our greatest Shakespearean actors.

5. The French Dispatch

(Adorable theater in the middle of Krakow, Poland)
I have a dichotomous relationship with Wes Anderson’s work; I didn’t really respond to his early films, or some more recent favorites of other cinephiles, but I truly adore those films of his that speak to me. The biggest difference tends to be whether he imposes framing devices on himself; I find that it often opens up his artistry by imbuing distinct perspective on his carefully manicured worlds. The narrative framing(s) of Grand Budapest Hotel, the distinct clay-mation vision of Roald Dahl’s Fantastic Mr. Fox, the New England boy-scout theater of Moonrise Kingdom; they all allow his mixture of wistful melancholy and aesthetic playfulness to flower together with purpose. For this and other reasons, I feel personally certain that this is his strongest film.

The framing is the message, in nearly every single aspect. We are visually and aurally consuming an iconic issue of the New Yorker, page by page; the editor (Bill Murray as perfect as ever) works to massage multiple perspectives into one issue, in which each writer frames their own story within a different storytelling medium, conjuring up images and scenes that convey their own interior reality. At times we see stagehands literally moving frames from one shot to the next, while actors re-create memories and stories within. The visual detail on screen is staggering- I couldn’t imagine trying to take it all in from a television screen- and yet it all feels both essential and inventive. He’s not necessarily breaking new ground here, but he seems to have found the perfect vehicle for the inclination of his talent. All the performances are interesting in their own way, but Jeffrey Wright in particular finds a profound level that reaches a devastating conclusion- this after an darkly whimsical animated chase sequence, which just goes to show how confidently inventive Anderson manages to be here.

4. Spencer

(Big chain theater in Mexico City)

This is the power of film: a singular experience of one human psyche constricted by barbed wires of pain, expectation and paranoia. It is a work both grounded in reality and boldly expressionist, composed to perfection and emotionally unstable, every element brilliantly crafted to bind us with Princess Diana’s claustrophobic perspective. Perhaps this is the only way to capture a personality riven with so many contradictory narratives, public and private, caught at a time when the line between tabloid and art-house fiction had blurred. Kirsten Stewart may be the only actress in the world who could portray this specific concoction of character; this is a raw, live-wire performance that constantly teeters on the edge, conveying staggering vulnerability and rebellious courage in equal measure. If I had my vote, this would be the Best Actress performance.

And with all due respect to his fantastic work on The Power of the Dog, this is Jonny Greenwood’s best score of the year- and the best of the year, period. Beautiful, psychotic, wistful, stately, improvisatory, endlessly inventive and utterly essential to every moment. The film itself becomes a symphonic tone poem, filtered through an experimental jazz quartet; in its own way, a perfect encapsulation of existence between the smooth formal procession of Royal life (through lavishly photographed sequences of the Royal staff tending the estate) and the gothic horror of individual repression in that same world (that pearl sequence!!)

The greatest thing I can say is that this film, about just a few days in the life of Princess Dana, had me alternately pumping my arms in the air with adrenaline and shedding tears of catharsis.

3. Licorice Pizza

(Gorgeous 70mm print in NYC)

My heart places this film here...percussive palpitations in a number of tensely propulsive sequences, giddy delight in anarchic humor, pure joyful bliss in unexpected, unconventional love- as if love has any standard formula, for that matter. In fact, unexpected and unconventional are the only ways to describe this experience. It was made by a master of the craft, Paul Thomas Anderson, starring two acting novices and multiple real families, with a beautiful sense of discovery present throughout. There is no tight plot or ultimate message here, because real life is not so tightly plotted or streamlined to one purpose.

The one constant theme here is of the conflict between youthful naivete and the supposedly serious rituals of adulthood. Nearly every adult character is duplicitous, racist, dismissive, out of touch or frighteningly deviant; they are wrapped up in their own egos, in their own self-serious ‘roles’, emblematic of a society that encourages moral compromise and turns a blind eye to sinister misogyny and casual malevolence. The two main characters- the naturally effervescent Cooper Hoffman and Alana Haim- interact with this adult world in a variety of ways, drawn by the idea that this is what they are ‘supposed to do’ but repelled by what they find, back into each other’s arms. They can’t quite explain it, but they find something in each other that they can’t shake- a rare joyful optimism.

Through it’s own dazzling energy and creativity, the film also makes its own choice: penis jokes and pinball machines over politics and ego-centric fame. It chooses inexplicable love, and the abstract beauty of the moving image.

2. The Green Knight

(Big chain theater in south Texas)

"When you go, your footprints will fill with grass. Moss shall cover your tombstone, and as the Sun rises, green shall spread over all, in all its shades and hues. This verdigris will overtake your swords, and your coins, and your battlements, and try as you might, all you hold dear will succumb to it. Your skin. Your bones. Your virtue.”

There was no more magical theater experience for me this year. I seem to be an official David Lowery fanboy after his run of films the last few years, but this exceeded even my greatest expectations. He manages to mine the medieval text for universal themes resonant today, and retell an enigmatic story with bold modernist flair that both honors and transcends the ancient style. The set design and costuming are striking throughout, complemented by masterful pacing and touch from the camera; each special effect feels organic to the work, subtle and lush all at once; and the soundscape and score are thrilling blends of traditional voices in daring contemporary textures. There are extended wordless sequences here that evoke the greatest heights of what pure cinema can be, audio and visual artistry bound together in thrilling harmony. There is little actual ‘action’ in the traditional Hollywood sense, yet I was constantly on the edge of my seat, heart pumping as the camera moved at a deliberate pace. The final 15 minutes are utter perfection in my eyes, the greatest conclusion to any film this year.

At the heart of it all is an exploration of the fatalism necessary for heroic action- and a deconstruction of what heroic life really is. Gawain is not a swashbuckling knight of virtue; he is ridden with the same doubts, the same search for meaning and purpose that underlies all of us. We exist in a world of tragedy, romance, inexplicable wonder and terror, with foundational texts populated by heroes and legendary figures; yet the greatest possible virtue for any of us may simply be the manner in which we apprehend our own inevitable demise. This earth existed before us, and will exist after us; from green do we begin, and to green do we return in the end. Heroic courage is often only acceptance of this fact.

1. Drive My Car

(Small arthouse theater in Oklahoma)

Control.

We feel security in patterns, a sense of control in monotony- of driving, of talking, of the details in our domestic lives. But this is often an illusory escape from real life in all its wonder and loss, a way to close off our own vulnerability. A way to filter our honesty, to each other and to ourselves.

This brilliant film by Ryusuke Hamaguchi is, in a sense, an embodiment of that struggle- between rigid autonomy and frightening release. Between text and subtext, and the essential relationship therein. The absolutely sublime pacing he uses lulls us into a contemplative mood, and then strikes deep into our heart through a number of extraordinary exchanges in the back half of the film. Not to give anything away, but when that drop happens at the 40 minute mark I gasped and settled back into my chair, assured that I was in the hands of a master.

The passage of time is key here; in a sense, the film is a road trip, a journey where layers are carefully peeled back through repetition and minimalist progression. The car becomes a sort of confessional, a space where characters gradually allow gaps to open in the mannered facades they present to society, and through each other’s reflection finally begin to emerge from the tunnels of grief they have existed in for far too long. Language and communication is key here, as the film both celebrates and undermines the methods we use to act in daily life. The most powerful scenes here- the most powerful scenes I experienced this year- center on the performance of a mute Korean woman in a Checkhov play; stripped of an audible voice, what she conveys with her hands and upper body is a searing ballet, one of the most profoundly beautiful moments I have ever seen.
This is my film of the year, the one that will stay with me the longest and continue to nourish my deep love for this singular medium.
Long live cinema.