1.
Oppenheimer
Propulsively told and boasting all manner of masterfully wrought delights, Oppenheimer is a masterpiece and unquestionably Nolan's magnum opus. With Oppenheimer, Nolan has transformed the staid biopic genre into an entity that hardly resembles its dusty forebears. His unending exploration and wielding of time as both a construct for the characters to ceaselessly wrestle with and a divining rod for the narrative's tempo has once again and more effectively than ever infused his storytelling with an immediacy and dynamism that does great credit to such a fascinating and influential piece of history. As a writer, Nolan has always had his weaknesses and nearly all of his scripts have possessed at least a small measure of them, but Oppenheimer's script is the best and most tautly written of his career, as he smartly avoids nearly every indulgence that might have lessened it.
Paramount to Oppenheimer's brilliance is Cillian Murphy's astounding performance. Framed predominantly in close-up, every vagary of Oppenheimer's life, from the mathematical fervor that compels him to the conceitedness that occasionally undoes him and, finally, to the haunted confliction and weariness that perpetually wracks his being, is brought to startling life within those remarkably expressive eyes. On that note, one of the scenes that most exemplified these qualities was the palpably horror-tinged victory speech that Oppenheimer delivers after the dropping of the bombs. An evocation of pure psychological terror is difficult to properly convey, yet he does so with an effortlessness that is amazing to behold. Murphy's long been one of my favorite actors, so to see him succeed so thoroughly when afforded a role of this scale is well worth reveling in.
Resembling most strikingly the docking sequence in Interstellar writ large, the Trinity Test and its intense preamble feature some of the most tactile and immaculate directing of Nolan's storied career. A crescendo of sound and fury, fraught with the excruciating stillness of anticipation, it's a bravura bit of filmmaking and one of my favorite sequences from 2023. That this wondrous climax occurs a little over halfway through the film and doesn't immediately render what follows as inert is testament to how deftly the balance between intrigue and excitement is understood. In fact, the interweaving of Oppenheimer's security clearance hearing with Strauss's confirmation hearing is ultimately just as spellbinding as the creation of the bomb, strongly aided by Robert Downey Jr.'s arresting performance. Much as I loved Downey's portrayal of Iron Man, I was overjoyed to see him tasked with melting into a character again, which he does with such rapturous ease.
The ensemble that fills out this film is extraordinary. Seemingly every first-rate actor that exists pops up for a scene or two to deliver some stellar acting before subsequently disappearing. It would be impossible to remark on all the briefer bits of acting that impressed me, but of particular note were the performances from Alden Ehrenreich (with one of the more rewarding and well-delivered lines of the film), David Krumholtz, Casey Affleck, Jason Clarke, and a wonderful Josh Hartnett. Of the main roles that haven't been noted, Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, and Florence Pugh were all fantastic (even though Pugh's role was much too abbreviated).
The production is a tour de force of audiovisual splendors. Resulting in possibly his most accomplished work yet, Hoyte Van Hoytema's cinematography is stunning, especially the richly authentic black-and-white photography. Jennifer Lame's largely terrific editing was an exercise in artful freneticism. Most notably of all, Ludwig Goransson's score is astonishing and easily among this year's best, accompanying much of Oppenheimer's life and the creation of the bomb with a thrum that constantly electrifies the material. Rhythmically timed to the pace of the story, it's a character unto itself, as is often the case in Nolan's films.
Fission,
Can You Hear the Music,
Quantum Mechanics,
Meeting Kitty,
Fusion,
Trinity, and
Destroyer of Worlds are particularly gorgeous pieces, imaginatively evoking all the turbulence and possibility that marked this chapter in history.
As with nearly every film he's helmed, Nolan has once again constructed an ending of tremendous power. He possesses an altogether rare expertise for fashioning conclusions that coalesce from a myriad of disparate instincts; part thrilling climax, part insightful denouement, and part tantalizing augur. Here again, the final scene amounts to one of the most satisfying, expertly written, and haunting endings of Nolan's career, as Oppenheimer's closing line is a note-perfect distillation of the thematic and emotional throughline of the film and, in fact, Oppenheimer's life. It's a foremost example of how meticulously woven all the exemplary pieces of this colossal film were and I can't praise that display of prowess (from everyone involved) enough. Needless to say, Oppenheimer is a virtuosic achievement that I wholeheartedly adore.
2.
The Boy and the Heron
Speaking ode to the unfathomably storied history of Ghibli and Miyazaki's oeuvre, The Boy and the Heron is a stunning work of art and a towering achievement in animation. Ghibli films, particularly Miyazaki's, were instrumental to the flourishing of my own creative impulses, so it would seem inevitable that returning to another (and perhaps the last) of his animated efforts would leave me transfixed and immensely satisfied.
Steeped in both wonder and whimsy and composed of the same dreamlike wistfulness as Hisaishi's other compositions, the score is a blissful delight and my favorite from 2023. Though a touch more sparsely integrated into the soundscape than is customary, there resides in it a magical evocation of youth and the unexplored canvasses of our dreams that perfectly complemented the fantastical imagery. This is best exemplified in pieces such as Feather Fletching, A Trap, Sanctuary,
Warawara,
Reincarnation,
A Girl of Fire, and the breathtaking
The Great Collapse. As with most Ghibli films, there are a host of characters and creatures that stir the imagination and capture a whimsy that is unparalleled in animation. The hilarious parakeets, the many grandmothers, the adorable Warawara, and the various herons are all drawn with such astonishing detail and dynamism.
The latter half of the film isn't quite as expertly crafted, at least in regard to its storytelling. There's a sudden hitch in its pacing that sends it careening along to its destination, rather too haphazardly at times. It's a testament to how exquisitely told the story is in its first half and to how breathtaking both the artistry and the thematic symbolism is that the harried pacing hardly matters in the end. Of course, I'd love and likely prefer a version that maintains the languid pacing of the first half through to its end, but imperfections such as these only serve to minutely dull the brilliance of such a luster. And even then, though the opaqueness frustrated on my initial viewing, there's an extravagance of meaning layered into the closing sequences that is greatly rewarding. To glimpse Miyazaki so nakedly reflecting on his legacy and all that he wishes to bestow on future generations of artists lent a great deal of poignancy to those final sequences. The dazzling setting that accompanied the conclusion of Mahito's surrealistic trek, depicted as it was in shades of Dali, added yet more beauty to the proceedings. In fact, Miyazaki has rarely illustrated the mystical as imaginatively as he does in this film. In all, Miyazaki has unsurprisingly helmed another masterpiece; one that, though distinctly separate in many ways, is as equally fitting a farewell to his life and career as The Wind Rises.
3.
Anatomy of a Fall
Intricately and methodically told, Anatomy of Fall is a beguiling and complex courtroom drama that satisfies and mystifies in equal measure, resembling something awfully close to a masterpiece by its end. Justine Triet's direction is shrewd and meticulous, ever cognizant of how best to needle the tension and uncertainty until the story reaches its carefully built crescendo. Delivering an absolutely stunning performance, Sandra Huller is spellbinding as she deftly glides between a multitude of highly varying emotions with a towering command of her craft every step of the way. Milo Machado-Graner, for his part, gives one of the most impressive child performances I've seen in years. He's an absolutely pivotal fixture in the emotional effectiveness of the film, which makes the unerring authenticity in his performance especially noteworthy. The scene in which he breaks down towards the end features some exquisite acting. Also, Messi's acting must be some of the best I've ever seen from an animal.
One of the most well-executed aspects of this film was its consistently smart writing. In a story such as this, reliant as it is on perspective and the intentional obscuring of the complete picture, any notable flaw or contrivance within the script could have easily robbed the film of its believability. Instead, what exists is a strikingly adroit balancing act, wherein every reveal feels well-earned and every morsel of altering nuance authentic in its elusiveness. As a result, the end of the film, which typically acts as the pendulum upon which a story of this nature rests, was a note of ambiguity played to perfection. No frustration, no flirtation with the nonsensical; simply a smart and taut spool of intrigue to mull over. It's a delightfully puzzling piece of storytelling and Justine Triet, along with Arthur Harari, deserves every plaudit for it.
4.
Poor Things
At times a hysterical farce, at times a maudlin opera, often a surrealistic escapade, and at other moments still a sweet coming-of-age story, Poor Things is a magnificent telling of the Frankenstein fable. A twisted tale of Frankenstein discovering the world and their place within it isn't the most fertile ground and yet Lanthimos has imbued his take with a zeal and creativity that transforms any trace of the familiar into something wild and unknowable. The one flaw that prevented this from soaring as high as it could have was its occasionally slapdash storytelling, particularly in the final third, as it meandered when it could have thundered to its otherwise highly satisfying end. A less successful diversion or two notwithstanding, this film is brimming with entrancing storytelling, constant sparks of hilarity, gorgeous imagery, and, to top it all off, a sensational performance from Emma Stone. On that note, Stone's performance is extraordinarily and frequently indefinable, as she flits between a medley of emotional and physiological states with utter abandon. It's one of the most daring and mercurial performances I've seen in years. Not to be too thoroughly upstaged, the remaining cast deliver excellent performances as well, especially a wickedly entertaining Mark Ruffalo, as he channels every flavor of the ostentatious and exaggerated sophisticate. It's a delectably camp performance that plays beautifully alongside Stone's.
Although I'm not as enamored with Lanthimos' earlier films as some (while still enjoying nearly all of them), he is rapidly becoming one of the more exciting modern directors. Though Poor Things isn't quite as masterfully crafted and engrossing as The Favourite, it's nonetheless a parade of artistic extravagance and ambition that, along with The Favourite, showcases a crystallization of his creative talents. The production design is wondrously lavish and one of the most pivotal aspects of the dreamscape Lanthimos constructs, as every change in Bella's evolution is reflected by her surroundings. From the amazing costuming to the symphony of color that constantly perfumes the senses to the incredibly imaginative set design, I was left amazed at the artistic ingenuity on display. The aesthetic veers a bit too wildly into garishness at times, but, by and large, it's a kaleidoscopic spectacle.
5.
Monster
Skillfully weaving through ever-shifting perspectives and time, Monster thrillingly examines the faultiness of perceived truths and the suffering that can result from these often-miniscule misunderstandings. Kore-eda's empathetic understanding of children and the impulses that variegate their lives remains powerfully undiminished, further benefited, as always, by his unparalleled talent for fostering wonderfully naturalistic performances from the children he works with time and time again. On that note, Soya Kurokawa, Hinata Hiiragi, and the always-fantastic Sakura Ando are tremendous here. Though there are one or two occasions where the Rashomon-like script falters in its attempts to conjure artifice as a means for mystery, this is a very smart and thoughtfully written film. Even amid all of the structural machinations, there exists a steady confidence in the weaving of the narrative's many temporal and focal fluctuations that serves to underscore how easily misunderstandings can evolve and corrupt. This is rather unfamiliar territory for Kore-eda, and yet, with the aid of Yuji Sakamoto's writing, it all appears orchestrated with a most exacting eye.
While the complexity of the storytelling does make for a rather dissimilar and at times oblique journey compared to Kore-eda's usual fare, the destination is wrought with the same sublimely compassionate humanism as all his other works. It's a virtuosic thing to derive so much emotional honesty across so long a span of time, yet Kore-eda succeeds in doing so once again and it's an absolute joy to experience it. It's in this latter half, wherein the compounding twists and obscured perspectives begin to peel away and reveal something of the truth, that the story settles into a rhythm of rewarding revelations. The ending, acting as a well-placed crescendo of relief, is a warm-hearted triumph of optimism and self-discovery.
6.
All of Us Strangers
Elegiac in its every sensibility, All of Us Strangers is another spectacular effort from Andrew Haigh; a delicate and subdued drama that is cut through with a skein of melancholy. I adore Haigh's directorial whims, profoundly sensitive as they are, since they exude an authenticity that, even in the most dramatic moments, leaves no room for hackneyed artificiality. His proficiency at laying bare the emotional vulnerability within his characters is mesmerizing to watch unfold. This quality was plainly evident in Lean on Pete, 45 Years, Weekend, and it is so again here, perhaps to a more affecting extent than ever before. Heartrending as the story often is, there's never a whiff of undue sentimentality or the indulgence of easy melodrama. There's merely a wistful appreciation that old wounds take time to understand and reckon with and perhaps, one day, to heal.
It's a naturalistic ghost story, in a sense, honed rather nimbly on the ephemeral within the character's past and present. All of which is complemented by a genuinely moving and intimate love story. Andrew Scott is outstanding, as he portrays the yearning that so subsumes his character in a beautifully understated manner. While the remaining cast are all superb (Mescal continues to prove he's one of the best and most promising actors of late), Claire Foy was particularly sublime. Her knack for marrying guarded sentiment with bursts of compassion, as evidenced on numerous occasions throughout this film, is brilliant. Several of the conversations, especially those between Adam and his parents, are some of the most tenderly written and acted scenes of the year. The end of the film, lingering on a note that is at once stunning, deeply melancholic, and surprisingly hopeful, is one of the year's most memorable. Altogether, this is a marvelous and deeply poignant film that further establishes Andrew Haigh as an exemplary creative and one of my favorite modern directors.
7.
The Zone of Interest
Enthrallingly exploring the recurrent and routine ease with which society can become inured against the horrors that are wrought on their complicit behalf, The Zone of Interest illuminates a well-traversed period of history far more uniquely and insightfully than I thought possible. This relevance and thoughtfulness is due largely to Jonathan Glazer's fascinating direction. From Birth to Under the Skin and now with Zone of Interest, his fairly acerbic idiosyncrasies have always fashioned wholly unique and often challenging creations. That inimitable vision is greatly exhibited once again through the two most vital characteristics of the film.
Firstly, the usage of sound, wherein background noises are lent the power of prominence and the patter of the foreground falls away as if routine, was amazingly realized. Largely bereft of music and shorn of all auditory theatricality, it's a soundscape unlike any other. Though this approach could have threatened to strip the story of its innate horror, I felt it instead imbued the familiar with a renewed and startlingly clear impactfulness. A scream in the distance, the gnashing of dogs chasing madly after the unknown, a gunshot or two perforating tranquility; all partially obscured by practiced mundanity and the auditory quietude that accompanies it. As such, Johnnie Burn's sound design is among the most impressive I've encountered in the last decade, if not the outright best. It's a truly staggering accomplishment. Suffusing nearly every scene, this dichotomy is felt visually as well, which is the second element that benefits the telling of this story so tremendously. Hewn in all their idyllic scenery, the panoramic vistas are peppered with a multitude of reminders that evil deeds creep obscured along the horizon. From the billowing smokestacks of an inbound train to the clouds of pollution that intermittently waft through the air out of unseen machinery, these visuals paint an endlessly haunting picture. Woven together, this audiovisual tapestry serves to conjure a dread-soaked and thoroughly terrifying atmosphere that lingers quite profoundly.
8.
Perfect Days
Propelled by a beautifully subdued performance by Koji Yakusho, an outstanding soundtrack, and refreshingly contemplative storytelling, Perfect Days is an exceedingly captivating and invigorating film. Wim Wenders' direction is superbly restrained, content to construct Hirayama's altogether unhurried life without an ounce of embellishment. Aside from how surprisingly inviting Japan's public toilets are made to appear, the thread within Wenders' direction that was most arresting was his unvarnished depiction of Tokyo. The city and its inhabitants seem etched in rural hues, as if all the peace of the country has found its way to swim amidst the bustle. In doing so, the charm of Hirayama's markedly changed and seemingly self-imposed situation is rendered perfectly sound and sensible.
One of the ingredients to this quietly disarming concoction that I found quite intoxicating was how comprehensively drawn Hirayama's life is and how rewarding watching it repetitiously unfold becomes. The interactions that dot the narrative, particularly those with his niece, are lovely and often life-affirming, even as they wreak havoc on Hirayama's tranquility. Almost imperceptibly, it all builds to a deeply emotional culmination, layered on the wealth of subtly impactful moments that prod and coil and grow until the wave they've composed crashes upon the sand, leaving Hirayama and the viewer stricken with reflective appreciation. A chord of hope, to be sure, but it's a faintly sorrowful end as well. This is undoubtedly a thematically simple film, intended in many ways to conjure an atmosphere that's relaxed in most every proportion, which creates a rather meditative cadence. I adore that leisurely form of storytelling, resembling as it does a sort of tone poem. It can often make for a revitalizing experience, which is certainly the case here. In truth, there's a therapeutic quality to it all, reflected across every fragment of its being, and I admire it immensely for that.
9.
The Iron Claw
Featuring a feast of superlative acting, a riveting setting, and a story that's tragically engrossing, The Iron Claw is a somberly dramatic powerhouse. With tragedy begetting tragedy, perhaps the most surprising aspect of all the misery inherent to this story is how gracefully written it is, seeing as the repetition of it could have so easily dulled the senses. There's an adroitness to the storytelling that allows for the fatalistic to not be mere malaise, but rather a poignant lament. And in the hands of a lesser director than the typically first-rate Sean Durkin, it likely would have amounted to little more than a turgid circling of the drain. It might not be the most complete telling of the Von Erich story, but it's an incredibly effective one all the same. While it never overrides the dramatic elements at the heart of the story, the spectacle of the Von Erich wrestlers in their heyday is accorded a loving tribute (terribly shoddy Ric Flair impersonation aside) through an excellent recreation of the 80's wrestling mania. It serves as a dazzling underpinning to the slow march of death that follows.
From Maura Tierney to Holt McCallany to Harris Dickinson and beyond, the film is overflowing with marvelous acting. Chief among them is Zac Efron with his achingly vulnerable performance, as he delivers far and away some of 2023's best acting (award-worthy in every sense of the word) and undoubtedly the strongest of his career. Never is his brilliance more apparent than in the closing sequence, as he expels the most devastating line of the year with an impressively delicate touch. This deftness within the writing, acting, and direction is emblematic of every searingly emotional moment that plays out over the final third of the film, culminating with the beautiful and heartbreaking ending, wherein Kevin's numerous scars and their indelible pains are quieted ever so softly by a note of hope and the sweetly felt evaporation of toxic masculinity's cruel inheritance. The song that plays over the end credits,
Live That Way Forever, is perfectly placed, simultaneously evoking both the electrifying glamour and the inescapable despair of the Von Erich brothers' lives.
10.
Godzilla Minus One
In a year where the traditional blockbuster was represented by, at best, a sea of mediocrity, Godzilla Minus One achieved the altogether unusual feat of a blockbuster that is teeming with awe-inspiring spectacle, thrilling drama, and well-written characters. Most surprisingly of all, it's a riveting kaiju flick that miraculously manages to underscore every action sequence with an enthralling depiction or two of tightly crafted and emotionally resonant drama. While I certainly enjoy the friendlier or more helpful depictions of Godzilla, this film demonstrably reinforced my belief that it's the terror of a wrathful, indiscriminate Godzilla that best allows the series to be at its most rich, unpredictable, and electrifying. All of which resoundingly amounts to the best and most gripping Godzilla film since the very first. Among all incarnations, nearly every Godzilla film is at least mildly entertaining, but only a few have managed to exceed that territory by a substantial distance. Through a return to the rendering of Godzilla as a postwar reckoning for Japan and its citizens, the writers were able to deliver an often exceedingly bleak and haunting story that adds enormous amounts of thematic and emotional potency to a franchise that has largely (Shin Godzilla notwithstanding) abandoned such aspirations.
In an unprecedented stroke of good fortune and even better scriptwriting, the human component of a Godzilla film is, at last, strongly written. Eschewing poor dialogue, cheap ploys at melodrama, and contrivances galore unsurprisingly leads to the human elements being equally compelling, if not more so, as Godzilla itself. A slight contrivance or two in the latter stages of the film does little to rob the storytelling of its power. None of this would have been quite as effective if it wasn't for the superb acting across the board. The entire cast delivered strong performances, but Ryunosuke Kamiki and Hidetaka Yoshioka were especially noteworthy. Kamiki conveyed the ever-present shame and fear that consumed his character wonderfully. Even though the visual effects weren't seamless, I was continuously left amazed by how extensive and smartly implemented they were. Among a plethora of highly ambitious action sequences, there wasn't a single moment that was even fleetingly undercut by the limitations of their budget. Naoki Sato's score is terrific and unquestionably one of this year's best, highlighted by selections such as
Divine,
Elegy,
Pain,
Resolution,
Last,
Pray, and the most rousing implementation of the Godzilla theme I've ever heard in
Godzilla Suite II. I'd be remiss if I failed to mention Takashi Yamazaki's stellar direction, which was at its most wily and inventive during the fantastic action sequences. In short, Godzilla Minus One is a thoroughly moving, immensely entertaining, and frequently harrowing film that I hope becomes the inspirational touchstone for the series going forward.
Honorable Mentions:
11.
Past Lives
12.
Asteroid City
13.
Passages
14.
Killers of the Flower Moon
15.
The Taste of Things
16.
The Holdovers
17.
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
18.
How to Blow Up a Pipeline
19.
Society of the Snow
20.
Fallen Leaves
21.
20 Days in Mariupol
22.
Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret
23.
Rye Lane
24.
The Teacher's Lounge
25.
Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves
2023 was a wonderfully dense and varied year in film, featuring a wealth of excellence across seemingly every genre. I found it very difficult to whittle all the superb films I had seen down to a mere 25, let alone the topmost 10. Many of my honorable mentions would have easily made my top 10 in a lesser year. Regrettably, there are also numerous titles I failed to watch in time, namely The Eight Mountains, A Thousand and One, Joyland, When Evil Lurks, How to Have Sex, Pacifiction, The Delinquents, Eileen, and Blue Giant, among others.
