2019 seemed to be an absolutely incredible year for film, both because it was one of the first years that I felt caught up with new releases and because this year’s films were, in fact, outstanding. For me, 2019 was the year of sophomore features from some of my favorite A24 directors, as well as much anticipated films from directors at the peak of their careers. Notable films that I have still yet to see include A Hidden Life, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and Honey Boy, all of which probably would have made it onto this list. Honorable mentions include The Souvenir, The Last Black Man in San Francisco, and Booksmart.
10. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese, 2019)
Although the technical quality, riveting story, and superb acting displayed by The Irishman secures it a spot in my Top 10, I felt quite disappointed about the film overall and am confused by the praise that it has received from critics and peers. I love other Scorsese mob films like but always feel guilty when watching them because I worry that I am living vicariously through the mafia and willfully ignoring the pain that organized crime has caused. I certainly did enjoy watching The Irishman as I am partial to long, immersive movies, but even the film’s ruminations on mortality and repentance were not enough to make it into anything original for me.
You can read Ryan Circelli’s full review of The Irishman here.
9. Uncut Gems (Josh and Benny Safdie, 2019)
Uncut Gems is one of those films where I walked out of the theater somewhat ambivalent about what I had just witnessed, but reflecting upon the film and listening to others’ passionate endorsements allowed it to enter my Top 10. The beginning and the end of Uncut Gems were both quite impressive to me: the beginning for its beautiful cinematography and clever camera work (seamlessly transitioning from an opal to a colon! wow!), and the end for its pathos and its seriousness. The middle two hours were stressful, as they were intended to be, and I was confused, exasperated, and downright frustrated by the poor decisions and compulsive gambling of Adam Sandler’s Howard. I also very much appreciated the film’s depiction of Jewishness, particularly during the seder dinner scene at Howard’s father-in-law’s. Jews celebrating their religious holidays, reading from the holy books, and interacting in a primarily Jewish social sphere is not often portrayed on screen, and I loved how normalized these scenes seemed, without spending too long on the novelty of having a practicing Jew as the film’s protagonist. Overall, I found Uncut Gems to be a very well-written and strategically paced work, even if I didn’t immediately rave about it afterwards.
You can read Ryan Circelli’s full review of Uncut Gems here.
8. Waves (Trey Edwards Schults, 2019)
While the first half of Waves kept me entertained yet somewhat unimpressed, that twist in the middle of the film completely transformed it from what I thought would be a simple melodrama about the struggles of black American family into an exploration of what it means to continue on in life even when those you love the most cannot be there to support you. I loved the film’s beautiful cinematography, soundtrack, and pacing; the second half of the film slowed down to show the beauty of the world through the eyes of someone in love for the first time. Each actor, especially the film’s four teenagers, did a superb job capturing the trauma of loss and the myriad ways in which parent-child and romantic relationships stumble, and sometimes crumble. Although the film can at times seem like tragedy porn, its realistic and nuanced depiction of a number of complicated issues kept me riveted to the screen and eager for more from Shults.
You can read Rohan Patel’s full review of Waves here.
7. Midsommar (Ari Aster, 2019)
Midsommar is a frightening, yet unconventional, horror film that follows the incredible Florence Pugh as she and her lackluster boyfriend travel to northern Sweden for a solstice festival. The film is languorous in sections and surprisingly terrifying in others; it masterfully winds its way between the comedic relief displayed by Will Poulter’s character, the mystery surrounding the solstice festival, and the horror and violence that are shockingly interspersed in the start of the film and then begin to occur at a higher frequency until the end of the film culminates in an explosion of violence and chaos that leaves one unsettled, wondering what just happened, but also, paradoxically, at peace. Midsommar employed a horror device that was entirely new to me; I’d never before thought of a Scandinavian solstice festival as being particularly terrifying, but Aster’s ingenuity made it so. I found Midsommar to be infinitely better than Aster’s debut, Hereditary, which I thought to be confusing and somewhat frustrating. Midsommar’s strength lies in its emotional profundity and realism; the cultic rituals, a common enough horror trope, are grounded by stories of grief, of jealousy, and of disappointment in one’s partner. Florence Pugh’s acting is absolutely incredible, especially in emotionally charged sections like the beginning and end of the film, and Midsommar’s central focus on the relationship between her and her boyfriend is grounded and cathartic.
You can read Cynthia Li’s full review of Midsommar here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Midsommar here.
6. Pain and Glory (Pedro Almodóvar, 2019)
I absolutely adore Almodóvar, and after I heard about Antonio Banderas’ acting win at Cannes I was dying to see this film. Pain and Glory takes as its subject a film director, a gay Spanish film director, to be more precise, who is struggling to come up with ideas for his next work and reverts to drugs and childhood memories to cope. I adore deeply personal films, as well as stories about art and creativity, and I felt so much of both Almodóvar and Banderas in Pain and Glory. The film explored themes that resonated deeply with me, such as the difficulties of artistic expression, the idyll of childhood, a fraught relationship with one’s mother, and the bittersweet lingerings of first love. Add the emotional profundity of these themes to my general love for Almodóvar, the film’s brilliant cinematography, and the presence of Almodóvar’s frequent collaborator, the ever-beautiful Penélope Cruz, and you have a film that seems just tailor-made for me, one that I am eager to rewatch over and over.
You can read PJ Knapke’s full review of Pain and Glory here.
5. Little Women (Greta Gerwig)
I was initially a bit skeptical of the quality and necessity of yet another film adaptation of Little Women, given that I haven’t much liked Greta Gerwig’s previous work, but this film absolutely blew me away. Gerwig breathes new life into the story and makes it relevant to modern audiences. Her script demonstrates more awareness of political and social issues than the book or the previous film adaptations do, and some of these issues, such as the economic necessity of marriage for women, are startlingly and unfortunately relevant today. Gerwig’s genius screenplay contains numerous witty lines that cannot be found in the book or in previous films, such as my personal favorite, Amy’s assertion that she has “lovely small feet, best in my family.” I absolutely loved the film’s nonlinear timeline, which masterfully positions thematically similar scenes close to each other so that central events carry extra emotional weight. Perhaps Gerwig’s most successful feat in this adaptation is her humanization of Florence Pugh’s Amy. Previous films have treated Amy as the irritating younger sister who gets everything that Jo doesn’t, including Laurie, but Gerwig’s adaptation purposefully moves away from demonizing Amy and pitting the sisters against each other, and instead reveals new complexities to Amy’s character and storyline. It makes me so happy to see a female-directed film with a largely female cast, a “story about [women’s] domestic struggles and joys,” as Jo says, vying for Best Picture, and I wish Little Women all the luck at the Oscars.
You can read Stephanie Chuang’s full review of Little Women here.
4. Parasite (Bong Joon-Ho, 2019)
Just like the rest of the world, I adored Parasite. The film struck an incredibly deft balance between lightheartedness and clever comedy–I COULD NOT stop laughing when the Kims tried to convince the Parks that their maid had tuberculosis–and, on the other hand, tragedy and riveting thriller. I don’t have anything important to say that hasn’t already been said by the millions of people worldwide who have fallen in love with this film and with its cast. I did love this film; however, rating, ranking, and criticizing art is as much about one’s emotional response to the work as it is about the work’s technical and artistic merit, and although Parasite is an absolutely flawless film that is deserving of all of the awards buzz that it’s currently receiving, it just didn’t resonate with me in the way that my top three films did.
You can read Joe Lollo’s full review of Parasite here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Parasite here.
3. The Lighthouse (Robert Eggers, 2019)
Drawing upon sources as diverse as Greek mythology, Coleridge, and maritime lore, The Lighthouse is a truly unique thriller that explores mania, seclusion, repressed desire, and, perhaps the most relatable to me, the difficulties of living with a roommate. The film’s incredible black-and-white cinematography displayed a grainy quality that made it seem as if it was actually from the late 19th century, and its near-square ratio contributed to this immersive feel. As a history buff who has a particular fondness for ships, sailing, and the sea, I found the film to be absolutely entrancing. Similarly to Midsommar, I loved the fact that Eggers took a setting that is not at all a horror trope–a New England lighthouse–and transformed it into one of the most frightening films that I’ve ever seen. I found The Lighthouse to be far superior to Eggers’ debut film, The Witch, although both films have a very carefully selected historical setting, deal with hysteria and mania, and contain historically accurate dialogue that allows the fears of the characters to penetrate the audience. What I preferred about The Lighthouse is that it can all be explained by madness; within the first half-an-hour of The Witch, you learn that there is indeed a witch in the forest, and I believe that this supernatural element detracts from Eggers’ otherwise marvelous study of human psychology and mania. Regardless, I love Eggers’ brand of meticulously researched historical thriller, and I look forward to more of his work in the future.
You can read PJ Knapke’s full review of The Lighthouse here.
2. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Quentin Tarantino, 2019)
It seems that every major director has to have a film about film, and Once Upon a Time is Tarantino’s. Although certain audience members claimed that the film was boring or slow-paced, these characteristics were what I loved most about the film. I never once was bored, and was completely enthralled by Tarantino’s impeccable recreation of 1969. The film truly was a love letter to the films and popular culture of Tarantino’s childhood, and I particularly enjoyed seeing the film twice with my dad, who is about Tarantino’s age and who would every couple of minutes shoot upright in his chair, point at the screen, and loudly whisper things like “I watched that show!” or “I listened to that radio ad!”. Having (somewhat obsessively) studied the crimes of the Manson family before seeing the film, Sharon Tate narrowly escaping her gruesome fate particularly resonated with me. One of my problems with Tarantino is that he often indulges in murder and extreme violence, and although that violence is almost always justified–towards slave owners in Django Unchained, or towards Nazis in Inglorious Basterds–it usually still makes me uncomfortable, squeamish, and disgusted at the film’s body count. Something about the smaller scale of the violence and its historical basis at the end of the film made me feel differently about the deaths in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood; I felt so vindicated and emotional that Sharon and her friends survived. The ending of the film was bittersweet to me as it depicted what could have been, had a vigilante like Cliff truly existed to save such an innocent young woman like Sharon. I feel that Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is the most profound and most personal of Tarantino’s films, and I greatly appreciated the humanity and love for film that it demonstrated.
You can read Jim Saunders’ full review of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Once Upon a Time in Hollywood here.
1. 1917 (Sam Mendes, 2019)
1917 is a gorgeous (anti-) war film that secures a spot not just in my Top 10 of the year, but certainly in my Top 10 of the decade. I’ve always been a fan of war films, but I think that this resonated the most with me because, in contrast to films like Dunkirk or Saving Private Ryan, 1917 is quite small in scope, with only two protagonists and taking place in less than 24 hours. This focus dignified the experience of the protagonists and added to the emotional resonance of the story. The one-shot gimmick and Roger Deakins’ cinematography were outstanding, and I found the film to be utterly mesmerizing and perfectly paced. Although I adored the entirety of 1917, the film’s ending packed a particular emotional punch for me. At the conclusion, we realize a few important things: that the story was has a historical basis in the war experience of Mendes’ grandfather, that Schofield does indeed have a family who is counting on him to come home, and, most significantly, that what the protagonists tried to hard to prevent will just happen all over again next week, and that their sacrifices made practically no difference in the grand scheme of the war. I adored the parade of hot British men who cameoed in the film (Fleabag’s Hot Priest! Richard Madden! Colin Firth! Benedict Cumberbatch!) and found the acting of George MacKay and Dean-Charles Chapman to be superb. This film has been quite divisive for some reason, with many people saying that the world does not need yet another war film, but I say that we most certainly do: the horrors of the Great War, which ended nearly 102 years ago, have been all but forgotten by the generations living today, and we must actively try to remember and acknowledge the pain and futility of such a costly and unnecessary war.
You can read Levi Bond’s full review of 1917 here.