As I have gained more and more experience as a cinema lover over the last few years, one thing that has become abundantly clear to me is that if you think it was a bad year for movies, you probably didn’t see enough of them. 2017 was the first year I really dove deep into the world of cinema, and each ensuing year since then has resulted in more movies watched and more brilliant hidden gems that I will treasure forever discovered. The 130+ 2019 releases I had the pleasure (most of the time) watching in the past year have provided a startling amount of highs, and as a result whittling down the list to just 10 was an excruciating process by all means, resulting in numerous honorable mentions that might’ve made the list in any other year. My full list of rankings can be found here.
Apollo 11 is one of the greatest documentaries I have ever seen, especially when blown up in glorious IMAX. László Nemes’ brilliant Sunset is a thrilling mystery full of intrigue and stunningly gorgeous cinematography set on the precipice of the Great War. Ari Aster’s haunting and violent fairy tale Midsommar was as mesmerizing and simultaneously disturbing as any film I’ve seen. Harmony Korine’s return from a 7 year hiatus in The Beach Bum brings forth one of the best performances of the year from one Matthew McConaughey and is a wildly chromatic and hedonistic fever dream that somehow ends up feeling wholesome. The Safdie Brothers’ newest masterwork Uncut Gems is breathless and stressful and exhilarating in equal measure featuring some legendary performances from a rag-tag cast led by Adam Sandler. Long Day’s Journey Into Night, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, the list of just-misses goes on and on. But I don’t want to make the intro to the list even longer than the list itself, so here goes my top 10 films of 2019, awash with the newest generation of modern masterpieces:
10. High Life (Claire Denis, 2019)
High Life is, in many literal and figurative ways, a very cold and distant film. In the most literal way, it takes place in the far reaches of galactic space, in which death row inmates have given themselves to science in lieu of their sentences aboard a ship hoping to capture the rotational energy of a black hole. In the more figurative sense, the film refuses to reveal much to its audience, not interested in explanation or linear progression. Yet, underneath this austere exterior, there lies a deeply violent, erotic, and at times surprisingly warm and strangely wholesome film. Denis is fixated on oblivion and the desires it brings to the surface, as well as examining human relationships in the absence of society and the nature of taboos. Her images are hauntingly entrancing, choosing to remain ominously distant throughout most of the film apart from a few startlingly evocative scenes in which Denis hones in on a scene and crafts an unworldly intimacy. High Life is a deeply stimulating and transcendental experience, and an unbelievably fantastic first foray into English-language filmmaking for Claire Denis. Juliette Binoche remains one of the finest actresses working today.
9. Parasite (Bong Joon Ho, 2019)
It was extremely unusual for a foreign film like Parasite to be as hyped up as it is. Director Bong Joon-ho’s newest masterwork had it all in this department: lines wrapped around multiple blocks at film festivals, hoards of gushing reviews from every critic under the sun, and sellouts at almost every showing in the US in its first weekend. Then, of course, there was the Best Picture nomination, and the flurry of victories at other award shows along the way. Perhaps the most unusual thing about the film, however, is that it deserves it all. In Parasite, Bong has crafted a hilarious, thrilling, horrifying, and socially conscious opus about the perils and terror of capitalism, and shows what a destructive force it can be. Much of the tonal weight of the film lies heavily on the brilliant ensemble performances, especially from relative newcomers like Park So-dam and Choi Woo-shik as well as the legendary Song Kang-ho. These performances, along with the precise cinematography from Hong Kyung-pyo, realize the film’s wildly operatic movements through its shocking twists and turns and engaging action. The film culminates in one of the most stunningly beautiful yet haunting and deeply heartbreaking endings in recent memory as well, capping off a film that will undoubtedly go down as one of the high points of the decade, and perhaps the century.
You can read Joe Lollo’s full review of Parasite here and listen to UW Film Club’s podcast on Parasite here.
8. Ad Astra (James Gray, 2019)
Films like Ad Astra are diamonds in the rough. Rarely do deeply contemplative psychological examinations as good as this one get slapped with $90 million budgets and the full IMAX treatment, let alone even get made by a big studio at all. It’s not even as if the film’s visionary director, James Gray, is some sort of big box office pull like Christopher Nolan. And yet, seemingly by the grace of some higher power of some sort, we have been blessed with a film as massive in scale yet as intimate in focus as this. Gray, in collaboration with Brad Pitt in a remarkably stoic performance as astronaut Roy McBride, hones in on the motivations for men taking off into the stars with a tight and uncompromising precision, asking if perhaps the men who go off to the stars for the sake of mankind are actually going to escape something, maybe even themselves. Beyond this, the film shows that for all of us hoping to continue running from that which we are afraid to reckon with, at some point there will be nowhere left to run. In McBride’s case, the film examines his own fears and startling realizations more deeply, as he grows more and more at odds with his seemingly inevitable fate of turning into his father, the man he once revered as a near God-like figure. In this sense, the film’s approach towards McBride’s voyage to find his God feels almost misotheistic, perhaps suggesting in this case that God is not dead, but that he has simply abandoned us. He examines the toxic masculinity of near-militant self-reliance and the fear of connection, and how our relationships (or lack thereof) with our fathers shape our abilities to allow ourselves to accept our vulnerabilities and give in to others. There is something profoundly moving and at times deeply disquieting about films that can appreciate the great intimacy that comes with zooming out of our world, and this film best represents that.
You can read my full review of Ad Astra here.
7. 1917 (Sam Mendes, 2019)
The First World War was one of the most horrifying and cataclysmic events in modern history. Millions of young men as young as 8 years old (yes, 8 years old) fought and died horrible deaths for inches of countryside over 4 years for no clear reason, with those who survived living trenches filled with mud, dead bodies, and rats. In the Second World War, there was a grander sense of good vs. evil, of survival. The people bought into the war for legitimate reasons. In the First World War, 14 year old working class boys from Liverpool or Belgrade were sent out at the behest of their (often monarchical) rulers to be mowed down by machine guns, blown to bits by monstrous shells, drowned to death in mud, or choked to death by poisonous gases, all in hopes of potentially having the chance to build a trench another hundred yards or so further forward. For those who were stuck in those trenches, it seemed to have no end. The passing of time became inscrutable. Landscapes of beauty were used simply as locations where two relatively similar peoples would kill each other endlessly just to gain an inch. Where calling off an attack in hopes of saving the lives of thousands would only hold for about a week, when those very same men would be sent up over the top once again, nothing learned, nothing saved. Families were torn apart, with only lifeless, grainy, and expressionless photographs of their loved ones remaining. This is what 1917 captures. The grandiose tragedy of humanity that The Great War represents in our history. It is incredibly immersive, utilizing its stitched-together wide angle long takes and the crisp and stunning cinematography from the GOAT Roger Deakins to grab hold of your attention. Some will be angry with some of its recent and potential future award victories, but it will deserve everything it gets, which you can’t often say during award season.
You can read Levi Bond’s full review of 1917 here.
6. Little Women (Greta Gerwig, 2019)
Period pieces can often feel cold and distant, lacking a certain energy that makes them feel alive regardless of their apparent quality or lack thereof. Greta Gerwig’s Little Women is different. Very different. Little Women is by far the most soulful, energetic, and effervescent period piece/literary adaptation I have ever seen, and even in its saddest moments the film continues to ooze a warmth reminiscent of a pleasant fire lightly crackling in the hearth on a beautiful Christmas morning. Each and every cast member carries this warmth with an unbelievable amount of grace and charisma as well, and although it is undoubtedly blasphemy not to name each one I simply have to praise the greatness of Saoirse Ronan, Timothée Chalamet, Chris Cooper, and most of all Florence Pugh. They all help to create an atmosphere that is incredibly inviting and free of vanity, allowing the audience the cling to every emotional beat like they were characters in the story themselves. You can just feel the passion that Gerwig has for the story and characters, and I couldn’t help but be swept up in its glory. It is a film that you can revisit endlessly with the same spark as the very first watch, and there’s something magical about that.
You can read Stephanie Chuang’s full review of Little Women here.
5. Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Céline Sciamma, 2019)
Absence is a concept that is nigh impossible to put into words, and yet it so connected to so many of our deepest feelings: to loss, to love, to breathless anticipation. It can locate itself at any point along the timeline of some thread of one’s life from the beginning to the end, its location characterizing the nature of the feeling it becomes associated with. It almost seems as if Portrait of a Lady on Fire captures it all, in every context, every point along the thread. Watching this film is utterly hypnotizing, like staring into bonfire as it dances and crackles into the night. This is only emboldened by the film’s lack of any non-diegetic sound at all, resulting in a raw energy that is utterly inescapable. Despite watching this in a packed theater, Sciamma creates an experience that makes you feel as if you are the only person in the room, an experience so intimate and gripping that their world and Sciamma’s gaze becomes yours for just a moment. Its tactile and sensual expression of new love feels all-encompassing in its beauty and passion, and it is a beautiful celebration of the female gaze, in a time where that is unfortunately sparse and not often quite as masterful as this. This film also happens contain not only one of the best scenes of the year (at the bonfire), but also one of the greatest cuts I have ever seen (from the bonfire to the beach) as well as one of the finest ending shots I ever seen. If one thing is for sure, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a film that is meant to be experienced and felt deeply, one that perhaps captures the true embodiment of ‘breathtaking’ better than other film this year.
You can read Armon Mahdavi’s full review of Portrait of a Lady on Fire here.
4. The Lighthouse (Robert Eggers, 2019)
The following is excerpted from my Film Club review:
It is one of the rarest things in cinema for a film to feel as if the director achieved literally every technical goal they set out to achieve, and yet with this film, Eggers was able to masterfully craft each technical aspect of the film to his whim.
Despite all of that, the most remarkable thing about the film is not its technical glory, but its simultaneous balancing of wildly disparate tones throughout the entirety of its run time. The film often makes rapid shifts in tone, including eldritch horror, pure shock and awe, utter confusion, and even uncomfortable hilarity in a mind-bending cycle of madness. The full brunt of the tonal mastery of this film often lies primarily upon the shoulders of Dafoe and Pattinson (with a little help from Mark Korven’s tremulous score) in what are undoubtedly two of the finest performances of the year….
On the surface, what the film is truly about is quite clear: two men head off to a distant lighthouse and tend to their duties. Under the surface, however, the movie hails from the Herman Melville school of man-versus-nature epics, a tale of two men trapped in a shadowy enclosure as the world collapses around them (or, one of them, at least). It is about the madness that comes with isolation and how boredom turns men into villains when their raw and deprived masculinity goes utterly unchecked. As Eggers himself eloquently put it: “Nothing good can happen when two men are trapped alone in a giant phallus.” Throw in some allegorical references to arcane stories of Gods and Titans and some real or imagined Lovecraftian creatures, and you’ve got yourself a masterpiece of unfathomable proportions, and one that feels almost entirely original as well.
You can read my full review of The Lighthouse here.
3. An Elephant Sitting Still (Hu Bo, 2019)
An Elephant Sitting Still exists in a world that is far too large and far too small at the same time. It is a portrait of hopeless people clinging onto the fantasy of escape, wandering aimlessly around with the camera forced to follow; desperate people caught in a multi-generational malaise that captures the apparent anguish of the current stage of the world, the walls closing in. The film is full of rage, frustration, and dejection, a snapshot of a class of people, young and old, who live in desperation as the world moves on in ignorance, not in the least bit concerned with the blip of their existence. The skies are always gray, and the bite of the frozen air feels as ubiquitous as the loneliness that the four main characters can’t seem to escape. These four stories are woven together in a frigid tale of modern desperation over the course of four hours, much of which consists of numerous staggering long takes in which the camera moves throughout the scene, often in claustrophobic close-ups as its characters shuffle slowly through their worlds, hopelessly searching for something in a barren world which pays them no mind. Perhaps we can still dream, however. Perhaps there remains the elephant sitting still, ignoring the world, over the mountain, where things are slightly better. Perhaps it is better to keep this illusion alive, for fear of giving in to utter desolation.
An Elephant Sitting Still is one of the most depressing and all-encompassing films I have ever seen. It captures a sentiment, a state of existential disquietude, that feels very apt to the now, and its ruminations on escapism, hopelessness, and the grass on the other side of the fence are deeply moving and overwhelming in their intimacy. It is one of the most impressive feature-length debuts from any director ever really, and it is incredibly sad that this film will always be tied to his tragic suicide, which he committed during post-production of this film. As a tribute to the man, friend, son, and artist who was lost, here is what his mentor, the legendary Béla Tarr, said in remembrance:
“He burned his candle at both ends
He wanted to have everything right now
He couldn’t accept the world, and the world couldn’t accept him
Though we lost him, his movies will be with us forever
Please welcome Hu Bo’s film and love him like I do”
2. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese, 2019)
The Irishman is the type of picture that only a director with such a long and storied career can make. One that has traversed six decades, defined genres, and crafted an oeuvre that might just make him the greatest director of all time. In many ways, The Irishman is simultaneously a spiritual follow-up to Scorsese’s great gangster pictures like Goodfellas as well as his transcendent religious epics like Silence. It is a restrained piece of self-reflection that intentionally lacks the fervent energy of a film like Goodfellas or Casino. It views God and godlessness through a lens of power and absolution, yet remains coldly ambiguous throughout. Scorsese examines power in this film in a more precise and profound manner than any other film, covering decades and decades of men doing anything to keep hold of their power or take some more, pondering the spiritual quandary that arises at the end of a life like this. The film’s commitment to an overarching essence of ruthless absurdism is intense and unwavering, and the grandiosity of the story and the figures in it themselves crumbling in thematic stature as the film draws on in a cold decrescendo. The epilogue of the film — about the last half-hour or so — will simply have to go down as not only one of the greatest things Scorsese has ever done, but perhaps one of the greatest conclusions to a piece of cinema in history. Scorsese shows us stark images of crumbling men of stature wasting away at the end of their lives like the statues of Ozymandias, ruminating on regret and absolution and what to make of it all. It is a startling portrait of a life at its end, and it feels deeply personal to a man nearing the end of his 70s himself. Of course, all of this aided enormously by the numerous legends of cinema who turned out in this film, the most notable and affecting appearances coming from the unbelievable tripartite of Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Joe Pesci. Somehow, each finds a way to come up with some of their best performances of their entire careers, and it is a marvel to watch. The Irishman is as monumental and as starkly haunting in the end as it gets, and it will have to go down as one of Mr. Scorsese’s foremost masterpieces.
You can read Jim Saunders’ full review of The Irishman here.
1. A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick, 2019)
The following is excerpted from my Film Club review:
A Hidden Life challenges its audience in ways many films today lack the courage to do. It poses enumerable questions of grander importance without answer, confronts the delusions of grandeur of its audience, resists the comfortability in simplifying such a story as this, and it takes its time over its nearly 3 hour runtime in order to capture the grandiosity and intimacy which it hopes to portray in its totality. Instead of just being a story of purely tragedy, or triumph, or angst, it exists in many spaces at once, instead crafting its own unique state of mind for its audience to exist within that simply cannot be described. It trusts its brilliant actors and places more focus on movement and thought than on conversation, allowing relationships to be relayed physically and for characters to be understood more deeply. Simply put, A Hidden Life is one of the greatest films of the year, and is perhaps one of the deepest experiences one can have in a theater.
As for the film’s title, it comes from this brilliant George Eliot quote, an epigraph for an indescribable and deeply enriching experience from a director who does it better than anyone else:
“… for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”
You can read my full review of A Hidden Life here.