Screening Room: Quiet Place Day One, Kinds of Kindness, Daddio, Fancy Dance & More
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Best Films (so far!): 2024
Rumor has it, 2024 is half over. No! Just no.
But in case that hideous lie is in fact the truth, we’ve compiled a list of our favorite films so far. Lots of great stuff still ahead, but we do always mark the occasion of mid-year with a look back, so here you have it, in alphabetical order, the 15 best films of 2024 so far.
The Bikeriders
Based on Danny Lyon’s 1968 book of photos and interviews of the Chicago-based motorcycle club the Vandals, Jeff Nichols’s tale catches a moment in history. Tom Hardy stalks the screen in a deeply felt performance full of pathos, tenderness and fear. His spiritual opposite, Austin Butler haunts the film, a beautiful phantom forever outside anyone’s grasp. But it is Jodie it is Comer who drives The Bikeriders.
Nichols’s character building and patient, lyrical pace combine with cinematographer Adam Stone’s gritty, gorgeous, picture postcard pastiche for an immersive experience that gracefully echoes the source material. Pages are turned and stakes are raised for these characters, their way of life and the country they call home.
Challengers
The relationship triangle at work in Challengers could probably work outside of a tennis court, but director Luca Guadagnino does wonders with the sports angle for a completely engrossing drama of intimate competition. Anchored around a three-set challenge match between Art Donaldson (West Side Story‘s Mike Faist) and Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor from The Crown), the film drifts back and forth in time as it immerses us in their series of entanglements with tennis phenom Tashi Duncan (Zendaya).
Zendaya, Faist and O’Connor deftly handle the growth of their characters from fresh-faced teens to hardened adults. All three deliver terrific, well-defined performances, and Challengers quickly becomes a film to get lost in, where you’re happy to be hanging on every break point.
Civil War
Filmmaker Alex Garland uses a road trip to D.C. to bolster Civil War’s very ambitious ideas with tension-filled looks at the heartland. Through an uneasy stop for gas, the visit to a town the war forgot, a marksman’s simple rules of engagement, and a brutal citizenship test from an unforgettable Jesse Plemons, we’re immersed in a war-torn America that seems authentically terrifying.
But it’s all just a prelude to the carnage ahead. Because once it settles in D.C., the film becomes a war movie that will batter your senses with a barrage of breathless execution. As draining as it often is, Civil War is also an exhilarating, sobering and necessary experience. Smartly written and expertly crafted, the film manages to honor the work of wartime photojournalists as it delivers a chilling vision. It’s one beyond left or right, where the slippery slope of dehumanization breeds a willingly and violently divisible America we always professed to be beneath us.
Dune: Part Two
Dune: Part Two is as breathtaking a vision as Denis Villeneuve’s 2021 Part One. And it’s a better film, benefitting immeasurably from the freedom of exposition that weighed down Part One. The sequel rides intensity and action from its opening segment. Villeneuve’s world-building is again a wonder to behold. He immerses us in this world of sand and savagery, providing fully realized reminders of how much Herbert’s original vision has influenced iconic sci-fi tentpoles such as Mad Max and Star Wars.
While Part Two‘s 2 hours and 45-minutes eclipse the first film, you’ll also find more meat on the bone, and the finale sticks a damn fine landing. Overall, there’s just more earned tension, more thrills (get ready for the worms!) and more character arc to keep you invested in this fight.
Evil Does Not Exist
Two years ago, the magnificent Drive My Car became the first Japanese film to garner a Best Picture Oscar nomination, and earned Ryûsuke Hamaguchi well-earned noms for writing and directing. Now he rewards his wider audience with Evil Does Not Exist (Aku wa sonzai shinai), another thoughtful, gracefully intellectual tale that finds him in an even more enigmatic mood.
And though the one hundred six-minute running time might seem rushed for a filmmaker that has favored three, four, and even five-hour films, Hamaguchi’s storytelling here is more patient than ever. Yoshio Kitagawa’s exquisite cinematography often showcases nature’s beauty in wordless wonder, always buoyed by an Eiko Ishibashi score that is evocative and moving.
Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga
George Miller follows up his epic action masterpiece Fury Road with a look at what made our girl tick, what turns of event turned her into the baddest of all badasses. Writing again with Nick Lathouris, who co-write Fury Road, Miller invests more time in plotting than usual, creating a 15-year odyssey rather than a breathless and breakneck few day adventure.
Miller remains as true to his vision of the wasteland as he was back in ’79’s original Mad Max, but there is a depth to the storytelling here that sets it apart. We’ve had four films to see what turned Max Rockatansky mad, made him what he is. Now Miller lays out a single story that serves as both a thrilling prelude to Fury Road and a rich origin story in its own right. Plot does not take a front seat to action, though, so strap in for more glorious road wars.
Hit Man
What better way to have some breezy fun with our identity-challenged times than by embellishing the true-life story of one Gary Johnson? Johnson was a phony hitman in Texas who would don different disguises working undercover work for the police. After a 2001 article in Texas Monthly profiled his adventures, various screenwriters toyed with the project. And though Johnson died in 2022, he can sleep well knowing Richard Linklater and Glen Powell’s Hit Man finally does him proud.
Linklater’s direction is slick and well-paced, with a vibe that recalls a winning mix of Fletch whodunnit, Spy humor and Ocean’s 11 sex appeal. But Hitman still feels very much in-the-moment, with a repeated focus on how our point of view can shape our reality, and how our path to change starts by being honest with ourselves.
That’s right, Powell and Linklater find room for a serious message in Hit Man. But don’t worry, you’ll be having so much fun it won’t hurt a bit.
Immaculate
Working from a script by Andrew Lobel, director Michael Mohan mines the desperate helplessness of Rosemary’s Baby. And star/producer Sydney Sweeney does a fine job of swimming the murky waters of faith, innocence, and the wisdom born of innocence lost.
What’s most stunning is how well two male filmmakers channel female rage. Immaculate digs into the way organized religion constrains, punishes, silences, bullies, vilifies and oppresses women and then unleashes glorious fury. Fearless, cathartic, bloody, beautifully sacrilegious fury.
Inside Out 2
It’s been nine years since Pixar’s Inside Out took us on that wonderful ride through a young girl’s feelings. Almost a decade, and I’m still not over what happened to Bing Bong. Revisiting Riley (voiced by Kensington Tallman) when she hits her teen years seems like a natural exercise. And beyond that, Inside Out 2 delivers enough warmth, humor and insight to make the sequel feel downright necessary.
This is another very clever romp through all that builds the sense of self. The film’s battle between joy and anxiety is relatable for all generations, and it’s filled with levels of creativity, humor, and visual flair that are undeniably fun. Inside Out 2 is a completely entertaining two-hour guide toward understanding – or appreciating – the messy emotions of growing up.
I Saw the TV Glow
Fulfilling the promise of 2021’s We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, writer/director Jane Schoenbrun’s follow-up, I Saw the TV Glow, is a hypnotically abstract and dreamily immersive nightmare of longing.
Justice Smith (Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves) is heartbreakingly endearing, while Bridgette Lundy-Paine (Bill & Ted Face the Music) provides a revelatory turn of alienation and mystery. It’s hard to take your eyes of either one of them, with Schoenbrun often framing their stares through close-ups that become as challenging as they are inviting. And that feels organically right. Because Schoenbrun is channelling characters who imagine life as someone else, to again emerge as a challenging and inviting filmmaker with a thrillingly original voice.
Love Lies Bleeding
Awash in the stink and the glory of new passion, Rose Glass’s Love Lies Bleeding treads some familiar roadways but leaves an impression solely its own. Glass blends and smears cinematic gender identifiers, particularly those of noir and thriller, concocting an intoxicating new image of sexual awakening and empowerment. She routinely upends images of power and masculinity, subverting expectations and associations and fetishizing the human body anew.
Anyone who’s seen Glass’s magnificent 2021 horror Saint Maud may be better prepared for the third act than newcomers to the filmmaker’s vision, but it’s a wild and unexpected turn regardless. It’s quite something—bold, original, and wryly funny in the most unexpected moments. There’s heartbreak and horror, sex and revenge, a little magic and a lot of steroids. Glass’s juice has the goods.
Monkey Man
After directing just two short films, Dev Patel moves to features with Monkey Man, an assured and thrillingly violent story of heritage and revenge. Patel teams with screenwriters John Colle and Paul Angunawela—plus producer Jordan Peele—to take some well known themes and move them progressively forward. Rebelling against the totalitarian tactics of Baba Shakti (Makrand Deshpandi) and the Sovereign Party, a forgotten and oppressed population turns to the Monkey Man for deliverance.
And as much as this feels like an origin story, it is a dark one. Patel has indeed delivered a statement, as much about his filmmaking prowess as it is about his worldview. The statement is grim and bloody, so strap in for the thrilling, visceral rise of Patel and the Monkey Man.
Ryuichi Sakamoto: Opus
Sakamoto, the Japanese composer and actor who earned Grammys, BAFTAs, Golden Globes, an Oscar and multiple other awards in his legendary career, was nearing the end of his long battle with cancer when he agreed to one final performance. Director Neo Sora – Sakamoto’s son – presents his father’s farewell with minimalistic virtuosity. There is only Sakamoto, his piano, and his wonderful talent, as a cascade of musical beauty fills in all the colors needed against Sora’s rich black-and-white pallet.
Give Ryuichi Sakamoto: Opus your time and complete attention, and you will be rewarded. This is a man talking to God through his piano.
Just let your soul be enriched.
Snack Shack
Four years ago, Adam Rehmeier’s Dinner In America arrived as a delightfully subversive 90s punk rock rom-com. Snack Shack finds the writer/director still navigating the 90s with hilarious R-rated delight, even as the punk rock ‘tude has been usurped by capitalistic dreams. You’ll know where some of this is going, but Rehmeier’s script delivers foul, horny hilarity, and outstanding turns by both Conor Sherry and Gabriel LaBelle stand out in a letter perfect ensemble. The time stamp is again spot on, with Rehmeier’s freewheeling style crafting an infectious mashup of The Way Way Back, Superbad and Project X.
And most importantly, Rehmeier captures that zest for life on the cusp of adulthood without a whiff of pandering or condescension. The boys will do some growing up during this one crazy summer, and the film will grow up with them. Slowly, parents don’t seem quite as lame, the hijinx aren’t as silly and some important lessons about love, sex, death and friendship hang in the air just long enough to hit just hard enough.
Stop Motion
There will be moments when you’re watching Robert Morgan’s macabre vision Stopmotion that you’ll think you see the twists as they’re coming. That’s a trick. Morgan, writing with Robin King, assumes you’ll catch the handful of common horror twists, but he knows that you won’t predict the real story unfolding.
Aisling Franciosi (The Nightingale) is Ella. She’d like to make her own stop-motion animated film, but instead she’s helping her mom finish hers. Ella’s domineering mother Suzanne (Stella Gonet, very stern) is a legend in the field, and she makes Ella feel as if she has no stories of her own to tell.
Stopmotion delivers a trippy, uncomfortable, and deeply felt tale of a struggling artist. This is a descent into madness horror of sorts, but it’s also the story of an artist coming to a realization about what scares her most.
Save the Cat
A Quiet Place: Day One
by Hope Madden
Writer/director Michael Sarnoski has more than inventive scares to live up to as he helms A Quiet Place: Day One. The third installment of John Krasinski’s alien invasion series may boast breathless tension, sudden gore, and the most silent theaters you’re likely to visit. Beyond all those things, Krasinski shows no mercy at all when it comes to ripping your heart out. In that area, he does more damage than aliens.
Well, Sarnoski is ready for it—all of it—so you should bring some tissues.
Lupita Nyong’o leads a stellar cast as Sam, an unhappy woman on a day trip with her cat to NYC. Her plans are upended when giant ear-head monsters begin dropping from the sky, smack into the noisiest city in the nation. Watching as folks figure out how to survive without saying a word offers Episode 3 an excellent way to carve new ground.
Sarnoski’s a fascinating choice to direct this third installment, which was originally meant for Jeff Nichols (who would have been an unusual choice for a SciFi/horror sequel too). Nichols dropped out to make The Bikeriders, but Krasinski (who co-writes and produces) still nabbed a filmmaker not known for genre but for heartfelt, beautifully drawn indies. Sarnoski’s Nic Cage showcase Pig is one of the greatest films of 2021 and boasts perhaps the best performance of the prodigious actor’s career.
Alex Wolff, who held his own against Cage in Pig, is one of a slew of actors who makes a big impression with limited screentime and even less dialog. Djimon Hounsou mines more from his handful of minutes in this film than in the whole running time of A Quiet Place Part II, and Joseph Quinn (Stranger Things) finds power in panic and shares a wonderful postapocalyptic chemistry with Nyong’o.
Plus there’s a cat, Frodo. Yes, it’s a cheap way to generate tension as you spend the entire film asking, “Wait, where’s the cat? How is the cat?” The script calls for a handful of other easy ploys for anxiety, fear and emotion, but Sarnoski and his cast rise above these. They make you believe them.
Any time you can watch a film with giant extra-terrestrials bearing ear drums where a face should be and you find yourself fully believing anything, you’re watching a pretty good movie. A Quiet Place: Day One is a pretty good movie.
Ungovernable Emotional Excess
The Devil’s Bath
by Hope Madden
It’s been five years since Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala’s last horror—the remarkable The Lodge—and a full decade since their unnerving Goodnight Mommy. I had missed their particular brand of isolated, rustic horror. So it was with much excitement that I sat down to their latest, a twisted true crime fairytale, The Devil’s Bath.
Set in the 18th century mountains of Austria, young bride Agnes (Anja Plaschg) finds married life with Wolf (David Scheid) not all she’d hoped. Disappointment, confusion, isolation, fanatical religious fervor, guilt, and desperate longing—plus the suspicion that dogs any village outsider—prove too heady a combination, and soon even Agnes can’t explain her own behavior.
The film, also written by Fiala and Franz, mines historical records of the area to illustrate the natural, dire consequences of religion, patriarchy, and duty.
Both The Lodge and Goodnight Mommy were slow builds that drew as much tension from the brutal beauty of their isolated location as from the events unfolding there. The Devil’s Bath walks that same eerily remote path, but the burn is much slower and the horror less mean.
The Devil’s Bath repays close attention. Details that offer context to Agnes’s plight float in and out of the background, and without those details, the viewing experience can feel as unmoored as poor Agnes. But so much of Agnes’s trouble is recognizable—difficultly fitting in, a growing distance between herself and her husband that she doesn’t understand, and the impossible task of getting close to (or becoming independent of—either would be OK) her mother-in-law. She’s on her own and soon lonesomeness and longing are all she feels.
And what is there to do? Nothing. This is her life now, far from the mother who dotes on her and the brother who protects her.
As Agnes descends into madness, the filmmakers ensure that we feel the universality of her condition.
The Devil’s Bath opens provocatively, leaving you with a question. The ensuing two hours pointedly answers that question, and then asks: Are you sure you would do it differently?
Gravitational Pull
Janet Planet
by Hope Madden
It’s a quietly eventful summer for 11-year-old Lacy (Zoe Ziegler, astonishing). Although writer/director Annie Baker’s languid slice of life may appear unremarkable, what she captures is a bittersweet awakening rarely caught so astutely on film.
What opens feeling touched by absurdity settles into a mood more influenced by the unique world view of an unusual child. Baker’s fascinating framing choices emphasize Lacy’s perspective—what she sees keenly and what does not command her attention.
Inside her idyllic home in rural Western Massachusetts with her mother, Janet (Julianne Nicholson, equally astonishing), Lacy is comfortable. It’s a dreamy place where she is observant, imaginative, accepted and protected. But something is knocking.
A Pulitzer-winning playwright making her feature debut behind the camera, Baker relies on silences and gestures to mark the dramatic architecture of her story and the arc of her characters. The film’s unhurried nature might make some impatient, but both Nicholson and Zeigler compel your interest.
Nicholson—as reliable an actor as you will ever find—conveys both affectionate acceptance and frustrated longing as the single mother of the precocious Lacy. But it’s newcomer Ziegler who truly impresses, carving out a unique, memorable character you hope time and society won’t change and conformity won’t touch.
Janet Planet is loosely structured around three characters who briefly occupy space with the duo—gruff boyfriend Wayne (Will Patton), friend Regina (Sophie Okonedo), and potential suitor Avi (Elias Koteas). Each is wonderful—Okonedo, in particular—contributing something lovely to this richly textured tale.
Though well established in the theater, Baker’s first foray into filmmaking feels effortlessly cinematic. She marks a specific moment in the relationship between a parent and child, a transition that often accompanies the time just this side of adolescence, still precariously clinging to childhood. Bittersweet, beautifully observed and honest, Janet Planet also marks an impressive transition for Baker from stage to screen.
You Know What I Vant
The Vourdalak
by Hope Madden
There is nothing in this world that cannot be undone by obedience and patriarchy.
Also, I just watched the maddest film about vampires—Adrien Beau’s The Vourdalak, based on Tolstoy’s 19th century tale that inspired Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath. In Beau’s hands, a darkly comic sensibility wraps around themes of oppression—classism, sexism, homophobia—to charge the old vampire lore with something wizened and weary about who becomes victims and why.
Fancy pants Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfé (Kacey Mottet Klein, the picture of entitled cowardice in his powdered wig and pointy shoes)—a nobleman from the court of the King of France—finds himself lost in a formidable wood somewhere out Serbia way. His host has been murdered by marauding Turks. His only hope is that the primitive family in this rustic little farmhouse can offer him aid.
But the Marquis has arrived at quite a moment. The patriarch is gone to fight the Turks. He said he would return within six days, but if he returned any later than that, the family was not to let him in the house because he would no longer be their father. The Marquis has arrived on Day 6.
Klein’s comic delivery meets deadpan reaction from Ariane Labed (The Lobster, Flux Gourmet) playing the host’s lovely if melancholic daughter, Sdenka. The performances create a fascinating pairing, Klein instinctively enriching his character arc with their onscreen chemistry.
Vassili Schneider injects the film with aching tenderness that gives the horror a powerful sadness, even though there’s no denying The Vourdalak’s comedic sensibility.
Beau’s film delivers stagy fun that’s utterly hypnotic, using dance, melodrama, even puppets as well as more traditional genre imagery to spin a bizarre and captivating horror.
Screening Room: The Bikeriders, Thelma, Robot Dreams, The Exorcism & More
Ride or Die
The Bikeriders
by Hope Madden and George Wolf
Jeff Nichols has never made a bad movie. Hell, he’s never made a mediocre movie. Nothing but glory with this guy. And The Bikeriders has everything a good Nichols film delivers—location, bruised masculinity, lyrical realism, Michael Shannon—but this time the writer/director has cast for days. Tom Hardy. Austin Butler. Jodie Comer. Shannon (natch). Columbus hometown hero Mike Faist, Boyd Holdbrook, Norman Reedus, Damon Herriman—all in top form, all clinging to camaraderie and connection and that fleeting American rebellion that is freedom.
Based on Danny Lyon’s 1968 book of photos and interviews of the Chicago-based motorcycle club the Vandals, Nichols’s tale catches a moment in history.
The setting—mainly areas in and around Cincinnati—captures the texture of the era, allowing this fine ensemble to transport you. Butler’s the James Dean to Hardy’s Brando. As gang leader Johnny, Hardy stalks the screen in a deeply felt performance full of pathos, tenderness and fear. His spiritual opposite, Butler (as Benny) haunts the film, a beautiful phantom forever outside anyone’s grasp.
But as Benny”s wife Kathy, it is Comer who drives The Bikeriders. As she warily enters this fringe existence, Kathy brings us along. And it is through her interviews with Danny (Faist, standing in for the actual photojournalist Danny Lyons) that the tales emerge, eventually interconnecting and expanding to mirror not only the Vandals’ evolution but a moment of cultural shift in American history.
Comer’s a force. Her Midwest accent is a strangely melodic storytelling device, but her impish facial changes tell us even more about Kathy. Marrying Benny barely a month after they meet, Kathy becomes the narrative lynchpin standing between Johnny and Benny’s undevided devotion.
This love triangle of sorts gives the film its magnetic center, but those oddballs who orbit the trio are almost as compelling. Shannon, with limited screen time, is transfixing and both Boyd and Reedus carve out memorable madmen.
Nichols’s character building and patient, lyrical pace combine with cinematographer Adam Stone’s gritty, gorgeous, picture postcard pastiche for an immersive experience that gracefully echoes the source material. Pages are turned and stakes are raised for these characters, their way of life and the country they call home.
And like most of us, that’s what these people are searching for: a place to feel like they belong. Weaving thematic threads from The Wild One, Goodfellas and even Shakespearean tragedy, The Bikeriders gives that search brutal beauty and compelling life.
All Who Wander
Cora Bora
by Hope Madden
“Cora, I don’t need you to fix it, I just need you to not break anything else.”
We’ve all had those friends. Some of us have been those friends. Director Hannah Pearl Utt’s generous and forgiving film Cora Bora—with a huge lift from a remarkable lead performance—empathizes with both sides.
Megan Stalter is Cora, and she is clearly delusional. She’s living in LA, playing her acoustic guitar and singing to sparce crowds at open mics and coffee shops; hitting parties where food, cocktails and pot might be on hand and free; and looking for hookups, despite her girlfriend Justine (Jojo T. Gibbs) back in Portland. But it’s OK because they have an open relationship. Although, since Justine isn’t returning calls much, maybe she’s using their “open” relationship to actually start another relationship.
Cora better plan a surprise trip home to double check.
Stalter is a perfect mix of vulnerability and avoidance, her performance never spinning into broad comedy that would lampoon the underlying pain Cora is dealing with. Rhianon Jones’s script wisely suggests that Cora’s behavior is not entirely new, but tremendously amplified since a tragedy hinted at but never belabored. This allows Stalter to be reasonably ridiculous—her actions becoming “I can’t believe she did that!” in a way that you do, indeed, kind of believe.
It’s the type of character the Clevelander has honed throughout her career as a comic, but it’s her skill as an actor that allows this to stretch to feature length without wearing out its welcome.
A nimble supporting cast, including Ayden Mayeri and Manny Jacinto in meaty roles and Chelsea Peretti and Darrell Hammond in fun cameos, offer ample opportunity for Stalter to draw you in to Cora’s chaos.
A number of plot threads feel pretty convenient and the resolution of Cora’s arc feels a bit like a cheat, but at no point does Cora Bora lose your interest. And when the time comes for Stalter to prove her dramatic mettle, she more than impresses.
Never Was a Cloudy Day
Robot Dreams
by Hope Madden
The dearest, most charming, heartbreaking delight to be found on screens this summer, Robot Dreams finally makes it to theaters. This 2023 Oscar nominee for best animated feature is an exploration of relationships, and though children will be entertained, you should go see it whether you have a family to bring along or not.
The less you know about the plot (based on Sara Varon’s graphic novel) the more filmmaker Pablo Berger can surprise you, and every frame of Robot Dreams holds a touching surprise. Set in New York City of the 1980s, the film travels with hopeful introvert Dog, who finds friendship with Robot. Thanks to a mechanical miscalculation, Berger takes the pals and you on an emotional and genuine look into what makes and breaks a relationship.
Berger wordlessly articulates what few films have managed: friendship, with all its joy and pain; and friends, with all their tenderness and failings. In many ways, it’s as much about love and couple-hood as friendship.
The animation and editing are so masterful, impish but emotionally honest, that you won’t miss the dialog. And the soundtrack is pure joy— Earth, Wind and Fire fans, delight.
Fun, visually rich moments on roller skate and sleds, bowling and trick-or-treating will engage children, but the emotional richness in this movie is aimed directly at adults. Berger’s film is endearingly forgiving—perhaps more than I am. You’ll be frustrated, elated, worried, wearied, and overjoyed because you feel so deeply for these characters. And the film takes on a wonderfully surreal quality as Robot dreams.
Slyly authentic in its examination of how we grow, sometimes apart, Robot Dreams honors the pain of losing the one you thought was your forever home, but it also celebrates the memories made with the one who got away.
It can be hard to make friends, and it can be just as hard to be a friend. In Pablo Berger’s skilled hands, lonesomeness takes on a magical quality and friendship becomes an evolving surprise.
