WRITTEN BY ANDREAS BABIOLAKIS

We have survived a lot these last ten years. The burn out of the previous financial crisis, and the impending doom of the next short lined up. The growth of the internet as a means of communication, for better or for worse. Various political backlashes, and the revolts that stacked up against them. The death boom, of all of the famous faces of our time reaching that age. The world has experienced joys and tragedies stronger than ever before, because of our electronic connectivity. You can find out anything virtually right away. You are reading this online, for instance. In a positive light, reach has never been easier. We are midway to the point of singularity, since we act vicariously through our devices so often.

As per usual, cinema has reflected all of this. With the fears of the world’s demise, we have shared our anxieties with post-apocalyptic adventures. To hoist up the communities that have been shunned for years, we have seen a significant boost in queer cinema, and films that shed light on various cultures. With the 2010’s obsession with nostalgia, we have seen our fair share of genre-bending throwbacks, all in the name of reinventing the past. Lastly, we have been proven time and time again why some filmmakers are just the best at their craft, as they continue their hot streaks for another era. For the most part, the 2010’s loved to break rules, either through ignoring conventionality, or even disregarding the foundations of filmmaking themselves.

Narrowing down this decade’s finest features to one hundred was far from easy. I knew we had a strong era long before I worked on this list, but I had no idea how many of my beloved favourites would be culled for, well, my other favourites I liked a little bit more. The 2010’s embraced a lot of this era’s nightmares with open arms, as if film was the necessity for the voids in our souls during a rough patch in the social age. One hundred films are now presented to you, at your disposal, in one, long, continuous scroll. The hard work of others is incredibly simple to enjoy, and I hope you do just that. Here are the top one hundred films of the 2010’s.

Be sure to check out my other Best 100 lists of every decade here.

100. The Descendants

Alexander Payne’s tackling of comedy and drama feels pessimistically dark in the decimation of the family tree titled The Descendants. While Matt is forced to remove his adjacent branch (his wife is to be euthanized), he also has to determine whether or not to chop the entire tree he is a part of down (he has the choice to sell his massive Kauai property, or keep it and shun his money-seeking family). All the while, he has a disconnect with his daughter, who is rebellious in her own right. Disfunction is absolutely grand, when it is directed by Payne himself; his surname makes a perfect homonym sometimes.

99. Post Tenebras Lux

Experimental cinema can turn a new leaf in this day and age, with access to various technological equipment to enhance directives. This is the result when Carlos Reygadas created Post Tenebras Lux: an abstract depiction of troubles back home. With a neon Satan, violet twilight hours, and other bizarre images, Lux turns into an ambient daydream that ceases to remain grounded. Although the film is incredibly disjointed from normalcy, so much of its interpretations of life will hit you in new ways you never quite expected them to. The entire duration feels like a distant memory, and you can’t quite relive any of it regularly.

98. Winter’s Bone

On the surface, many of us would likely want to thank Winter's Bone for jump starting the career of an unknown star named Jennifer Lawrence. It begs repeated viewing for so much more than that though. Debra Granick's chilling western noir is not afraid to keep trekking into the coldest hours of the night, even if it reaches a dead end. Driven by determination, Winter's Bone almost feels like a suicide mission, because life simply can't get any worse for Ree. Finally being able to look up and smile is worth sacrificing anything for. Being a better human than a monstrous blood relation turns Winter's Bone into a fight for justification.

97. Monos

Like The Lord of the Flies meets Apocalypse Now, Alejandro Landes’ guerrilla teen drama Monos is a test of wit, strength, and courage. The longer we stick around and see just how brainwashed these youths are, the more we insist that we have to get out of this Columbian jungle. We have no choice but to stay, and see chaos reign more and more. The murdering of the cow is almost biblical in nature: a retort against idolization. Here, the cow represent prosperity, and a nice future for this generation. Through idiocy and corruption, all hope gets removed. Monos is relentless until the credits roll.

96. Blade Runner 2049

Creating a sequel to Ridley Scott’s magnum opus seemed like a terrible idea on paper. Luckily, Denis Villeneuve’s continuation holds up far past all of our expectations (even those of us that may have suspected the sequel would be pretty good). Blade Runner 2049 is of a completely different nature: it is far more cynical and cutthroat than its predecessor. However, it is not completely foreign. It maintains Blade Runner’s pacing, despair, and coldness (even in the hottest of desserts). As we have reached 2019 now (the year of the original film), we needed an even more dismal future to wake us up again. 2049’s chasing of implanted memories and indeterminable fates did just the trick.

95. Hunt for the Wilderpeople

Taika Waititi certainly made a splash in the 2010’s, but his strongest success was this humble New Zealand indie that surpassed standing in the shadows of Thor: Ragnarok. Ricky is evading child services, and his foster guardian Hec wants a new spice of life. What begins as a distancing between young-and-old becomes an unlikely camaraderie, all in the name of sticking it to society and its rules. Kooky but not immature, Hunt for the Wilderpeople makes light out of a subject matter that could have been much more damning. Waititi is fond of finding warmth anywhere he goes, and Wilderpeople is the finest example of this.

94. Steve Jobs

Pairing up Danny Boyle’s vision and Aaron Sorkin’s words is a match made in heaven. Compared to the by-the-numbers biopic that proceeded it, Steve Jobs is a much more inventive approach to the Apple founder’s notorious legacy. Instead of a life being showcased, we have various Apple product launches going haywire. We can learn all about a person just through how they handle stress and pressure. Even if we discover what we already knew (that Steve Jobs had major issues), we go about this in such an engaging way. It’s rare for non stop squabbling to resonate, but Steve Jobs is a constant influx of exhilaration.

93. Toy Story 3

The return of Andy's toys felt like a possible cash grab when Toy Story 3 was announced, but boy were we wrong. One of Disney and Pixar's most harrowing films, Toy Story 3 turns a kindergarten classroom into a penitentiary, and the handing-down-of-toys into a reincarnation. With toys turning on each other in full force, the concept of self ownership becomes a major theme. By the incineration scene, I can argue that these playthings know what hell is on a literal level. Toy Story 3, for an all ages film, went into some unquestionably brave territories. Yet, we all stick with these favourite characters, to infinity and beyond.

92. The Wolf of Wall Street

It is safe to say that much of these eccentric biopics all stemmed from Martin Scorsese's unreliable narrative memoir. Do any of us like Jordan Belfort by the end of The Wolf of Wall Street? No, but we still get sold on the film the entire time. Why is that? Because we have nothing to lose? Because we have enough distance from a con artist, and his rise-and-fall? Because we can judge all of these shenanigans without taking part in them? We feel no remorse for Belfort or any of his soul sucking minions, and it turns a braggadocios celebration of escapades into a three hour comedy romp. Case in point: watching two grown men fight in slow motion after taking too many quaaludes being the funniest moment of the decade.

91. Lady Bird

Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut is inspired by her own upbringing in Sacramento. Lady Bird operates like its title character: unsure of itself, so it struts through the motions to figure it all out. It zips through a year in the life of Christine (Lady Bird), and winds up wondering where it all went by the time her wish was fulfilled (and she left her hometown). Having declared her mother as her enemy, she realizes very quickly what it means to be on her own, and how much her parents actually care. Lady Bird is rebellious, but it allows a podium for many teenaged youths that are still piecing the rest of their lives together. Gerwig did it for them, and it purposefully feels like a compilation of edits to show how much life a little film can contain.

90. Shame

Steve McQueen was still getting into the groove of filmmaking when his sex addiction tragedy Shame was released. All of the presented perversions are shot artistically, as if they are being framed for us to contemplate about. Is this level of addiction because of the lack of care of every sexual partner, or is it the hatred of one's self? When Brandon hears his sister singing uninterrupted, it's a reminder that everyone has a voice. When his date goes well, it's a sign that there is worth in every relationship. Brandon is too far gone, and is willing to push everything away for the highs if immediate gratification.

89. Beasts of the Southern Wild

Years after Hurricane Katrina, many families were still trying to recover as best as they could. Benh Zeitlin captured the generational struggle within an unhealed community through the eyes of a child too young to understand the repercussions of an uncaring government. Beasts of the Southern Wild is an answer to all of the sickness, poverty, and loneliness of an abandoned community, whose cries for help were always ignored. Hushpuppy blames unknown forces (boar-like beasts), because she doesn't know how to blame humans just yet. We are finally getting Zeitlin’s sophomore effort next year (Wendy). We have waited too long to see how he could merge childhood innocence and adult horror so brilliantly once again after Beasts.

88. The Duke of Burgundy

Erotic thrillers only seem to get more and more taboo, perhaps as a means of trying to make sense of every developing fetish. Peter Strickland turns this sadomasochistic queer fantasy into a statement on power struggles within a relationship. The Duke of Burgundy tries to turn the life around the players into an artistic gallery: moth wings and wallpaper galore. Pleasure turns into intentional pain, as the lack of self gratification leads to the use of a partner as a means to let out frustration. Through understanding and the ability to open up to your loved one, The Duke of Burgundy becomes cyclical; adoration is found again, but will it lead to more toxicity?

87. The Irishman

As Martin Scorsese's final farewell to the gangster genre, The Irishman is more than a few words. Within four hours, the life of a hitman is examined in full effect. Everyone else around him dies or leaves him. He simply cannot depart this world, and is left telling his story in an old age home for the rest of his eternity. Reliving all of your sins again and again, with zero forgiveness, is a deserved curse for a prolific murderer. The fact that Frank Sheeran never progressed further than being a lackey to most of his "friends" makes The Irishman even more depressing; all of this was to shield his family, and yet he lost them all.

86. Selma

Considering the stellar decade Ava Duvernay had with her fiction and non-fiction works, one of her greatest successes was the blending of the two in this brief depiction of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama. With enough footage of the disarray King was going through trying to lead the Civil Rights Movement, we immediately understand the amount of hatred being tossed towards him. More and more, the film eases towards the march, with participants being introduced, and bigotry swirling around. Even if you knew about this moment in American history, the way Duvernay displays it in Selma is a work of power, that reinforces the amount of courage behind the protests.

85. A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night

I think it's safe to say that no film mushed genres together better than this delightfully symbolic feature by Ana Lily Amirpour. As a spaghetti western, it dictates the independence of a lone warrior. As a vampire flick, it involves the draining of blood and energy within a hateful society. As an Iranian feminist statement, it combines all aspects to tell a story of "the girl" and her retaliation against those that subvert her, in a barren ghost town. Stylish, romanticized, and dangerous, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is a new wave concoction that instills a flurry of emotive responses.

84. Blue Jasmine

Without question Woody Allen's strongest release in years, Blue Jasmine is the meandering mind of a socialite that loses everything. The title character wants to rebuild her life, yet she refuses to let go of her former status, and shoves everyone away from her. You feel both sad and bothered by Jasmine, who is clearly in a difficult situation but is not making her own circumstance any easier for the stupidest of reasons. Sometimes, you just won't shake off what you once had, and it will only stymie you in the present. Talk about a melodramatic depiction of post-financial-crisis America.

83. Django Unchained

Quentin Tarantino always wanted his spaghetti western, and he got it. He also wanted to take another stab at the blaxploitation genre long after Jackie Brown. So, he decided to splice the two together in the best way he could: a slavery redemption story full of guts, glory, and even more guts. The end of the west signalling the end of slavery turns into a fatal battle between progression and the refusal to let go of privilege created on the back of racism. Django Unchained feels like an intense rant that never eases up; a shotgun blast towards these characters, both monstrous and innocent.

82. Life of Pi

When it comes to the commercial, mainstream use of 3-D, no film topped Ang Lee's lost-at-sea fever dream. Deemed an impossible novel to bring to film, 2012's Life of Pi defies all of the odds in lush, eye popping colour. The visual effects set a major precedent that has barely been matched since. All of this is important, so being trapped on a boat for most of the film can never become tiresome. The weariness of Pi and Richard Parker is contrasted by the spiritual graces of Mother Nature, as if to make amends for the storm that took everything away from them. It's the acceptance of disaster.

81. Widows

You will rarely find a heist thriller that takes it's time as much as Widows does. Forget about setting up the job. Widows channels an entire community's political offsetting as an expansive backdrop for why this gig matters in the first place. The criminal undergrowth extends from the office, throughout all of the buildings in Chicago in Steve McQueen and Gillian Flynn's riveting teamwork effort. Widows is as neo-noir as it gets, especially because it wonders "How in the hell did it get so bad?”. Whether it’s widows paying for their criminal husbands’ debts, the impoverished trying to live, or politicians swinging elections, these are the acts of a crumbling system.

80. The Lobster

One of the funniest satires in recent memory, Yorgos Lanthimos’ take on a dramedy romance (considerably) is a baffling riot to behold. Everyone in The Lobster already communicates in an animalistic form, regardless of whether or not they are destined to be turned into creatures to be hunted for sport. I wonder if this is how humans would sound if they were gifted the ability to speak perfectly (and with our current lexicon) very early on in our evolutionary chain. Regardless, The Lobster is beyond wacky, with its random animals milling around (seriously, who would pick an animal like a flamingo when your life is at stake?) and its viciously dark jokes. There wasn’t any film more absurd than The Lobster in the 2010’s, and that’s saying a lot: Yorgos Lanthimos had other films this decade!

79. The Turin Horse

Wait… a film by Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky with super long, glacial takes? Say it ain't so! Capturing the barren nature of a fruitless society once more (a common theme in Tarr’s work), The Turin Horse familiarizes the thankless abuse of the titular horse with the burned out worker that cannot handle society’s structures any longer. Tying the narrative with Friedrich Nietzche’s real instance of trying to protect his own horse, The Turin Horse becomes a tug-of-war between sanity and morality: being caught in the middle of civilization’s damnation. The unnamed farmer and his daughter find themselves trapped. comparably to Nietzche’s declaration to remove himself from humanity (within the film). The Turin Horse thus allows humanity’s frigidness to envelop around it, engulfing all with literal or metaphorical darkness.

78. The Love Witch

Anna Biller crafted a mesmerizing tribute to the hokey horror films of the ‘60s, with the Technicolour-inspired head trip The Love Witch. With the niche as the selling point, you come for the cheesy dialogue, hilarious Foley effects during fights, and the deeply rich colours. You stay for Biller’s fierce feminist commentary on the projected worth of a sexualized woman in the heart of California. Woven like a male gazed horror film with a female operator, The Love Witch is a whirlwind blast-from-the-past with much to say about now: concoctions, spells, and trippy rainbow colours galore.

77. Burning

We are forced to deal with the pieces that we have in Lee Chang-dong’s passive neo-noir. We are dealt with a final blow at the very end, that makes us have to recount every little thing we have seen before then (all two and a half hours worth). Just how many clues have been scattered around? Then, you begin to dive deeper than you should, and overdo the analysis. That’s exactly what Chang-dong wants. You were inattentive at first, but now you’re perversely combing through every scene. You become fixated, unhealthily. You become a neurotic. You dip your toes into the mind of a psychopath, and it’s delightfully frightening.

76. The Artist

Shortly after it won Best Picture, The Artist was seemingly scrubbed from every discussion about contemporary films. Why? Was it valued as a niche? That’s embarrassing if that’s the case. I happen to find tremendous worth in Michel Hazanacivius’ love letter to the transitory period between silent cinema and talkies. George Valentin relents against the biggest shift in film history, and the film stays stubborn with him. The dipping into new territory turns The Artist into a meta, modernist experience: a self-aware film trying to abandon the inevitable. Full of clever trickery, limited devices (resorting back to the ways of the silent era) and a current lens, The Artist deserves to be talked about once more. It’s far more magical and smart than just a film trying to be different.

75. Toni Erdmann

Not anyone can make a three hour long comedy work, but Maren Ade made Toni Erdmann an argument that most comedies could benefit from having a bit more time. The first hour is used to establish the tone: an independent adult daughter has to deal with the father she’s not close with and his antics (as a means of being a part of her life again). The second act is when all the hijinks begin: father Winfried dons the moniker Toni Erdmann and continues to be the jester to his daughter’s court of life. The final third becomes the weirdly emotional turn: the heart wrenching image of a fully grown woman holding a furry kukeri costume will make complete sense. Toni Erdmann is insane and tear worthy, and it’s because Maren Ade knows how to compose authentic responses with patience.

74. Dunkirk

Of course, Christopher Nolan has to overcomplicate things; but I love him for that. Having three different storylines be the course of Dunkirk is audacious enough. Having all three timelines reflect different lengths at different speeds (a week, a day, and an hour) and in different settings (on land, at sea, in air) is simply insane. All three narratives and locations all converge at one specific crossroad: the predetermination of fate, and all of its minor variables that could have affected the outcome at any time. Each timeline branches off after, continuing at their own pace: history waits for no one.

73. Hard to Be a God

Aleksei Yuryevich German’s final film was arguably his definitive feature: a grotesque dip into the avant-garde by the means of religious fanaticism. Its concept feels like a sandbox of opportunities: Earth based scientists discover a distant planet like our own, that is currently experiencing its dark ages timeline (which never ends, because of the society’s questionable habit of killing off any chance of evolution). So, with our knowledge and means, these scientists take a hold on this planet. Anything can happen, right? Hard to Be a God turns into a bath of mud, blood, and sweat that infests into the sickest of images; it is a mind diseased by countering ideologies and missions. As mutant as Hard to Be a God is, it almost becomes preternatural.

72. Cold War

Pawel Pawlikowski was invested in making opposites correlate in the appropriately named Cold War. Lining up this doomed romance with the blessings of soothing music, Pawlikowski tries to make common ground the foundation of a narrative. The film sways back and forth, from joy to distraught. We stumble all the way until the end, when we are surprised by the damning agreement of two lovers that wish an eternity for each other, but cannot stand the world that is providing it. I’m still unsure how to feel about its resolution, because of how daring it is for turning a morose tragedy into the most beautiful connection a relationship ever had.

71. Before Midnight

It is almost strange that so many of us take Before Midnight for granted. This is the third film in a series that has taken place over decades, based entirely around the conversations between two people. Maybe none of us bat an eye, because we trust the trio of Richard Linklater, Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke, with their ability to initiate so much life through the experiences that people can share with one another. For the third time in a row, we feel as though we have lived through all of the tribulations that Jesse and Celine discuss, as we ponder how their relationship has made it this far. Before Midnight is cleverly bound together by the filling-in of the gaps many of us have had all these years about this same story. Linklater, Delpy, and Hawke have figured it out, and we’re suckers for the fourth entry (should it ever be released in a few years time).

70. Melancholia

Amongst all of Lars von Trier’s more pretentious offerings this decade (I shall never forget the unbelievably lazy ending of Nymphomaniac, especially for such a lengthy two part epic, but I digress), we have his most tender film ever: Melancholia. Despite its warmth, it is still a ruinous harbinger of the end-of-the-world, garnished with the complications of severe depression. Comparing the problems of family (both blood and bound by marriage) with the demise of civilization is oddly fitting, because our debacles can feel like the finality of all that we know. When Melancholia isn’t being gritty or confrontational, it’s an absolute splendour to ingest; kind of like celebrating life right before it stops for good.

69. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Martin McDonagh traded his Irish wit (found in his previous works) for social-political bite in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. A disgruntled mother of a raped and murdered daughter takes matters into her own hands by alerting the entire town of these injustices through large, often seen billboards. Like social media posts being put on blast, her comments make their rounds. We learn a lot about the hateful citizens within the film, but we also find out that the “righteous” aren’t so perfect either. As long as evildoers are able to admit their mistakes and wish to change for the better, then progress can be made. Three Billboards finds a few changes-of-heart within its highly complex fabric.

68. Uncle Boonmee Who can Recall his Past Lives

A bit of a testy film, Uncle Boonmee Who can Recall his Past Lives is able to channel the sounds, images, and sensations that transcendental meditation can grant if you utilize it properly. As a means of representing the different iterations of one spirit’s various incarnations, Uncle Boonmee loves to focus on the background distractions, allowing the foreground to blur together. This means a bridge between life, death, and the many beyonds. Uncle Boonmee presents an infinite amount of possibilities: dinner with the ghosts of dead relatives, the embodiment of any kind of being, and the ability to relive any moment at will.

67. Phoenix

Out of the countless creations named after the reincarnated bird of fire, 2014's Phoenix by Christian Petzold is a tour-de-force that feels unparalleled. The premise of a Holocaust survivor being unrecognizable due to her face being reconstructed (after she experienced war wounds) is a metaphorical statement on the changes of a world through trauma. Petzold goes one step further, and turns Phoenix into a domestic thriller, with Nelly returning back home after her transformation, and discovering the second life that her previous self was hidden from. With Nelly’s second chance comes the second metaphor found in Phoenix: lies and sins condemn your loved ones from living their own lives, and not just getting to know yours.

66. La La Land

Damien Chazelle revitalized the old Hollywood musical by sticking to basics. Is La La Land a little empty narratively? Yes, but its fixation on dreams hoist it up. La La Land becomes a tribute to a genre that barely thrives as much as it once did, with a fitting Gene-Kelly-esque finale that remind us how heavy our dreams may actually be. To bring the simplicity of the old musical films, La La Land knows how to prioritize its focuses, enough to merge our fantasies with the coldness of our everyday lives. Not everything needs to be complex, if the fundamentals are handled just right.

65. The Lighthouse

Robert Eggers outdid himself when he returned to the big screen with The Lighthouse. We all expected some creative horror images. I don't think anyone predicted Persona going out to sea. The Lighthouse gets so bonkers, it doesn't matter if the fragments of time and space get destroyed in the name of drunk, dreary keepers. As the film falls over like a house of cards, we are presented with the demise of all elements (narrative and cinematic) bearing witness to one another, and the sea becoming a graveyard for all. It is a curse to kill a seabird (I suppose), but living amongst those you despise is enough to decimate your entire existence.

64. Ida

Like reading a diary entry, Pawel Pawlikowski's Ida is condensed but never rushed. Its precision feels like the well-intended thoughts of a writer. The confined aspect ratio doubles as a reference to older cinema, and the restrictions of a broken heritage. Within an hour and twenty minutes, we feel like we have ransacked all of Anna's (or Ida's) life, despite her intention to be absolved of humanity's sins by becoming a nun. With the sounds of history and the eyes of the present converging, Ida is a living photo album; every scene is a countless amount of words, with life breathed into the captured shots.

63. Room

After Emma Donoghue's book became a sensation, Room was destined to be adapted. Donoghue was in charge of her own screenplay, and thus a seamless transition to film took place. Lenny Abrahamson flexed his indie muscles to continue Donoghue's minimalist story to full effect. We receive a harrowing tale of captivity, a distraught rehabilitation in the wider world, and the difficulty of shaking off both traumas and the only experiences a child has ever had. Room is a strongly executed triumph. With the little it has to work with, it still knows how to create the discoveries of a sheltered child, and the transitional difficulties of a kidnapping survivor.

62. Arrival

Denis Villeneuve has never felt this warm. Following a linguistics professor's analyses of an alien race trying to communicate with earthlings ended up being the refreshing boost science fiction desperately needed. Never does it resort to some all-out war or other cheap gimmick. Instead, it slowly slips into its major twist, that redefines the entire film as a juxtaposition of memories. As Arrival cycles through its own self to come back anew, it becomes more than a film, but an event instead. Its proposal of miscommunications determining the fate of a planet is highly thought provoking, too: all it takes is one correction to change a gift into a threat.

61. Goodbye to Language

Jean-Luc Goddard has always been addicted to breaking cinema, and he attempts to do so in any way at any opportunity. His strongest attempt lately is the damnation of conventional 3-D pictures Goodbye to Language. Watching it at home without the proper set up won't really justify this entry. The theatrical event is a definitive moment of the 2010's; particularly seeing two subjects drift apart, and breaking your mind in half to adjust to the illusion of 3-D filmmaking snapping before your very eyes. If you admire the process of a magic trick more than the trick itself, Goodbye to Language is a must-see.

60. Two Days, One Night

With unemployment hitting some disastrous highs this decade, the anxiety inducing Two Days, One Night hits a little close to home for many of us. The Dardenne brothers give us a fixed time frame for Sandra to convince the fellow employers that voted her out of a job to change their minds. From the get go, this is a desperate attempt, but you cannot help but root for her the entire time. The world gets dark, and her chances feel slim. It's the lack of change during the bright times (that second day) that really throw you off; life can be exceptionally cruel sometimes.

59. The Farewell

Lulu Wang managed to capture the homesickness of a millennial immigrant in The Farewell. Billi returns to China to visit her ailing grandmother, but must never reveal to her that she is dying. It's similar to the way Billi feels forced to hide her culture in New York; now, she has returned home, and has to continue hiding her true thoughts and feelings. Although a hilarious time, The Farewell is heavy enough to linger with you, as a reminder to embrace your roots and keep your loved ones close to you at all times. Oh, and maybe that all of us can be awkward at any time. It’s another human trait, along with joy and sadness.

58. Blue Valentine

It has been nearly ten years, and the Blue Valentine wound is still healing. Somehow, Derek Cianfrance's divorce drama is severely depressing, yet never hyperbolic. So, what was the real catalyst that sets Dean and Cindy in different paths? Who do you believe is the most in the wrong? It doesn't really matter, because Blue Valentine is the indication that everything ends, and some relationships end earlier than others. With red flashbacks of a love forming, intercut between the blue present of lovelessness, Blue Valentine never minces its statements. Should we cling onto Dean and Cindy’s scattered memories if they themselves have let go long ago?

57. Inside Llewyn Davis

The Coen Brothers have had a bit of a quiet decade, but their best achievement within it is that of Llewyn Davis: a reserved musician going through a hard time. Little did the Coens know just how fitting this character would be in the 2010's, where the gig economy is a real problem. Davis discusses his permanent exhaustion, hindered by depression, and far too many of us know exactly what he means. With the occasional dark humour, and a darling cat by his side, we really are self reflecting for a good portion of Inside Llewyn Davis; it's good to laugh at ourselves sometimes.

56. The Shape of Water

I knew after Pan's Labyrinth that Guillermo del Toro was the go-to filmmaker for the crafting of fairy tales meant for adults, that still have the ability to make us feel like children again. The Shape of Water is a fable for a number of marginalized voices: the differently abled, persons of colour, and the LGBTQ community. It's also an homage to the B-movie horror films of the golden era. Putting the two together, and you have a romantic caper involving the cold war, bigoted injustice, and the moments that render us ultra human. In case you want to mock this entry for its romance, congratulations; this is one of at least three entries on my list that involves some sort of fish connection. I dare you to find the other two. For now, I won’t stop singing The Shape of Water’s praises.

55. Carol

In the middle of an era when huge strides were being made for the LGBTQ community, Todd Haynes took a second to remind us of the distance we have made so far. Upon release, Carol was often compared to The Children's Hour: a well known play that would have been widely available to read or watch during the course of Carol's timeline. Hour never even mentioned lesbianism by name, and the debate was treated like a gigantic secret. Carol dives head first into all of the darkest shadows cast by bigotry in the '50s. It's a much more upfront discussion, and one that still hurts four years later; this can be read as an indication of the unnecessary hell many persecuted people are put through out of hateful prejudice.

54. Good Time

You could probably figure that nothing about the title of this film is correct, and that the big break by the Safdie Brothers is actually a very, very bad time. Still, we must watch and see what happens to a well-meaning delinquent and his coerced brother after a heist goes terribly wrong. This sprint of a film never lets up; even the ending is technically open ended enough to leave you hanging. There is a fine line between being manic and irritating, but the Safdie Brothers knew better and pieced together this exhilarating failure we cannot pry ourselves away from known as Good Time (which is anything but).

53. Inception

The wave of love Inception recieved upon release was maybe a bit overwhelming. I'm shocked that the hype has died down as much as it has; it's somehow underrated now. Christopher Nolan's neo-noir knows that the archetypal detective protagonist allows the camera lens to peak inside their mind. Nolan took this literally, and crafted a stunning heist thriller that zips around the corners of a warped subconscious. By the time you are multiple levels down inside of a dream state, you'll realize just how well Christopher Nolan can play with time and non-linearity. To this day, every trailer has ripped off Inception’s as well; if that counts for anything, perhaps it’s that Syncopy Films can entice a generation.

52. Short Term 12

This humble indie flick about teen mental health (and the challenges of being a counsellor) boasted many new or established talents that would go on to dominate the era. Brie Larson, Rami Malick, Lakeith Stanfield, Kaitlyn Dever, and more. The best news is that everyone is on their A game here, and their efforts add flavour to Short Term 12's exhibitioning of youthful struggling. Its honest approach generates warmth amongst the devastation. It's no wonder that this film has become a cult gem. It invites all of us with deep wounds, by finding common ground within every viewer. We all have stories to tell.

51. Ex Machina

In the cinematic age where CGI is beginning to be confused with prosthetics or real props, a Turing Test thriller like Ex Machina makes perfect sense. Alex Garland makes do with few characters, and one major setting, and manages to claw right into the core of your mind anyway. Ex Machina could have felt like a Hollywood blueprint piece. Luckily, it feels more like a film out of the arthouse movement, with subtly designed androids, intricate architecture, and dwindling delusion. Do we get happy about the acceptance of an android amongst us? Do we get sad for humanity not being able to fix itself?

50. 127 Hours

Danny Boyle began the 2010’s with his best work of this era. Following his awards season run for Slumdog Millionaire, Boyle delivered a film that was just as emotional. 127 Hours is a film that could only be made by a filmmaker like Boyle, that doesn’t feel confined by conventions. Hearing Aron Ralston's story in such a colourful, minimalist way is exactly how it was meant to be told. Once Ralston’s stuck under the bolder, that’s it. We’re stuck with him too (outside of a few flashbacks and dream sequences). We spend an hour and a half trying to figure this all out. Ralston reminiscing on his life — imagining he is going to die — reminds us all about our own, as if we were in a similar position. We get rewarded with the beautifully triumphant ending, that evokes what an escape of this caliber would absolutely feel like.

49. A Fantastic Woman

A Fantastic Woman is incredibly daring, which is a sad statement to make. In 2017, Sebastián Lelio’s film should not feel as though all of its events are current. Seeing Marina’s rights to visit her lover’s funeral being stripped away from her is depressing enough. Then, the film keeps going, and we continue to watch Marina subsequently be berated, and treated as a non-person because of her gender identity. We have made much progress in regards to transgender acceptance, but A Fantastic Woman is proof that we have a very long way to go. However, with the film’s pure approach to the subject matter, and its featuring of a bright new star in Daniela Vega, A Fantastic Woman as a film is a shining beacon for transgender representation in future motion pictures.

48. Manchester by the Sea

Grief is never easy to deal with, so Kenneth Lonergan gave the old tragedy-comedy genre a try to see if he could make sense of it. Manchester by the Sea is a subtle instance of incorporating both laughs and tears. The humour is dark and manic. The depression is even more hysterical. During times of crises, Sea is that friend who prods you to point out something quirky as a means of distraction. This can be a stretcher not functioning properly, stalling an ambulance from making its trek to a hospital. All of the awkward conversations or sight gags lead up to the uncomfortable confrontations that a divided family must have in order to heal. None of it is easy, but Kenneth Lonergan at least made all of Sea’s emotions unified; it’s a noble feat.

47. The Assassin

Cinema has needed a good wuxia film for the longest time. The 2010’s only got one sterling example, but Hou Hsiao-hsien’s The Assassin was enough to sustain our hunger until the 2020’s. The Assassin has a brief-enough duration, but a glacial pace: all in the name of slowing down time. Hidden amongst the pillars of trees or the blades of grass, we find an assassin (duh) sent on a directive to end an entire dynasty in one fell swoop. The patient tension caused between waiting, decision making, and figuring out how to make the first move, turns The Assassin into a series of living mythological artworks.

46. Mad Max: Fury Road

Mad Max and Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior are two of the best action films ever created. I suppose George Miller got tired of waiting for these films to be dethroned in the post apocalyptic action category, so he bested himself with Mad Max: Fury Road. We get a new Max, plus we get a Furiosa to boot. It’s like watching the torch being handed over: from macho male blockbusters, to the feminist voices needing to be heard. With the greatest sound work of the 2010’s, and seamlessly edited action sequences (that completely write off any excuse poorly choreographed, shaky films have), amongst all of its other production strengths, Fury Road is not just fun. It’s perfectly crafted.

45. Blackkklansman

Spike Lee returned in the ‘10s with a vicious vengeance, following a stale period. For all of the subpar films we received (especially Oldboy), it was all worth it to lead up to Blackkklansman: possibly one of his strongest films ever. The blaxploitation tinge on this eccentric biopic makes Blackkklansman entirely riveting. The political intro and outro remind us how current this tale of yesteryear still is (and always has been). Even without all of Lee’s creative excellence, we have a unique story of an African American detective that becomes a member of the Klu Klux Klan (with very minor embellishments in this film). Some stories are stranger than fiction; in this case, it’s a very sad realization.

44. Dogtooth

Before Yorgos Lanthimos brought his bizarre Greek cinema ways into North America, he blessed the indie world with Dogtooth: a highly set bar for strangest film of the 2010’s, literally as soon as the era began. Trying to describe the suffocation of the recession in Greece, Lanthimos created two parents that essentially kidnap their own children, and forbid them from ever leaving the house. They come up with inventive ways to lie to their kids, including using toy planes to insinuate that they are not vessels of travel, but rather small flying objects that crash land in back yards (thus forbidding the idea of escape). Naturally, the longer the jog goes on, the more insane the offspring get. It’s Lanthimos’ batshit method of depicting societal political smothering.

43. Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

This commentary on the lives of washed up actors is brilliantly executed. The editing to make the majority of the film feel like one long take. The minimal amount of sets. The long monologues. Birdman is Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s creative way of proving Riggan right. His efforts to make a stage play will only result in him turning back to his franchise, special effects, blockbuster roots. He will fail. The film slowly turns into Riggan’s deepest fears; a downward spiral in front of our very eyes. It’s a darkly hilarious failure that we cannot pry our eyes away from. Is it reassuring when Riggan begins to hallucinate his Birdman character’s powers saving him? Is it saddening to know his joy is all a figment of his imagination? I guess it all depends on whether or not you believe the final scene or not.

42. Get Out

Jordan Peele helped to popularize the social horror (which doubles as a satire in its own right) when Get Out pulled off the impossible. It dominated an entire year during the deadest months of a release cycle. It spread a message about racial profiling which continues to be referenced today (the “sunken place” is a relevant symbol in many news cycles or online responses). The film was treated as a comedy at the Golden Globes. No one knew what to think of Peele’s genre bending, outside of the fact that it was instantly identifiable within social politics. Although Get Out is predictable, that’s not its focus (and each subsequent watch reveals a new hidden plot detail). It’s about putting a perspective on the daily horrors of the marginalized. It damn well worked.

41. Phantom Thread

Paul Thomas Anderson’s peculiar battle between perfectionist snobbery and an unsubmissive muse leads into a Hitchcockian approach of a toxic relationship. Through insults, side glances, and flat out poison, Phantom Thread is fixated on the fears sewn into all of our clothes, all being revealed by our partners undressing us and seeing the inner linings. Superstitions, vices, and bizarre theories all come out in full force between an acclaimed dressmaker and his model-turned-lover. With the open ending, we can deduct a few things. We have watched a vicious cycle that will only keep repeating, and nothing will change. Are we happy about this marriage, or worried about the never ending corrosion between these two?

40. Son of Saul

When a character like Saul — a Sonderkommando — is forced to treat the deaths of people from within his own culture, it’s likely that he felt stripped of who he is as a person. Son of Saul is the chance for the title character to reclaim his own life out of the hands of the Nazi superiors at Auschwitz. By vowing to bury the corpse of a young boy who died late after narrowly surviving a gas chamber, Saul will have done something for himself, and to honour a generation that is being mercilessly killed before life has even started for them. The claustrophobically shot journey is dangerous, anxious, and devastating, but every second we get to champion Saul’s quest is a moment that fixes our damaged faith in humanity.

39. Inside Out

It makes sense to consider Pete Docter’s Pixar opus this highly on a list of this nature. Inside Out is beyond Pixar’s best film of this era. It’s easily debatable that it’s one of the studio’s strongest works to date. The detailing of the inner mind in a way that appeals to children and adults is a feat in its own right. Then comes all of the fantastic little things: an answer to all of the questions we have about how our brains tick. With unforgettably moving sequences, Inside Out seemed like it was going to generate some sort of a Pixar renaissance. In the end, not many animated features even came close to the colourful, beautiful, and emotional journey that Inside Out paints for us. We’ll never listen to our inner voices the same way again.

38. Nightcrawler

Who would have thought that Dan Gilroy’s neo-noir media frenzy would have become even more relevant five years later? Before “fake news” was a coined term, and click bait was completely off the rails, Nightcrawler was simply trying to comment on the use of fear and hate through the to drive the public. Lou is a leech that finds the worst qualities of humanity (likely through his own self reflection) to try and tell stories his own way. He proceeds to get worse and worse, to the point of destroying lives just to instil horror for his own personal gain. At the end of the 2010’s, Nightcrawler feels more relevant than ever, in an internet and media age where absolutely nothing is trustworthy or safe anymore.

37. The Revenant

For two and a half hours, The Revenant is completely unforgiving. This neo-western places you in the deepest pits of hell (frozen over, of course) and forces you to find your way back. The melodramatic nature captures Hugh Glass’s story to the nth degree (the book The Revenant was adapted from is a part fiction embellishment. so it only makes sense that the flick followed suit). If you can make it past the bear attack, congratulations! It only gets harder from here. The long shots, bitter cold imagery, and the blood splattered snow all paint a dismal narrative. Alejandro G. Iñárritu has never been better than this ultimate battle between man and nature, man, and himself.

36. Amour

Seven years after its release, I don’t believe any one that watched Michael Haneke’s super tragedy Amour has fully recovered. Laced by haunting images (hallucinatory or real), this pulling apart of a marriage is nearly impossible to bear. Mainly, this difficulty is because neither partner wants this. Old age, exhaustion, and a sudden illness are the means of ending a perfect pairing. Amour turns into sacrifice: how much love it takes to make the hardest decisions one has to commit to. By the super bitter end, you’ll understand that the darkest pits of our psyche are comparable to a shattered heart, and there will never be an easy way to go about these matters.

35. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Jimmie Fails’ semi-autobiographical screenplay for The Last Black Man in San Francisco begged for him to play his own part. The woes of not being able to move back into a home which was rightfully yours by birthright had to come from the man that lived a similar life. Joe Talbot took the tale up a notch by creating the docufiction: a world that feels like a strange, surreal satire, and yet everything is akin to real life. You will wait for the big twist; a revelation that none of this happened. We never get that wish. We only get the words of a man who has lived through a lot, in a society that is highly unforgiving.

34. Whiplash

When Damien Chazelle was a brand new face in the director’s chair, his biggest break was the music thriller Whiplash: every artist’s worst nightmare. We follow Andrew and the complete evisceration of all of his many years of hard work to try and be the best drummer he can be. Terence Fletcher was the film’s biggest monster, but 2014’s biggest pop culture figure: the film became a meme out of context, and a rush when watched. With Chazelle’s transition from music lover to filmmaker, his understanding of pacing (as a tempo) rendered this film a dizzying ride from start to finish.

33. The Big Short

The best horror film of the decade (in a sense, it truly is). The Big Short has an immediate pull with its vicious humour, fourth wall breaking antics, and dumbed down explanations, all in the name of driving an important story home. By the end of the film, you will feel sick. This wasn’t just all real. This is still happening. In 2015, The Big Short was a summary of the devastating financial crisis with enough information to enlighten the uninformed. In 2019, it’s a reference of all of the signs to look out for, in preparation of the incoming short. Adam McKay’s collage of wall street, residential suburbs, and pop culture is as invigorating as it is nauseating.

32. Blue is the Warmest Colour

In 2013, Blue is the Warmest Colour created history by winning three Palme d’Or awards (one for the film, and two for the lead actresses Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux), indicating that the film’s success was heavily indebted to their powerful performances. In 2019, much history has been made since. Perhaps Abdellatif Kechiche’s ultra-male-gaze has rendered the controversial sex sequences a little too one sided (and borderline pornographic), but the rest of the film remains an electrifyingly vulnerable snapshot of young love, a search for identity, and the viciousness of heartbreak. Blue feels so invasive, and every scene is extremely personal. Despite the amount of films that depict relationships of all sorts, Blue is the Warmest Colour manages to recreate the rawness of these experiences unlike any other film in recent memory.

31. Annihilation

Alex Garland’s second feature film proved to be a bit too much to the masses; not everyone enjoys a full on assault of their senses. Annihilation is a meta science fiction film that deteriorates along with its subjects the deeper they go into the inexplicable phenomenon known as “the shimmer”. With plasmatic colours and a warped score, we begin to lose our sanity the more we watch. The first viewing is littered with many questions: Annihilation is a challenge. With each and every revisit, we begin to develop many of our own answers: Annihilation takes over us. Despite its polarizing release, the film already has its cult audience for good reason: it gets burned in your mind, regardless of how you feel about it.

30. The Grand Budapest Hotel

We don’t have enough silly films full of hijinks anymore. All it took was Wes Anderson’s next dioramic concoction: an ode to early cinema, and the great beyond of human stupidity. The Grand Budapest Hotel boasts an eclectic cast of misfits that all strive for power in some way. Even Zero (whose name is an appropriate symbol for his starting point) wants to be the best lobby boy there is. Hotel is all about literal ups and downs. Elevators take you to your floor. Gondolas work as a meeting point to have private discussions. Ladders take you back to society from your jail cell. Sometimes you own everything, and sometimes you don’t. The entire film is based on brash decisions, and it’s far too much fun to gawk at.

29. Boyhood

In the five years that have passed since Richard Linklater’s time capsule film Boyhood debuted, we could have been involved in a next chapter in Mason’s life. This twelve year experiment documented pop cultural changes surrounding a child bogged down by problems at home. With Linklater’s fascination with French New Wave in mind, we can spot why Boyhood is so obsessed with the little things to drive a film. Every time I reach Mason’s University drug filled trek, I cannot believe that three hours have zipped by like that. That’s life. Twelve years drip through your hands like grains of sand. When Mason’s mother breaks down after realizing life didn’t have anything left in store for her, that’s when you put two and two together. Boyhood is the happy medium of being everything and nothing. It is life, captured.

28. Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Céline Sciamma crafted a fiery passion between two secret keepers. One partner is a commissioned painter, pretending to be an assistant. The other does not want to be married off for personal reasons. Both characters get discovered rather quickly, but they develop their own confidence between one another; a forbidden love. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is named as such, because it is based on a piece of artwork painted when one’s greatest love was literally beginning to be covered in flames. This is more so a self reflection, of the artist withering away without her greatest love: a hecatomb to allow her partner to experience freedom.

27. Zero Dark Thirty

The biopic surrounding the capture and murder of Osama bin Laden could have been a schmaltzy, macho affair. Kathryn Bigelow vowed against that, and instead made a compelling argument about the ripple effects of such a mission. Zero Dark Thirty is a festering determination from a CIA recruit-turned-catalyst. As acts of terror keep occurring, the goal only gets more crucial. As a whole, the operation was a success, and was worth it on a national level. The many steps to get there affected countless of people close to Maya (with a few even losing their lives). Sacrifices acknowledged, Zero Dark Thirty is the stripping of humanity from one to protect humankind.

26. Leviathan

Andrey Zvyaginstev very loosely adapted the Book of Job from the bible into this cynical depiction of the Russian working class struggle of titanic proportion; it’s appropriately titled Leviathan. Featuring an all sinning cast (to varying degrees), Leviathan is a disadvantageous hell if you are poor (and just a life you can get by through if you are rich). The often promoted scene where the unearthed remains of a whale becomes a place to reflect comes out of nowhere, almost like a miracle. If this is the most magical moment of one’s suffering, who needs it? It catches us off guard, amidst houses being torn down, lives being ruined, and sin taking over. The breath of fresh air is a fossil, because it can’t be any more dead than a corrupt society.

25. Certified Copy

The penultimate film in Abbas Kiarostami’s shining canon is a self-aware artistic statement. The release of the fictional book “Certified Copy” sets off a series of chain reactions in response to the idea that no notion is completely original, which thus renders every creation entirely original (as it is literally the only one of its specific, physical make up in existence). Certified Copy slithers from a conversation into a meta territory, when it corrodes on itself, thus dismantling the foundations of its own film, all while turning into a conventional romantic drama. It’s two simultaneous commentaries at once; a waltz of the polar opposites of cinema as an art form.

24. Holy Motors

Leos Carax committed one of the strongest attempts at disembowelling cinema in the 2010’s. Holy Motors is all about the filmmaking process, without any signs of actually being a conventional film in the slightest. The lead actor (Denis Lavant) takes on a number of performances, but none of these characters resemble any functioning archetype we are used to. Every story is a vignette of its own universe: who needs a clear cut story when you are tasting all of the delicacies of the endless realms of possibilities? Without any clear narrative indications, we still feel joy, anger, humour, and loss. Loss and lots of loss. Holy Motors is like taking a tour through your brain’s corridors, and experiencing every sensation abruptly.

23. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Only a filmmaker with enough gall could attempt to rewrite history. Quentin Tarantino has done so before, yet he is at a stage where he is finally discovering his humility (or be as humble as he can be). Once Upon a Time in Hollywood changes the course of a historical event, as a love letter to cinema and the preservation of a rising star that had her fifteen minutes cut drastically short. Splicing in a fictional life of a washed up actor and his stunt double, Hollywood is an opus about the filmmaking process, the damnation of a cult status (either as a pop culture figure, or a following’s disciple), and the noise in between gigs in this crazy thing we call life.

22. Jackie

Pablo Larrain skips past the glorification of idols in his Jacqueline Kennedy confessional Jackie. Her thoughts are flustered, and pop in-and-out of each other. Her recollection of her husband’s assassination is woven into other memories, and it does not remain its own distinctive image. With so much grief in her life, her focus is divided, and Larrain mimics this mental battle. There’s nothing pretty or romantic about the death of your life partner, so Jackie cuts to the chase and presents the stages of a widow’s misery as they would likely come: shocks and all. Jackie is overwhelming, but it’s all intentional.

21. Her

In the near future, loneliness will be determined by our own value of ourselves. That’s what Spike Jonze’s Her embodies, anyway. Neighbours live right next door to each other and even communicate, but we develop our own digital barricades when we glue ourselves to our phone and befriend our operating systems. Her turns a ridiculous premise into one of the great tales of heartbreak in the 2010’s. Her is warm, to make up for the lack of chemistry amongst humans. Her is clever, to keep up with the advanced AI. Her is weird, because so is humanity. Her resembles anyone: the one you lost, the one you tried with next, and the one you overlooked this entire time.

20. The Favourite

Yorgos Lanthimos' eye for the satirical has never been stronger than his royal highness' cartoonish lair. The Favourite doubles as his most emotional film to date, with an affection for the countless miseries of Queen Anne. It remains cheeky and grotesque for its entire duration, thus it maintains its trait as a commentary on the excessive elite. This includes the downward spiral of those wanting to appease a traumatized Queen for their own personal gain (outside of the one sharp-tongued partner that loved her the most). The final cherry on top is its artistic flair: the kaleidoscopic final image will etch itself in your mind for weeks. It's mass hysteria at its finest.

19. Call Me by Your Name

No film in recent memory has captured the fondness of a getaway location like Luca Guadagnino's Call Me By Your Name. Fixated on the autonomy of a fleeting spirit, Name invests its time between two lovers: a young and inexperienced son, and a mature student. Both soak in all of the sights and sounds of the countryside of Italy. You pick up on all of the intricacies like the buzzing of cicadas, the salt from the sea, and the warmth of the sun. You experience the sensations of one falling in love, and it's hypnotic. When two souls become one, all becomes transcendental.

18. Under the Skin

Jonathan Glazer's minimalist horror is an observation of an alien species watching us with the exact same amount of scrutiny. Every answer is provided by evidence being laid out before you; Under the Skin is a brilliant example of showing and not telling. Perhaps the eeriest film of the decade, Skin symbolizes the projected worthlessness of a human reduced to an object, in the form of an alien disguised as one of our own. The male predators get their comeuppance, but they too are the prey of an alien harvesting human skin. By the blistering finale, you'll want to evacuate the chilling grey area of Glazer's commentary.

17. Upstream Colour

Shane Carruth's passion project is achingly beautiful, even if it takes much gestation to figure out on the first viewing. Upstream Colour is presented as a fragmented mind trying to figure itself out. When the film solves its own equation, you feel beyond fulfilled. The gist of it is that parasites are affecting the lives of humans, orchids, and pigs, as beings begin to live vicariously through the bodies of others. The film is an aesthetic maze, with every dead end being as gorgeous as the previous one. Even if you can't keep up, Upstream Colour is purely zen. If you can, the film is mind blowing.

16. Drive

I expected more of a wave of retro Hollywood reincarnations after Nicolas Winding Refn's Drive spoke to the ghost of Steve McQueen. With a neo disco score and visual flair to boot, Drive is a purely visceral experience that plays with gut feelings more than plot points. All you know is that you are in the bad side of Los Angeles, and you have a no named stunt driver to try and get you the hell out of any situation. You just go with the flow. You visit lovely locations, and grizzly aftermaths, all underneath a neon sky. Drive describes an emotion more than an action, and the film is a rush in every way.

15. Spotlight

The Spotlight bandwagon got abandoned pretty quickly. Well, too bad. I'm going to forever be on it. I love how risky the film is for allowing its mind boggling story to do all of the lifting. Everything else is a garnish: strong enough acting, tasteful direction, and a score that just does its job. For a film of this caliber, not a single second feels artificial. Like the best journalist films, Spotlight is highly textual in nature, with a flurry of smart and concise dialogue to craft a bigger picture. The film never grows stale, no matter how many times you watch it. It's a film based on true events that actually feels, well, true.

14. The Social Network

David Fincher's strongest film comes in the form of a heavily manipulated biopic. The Social Network is barely about the start of Facebook anyway; it's safe to admit this nine years later. It's more about connection in a new age, and what that means for human relations. Mark Zuckerberg is turned into a chaser of his own truth, rather than a guy that just felt like taking an idea. For a website that is meant to bring people together, the bulk of Network is made up of bridges being burned. Aaron Sorkin's brilliant screenplay cloaks insecurity in the form of sarcastic jabs, all while people try to protect their own branding. The Social Network is far more of a millennial maelstrom than it is an old hat biopic. Truth smuth. This is a far more meaningful result.

13. The Great Beauty

Paolo Sorrentino discovered that life doesn't really have a whole lot of answers. He did so with the most majestic cinematic surrender. The Great Beauty feels useless about its inability to find truth in our existences, but it paints the most gorgeous depictions of meandering you will find. It analyzes performance art, love making, nature, and addictions, all in the name of feeling alive. Its lead subject Jep feels as though he is back to square one. We are purified; blessed by the observations that only cinema can provide. The Great Beauty is all of the beauty, and the inability to contain every last bit of it.

12. It’s Such a Beautiful Day

Many of us grew up on the incredibly viral short Rejected, I'm sure. Don Hertzfeldt became a household name for existential crises in the form of grotesque and random humour. His masterpiece was devised as three shorts that eventually got smushed together into a feature called It's Such a Beautiful Day: the final visions of a brain dying of an unknown illness. No other film has felt more like an internal battle for meaning like this one. The more that Bob loses his grip on reality, the more the funny images become nightmarish. I'd dare say that it's impossible to watch without getting teary eyed to some degree. Considering that the majority of this film was made by one person, I think its safe to crown Hertzfeldt a brilliant artist. His first feature length film is closer to the human experience than most other films by directors with more experience.

11. The Tree of Life

Regardless of how you feel about Terrence Malick's onslaught of stream-of-consciousness films released this decade, there's no denying the angelic pull of The Tree of Life and its astounding fragility. Visually groundbreaking, and the embodiment of soul searching, Tree is a spiritual journey that provides resolutions to its pondering if you are willing to search deeply enough. If not, you will still be cleansed by its cinematic holiness. If you can't look past the dinosaurs, just remember that every action going on right now stems from virtually every reaction that came before. The tree extends past your immediate family. Our conflicts have been shared for millennia.

10. A Separation

The ending credits of A Separation suffocate you. Your time runs out. Which parent will you pick? Was two hours really enough to make that choice? Well, the featured child (Termeh) is given a similar decision in this heart pounding familial tragedy by Asghar Farhadi. A film influenced by the 2009 voting crisis in Iran, A Separation involves one particular family affected by the outcome of the fraudulent election. The opening credits show passports being scanned: an introduction to the guardians we will have to decide between, and the brief reason why this marriage cannot work. A mother vows to leave Iran, and her husband feels forced to stay to take care of his ailing father. Both sides snowball into an unstoppable avalanche of bad decisions, exhaustion, and hostility. All of this stems from the fight-or-flight response to a dangerous political move.

A Separation never lets up, and it somehow gets heavier, and heavier, and heavier. Then, we are planted right in the middle of that ending scenario. A Separation never tells you which parent to pick. You have to make sense of this ambiguous finale. The worst part is, “neither parent” is not an option, and you know Termeh is stuck with a guardian that meant well but proved to be dangerous for her. A Separation is more than just a divorce tale. It is the removal of one’s heritage, one’s sanity, and one’s unconditional love, all because of a widespread corruption.

9. Anomalisa

When Charlie Kaufman set up a kickstarter account to create a film that studios would refuse to fund, that got the gears of most cinephiles turning. What exactly was he going to come out with? We got that eventual answer: the existential stop-motion puppet show Anomalisa. Kaufman leapfrogged over any budgetary restrictions with some brilliant maneuvering. There are only three voice performers: one of them (Tom Noonan) supplies chatter for every single person on Earth not named Michael (the receiver of this horrible monotony) and Lisa (his gifted angel). There are very few settings: Michael is trapped in a hotel. The lines left on the dolls are not digitally edited: their marionette-like ways only seem to pop more.

As Michael is permanently stuck in a world where everyone looks and sounds the same, we understand Kaufman’s depictions of mental illness. When Anomalisa begins to get meta (puppets animating inorganically, or even falling apart), that’s when you know Michael’s brain has reached a breaking point. It’s the transformation of Lisa that serves the final stab in the heart: evidence that a carnivorous depression will stop at destroying no one. Anomalisa is an uncomfortable recreation of how life feels when joy is sucked out of every being, but it’s an accurate representation more or less.

8. Black Swan

On first watch, Darren Aronofsky’s brilliant Black Swan is the psychological thriller of the year. So what? We have a paranoid ballerina that is sheltered by her overbearing mother, and is too much of a perfectionist to inhabit any of her techniques deep down. The world sees her as frigid, and she is as naive as it gets. Then come the super amounts of cliches: the black swan combats the white swan, and ballerina Nina Sayers grows hysterical trying to keep her psyche together. Black Swan is thrilling, that’s for sure. But, that’s not why this film is in the top ten of the decade. It’s the stranglehold it delivers when you feel compelled to revisit it, time and time again.

Suddenly, you begin to wonder how much of the film actually happened at all. Was the entire narrative a hallucination in the eyes of a smothered homebody? The parallels between Black Swan and the actual Swan Lake begin to get stronger and stronger. The film surpasses all of its obvious symbols (left in for first timers) with the sprinkling of minor details, that spin Black Swan into a freak out melodrama that only gets loopier on each visit. Black Swan is deceptively nuanced, to the point of obsessive fixation.

7. The Red Turtle

Animator Michaël Dudok de Wit was personally commissioned by Studio Ghibli to make a feature film after his short Father and Daughter took the world by storm. Years later, Dudok de Wit returned with an extra long short titled The Red Turtle. Well, it’s actually a feature, but all of its elements imply otherwise. There isn’t a word of dialogue. The story is simplistic (a castaway tries to leave an island, but is continuously stopped by the titular reptile). The soundtrack is grounded by ambient nature sounds, and an exquisite operatic score. That’s all you need. The Red Turtle can carry you away into a paradise of spirit and loss.

The emotional connection with The Red Turtle can become almost overbearing, with the marriage between music and animation reaching a soulful zenith. As it operates like a fable, the way you can implant your own experiences in the film’s tabula rasa narrative will only make The Red Turtle even more difficult to shake off. It’s the type of art piece that can evoke every feeling you have ever known at the same time, like life is rushing through you all at once. Sometimes, our biggest burdens are blessings in disguise, and our life begins anew from there on.

6. Incendies

Denis Villeneuve dominated the 2010’s, and has entered the 2020’s taking on a new franchise film with Dune (after being entrusted with Blade Runner 2049). Things are looking great for the Quebecois filmmaker. I’m not surprised, considering how heavily he established himself with the ferocious heritage tragedy Incendies to begin the era. A metaphor for the distances a mother will go, plus a statement on the rippling effects of cultural hatred, Incendies is the most harrowing film of the last ten years. The lengths Nawal goes through to survive are beyond torturous. This is a cinematic decathlon, of a character enduring as much as possible to exercise their rights to freedom.

From the vantage point of two children trying to learn more about their mother, Incendies becomes an even more daunting undertaking. We assume we know the outcome, given the present day reminiscing. We do not expect the darkest turn to occur at all, and yet it rears its ugly head so bluntly. The entire journey from before now feels even worse, but all was fought for the ability to grant a chance for a new generation to experience a better life. Incendies is the most extreme form of cultural and familial sacrifice.

5. Parasite

Bong Joon-ho has had an affinity for creating films about the suffering of working class families for the longest time. In 2019, he bested his entire filmography with Parasite: an adrenaline rush of epic proportions. In a world that feels like a despotic future (but is actually the now), the Kim family is presented the opportunity to subsume a house owned by a wealthy family. They can do so by having each Kim family member work as a separate employee within the house. Representing the inequality of the class system in a capitalist society, the Kims feel no choice but to overtake to progress.

We think we have figured out the entire film, but Parasite spins on its own head halfway through, and becomes an entirely different film. We learn that the entire opening act is nothing more than the introduction of the plot. From there on out, Parasite is deranged desperation: the incessant need to stay within the dream home. As fantasies begin to die, mortality becomes a major factor: players die in order to live fruitfully. To paraphrase an entire decade full of housing crises and financial ruin, Parasite bottles up all of this angst, and shakes it until it turns into erupting lunacy.

4. 12 Years a Slave

Having become the king of hyper-dramas very quickly, Steve McQueen was pressed to follow up Shame with the next big film. Well, 12 Years a Slave delivered in insurmountable ways. When it comes to this unfortunate time in contemporary history, no film has handled the discussion of American slavery better than this adaptation of Solomon Northup’s memoirs. With the taste of freedom presented at the start, and the obvious title being a warning, we cannot expect how dark 12 Years is going to get. When Northup changes his goal from wanting to “live” to wanting to “survive”, that’s when you know the level of despair that 12 Years is about to reveal.

Through the various slaves Northup encounters, and the owners he is bought by, we get a number of accounts of how badly these workers were treated. By the time we reach the “soap” scene, we figure we have seen it all before; we were absolutely wrong. With long takes, artistic close ups, and anxious pauses, 12 Years a Slave paints a picture of survival with each and every crucial step in full focus. The resolution is one of slight joy, and tremendous heartbreak; even the most tender moments of Northup’s life have been stripped away from him, outside of the rebirth of his legacy.

3. The Master

When it comes to mainstream filmmakers, no film was more enigmatic in the 2010’s than Paul Thomas Anderson’s craving for a character study known as The Master. Placing a perverse and shell-shocked war veteran in front of the most notorious cult of modern times (it’s not Scientology, Anderson swears!) is enough of a plot for us to get by. Anderson raises his hand, drops it, tells Freddie Quell and Lancaster Dodd to “go”, and we watch them duke it out for two and a half hours. What will win: the most damaged and impenetrable of minds, or the successful religion that has worked with lightning fast speed at converting the traumatized?

Quell gets more run down, and Dodd becomes more frustrated. The tug-of-war seems to have some sort of a standstill towards the third act, when the gloves are tossed off, and Dodd tries one last time to accept Quell as family (in a sense, that’s how he treats “The Cause”). Quell has no one for company; not even himself. At what point is any of this beneficial? Is the inauguration of a sick individual to boost the numbers of a church the actual caring of said person? Does any of this matter if it’s all for statistics, especially when Dodd doesn’t even believe his own lies? Anderson lets you figure out your own philosophical courses in The Master, and many people still don’t have an answer seven years later.

2. Moonlight

By channelling his inner Wong Kar-wai, Barry Jenkins created the American film of the decade. He aimed for a cinematic poem with biting commentary, and we received Moonlight as the final product. Divided into three chapters (named after Chiron’s nicknames and birth name), I personally see these acts as “the birth”, “the death”, and “the reincarnation” of Chiron’s identity. Jenkins tells a story of an African American child that discovers his sexuality early on, and is having to face the brunt end of a harsh neighbourhood, a neglectful mother, and the inability to be heard. We’re all hearing you now, Chiron.

Being passed around from influence to influence, we see Chiron be bettered (Juan and Teresa as unofficial guardians), and worsened (mother Paula, and student Terrel’s abuse). When Chiron has shed all of his previous characteristics as an adult — and has also been forced to follow in Juan’s footsteps due to societal disrepair — the spark of Moonlight is all gone. We are left with Chiron (now “Black”) being reminded of the past (the good and the bad) that he has fled from. With Juan reflecting on the words he lives by, Moonlight is a specific story that can be applied to many marginalized voices that have been silenced in one way or another. It’s time for all to shine.

1. Roma

Towards the end of the 2010’s, Alfonso Cuarón decided to drop his passion project of the last number of years. Roma is semi-autobiographical, with much of its sets and props coming from Cuarón’s actual childhood. He aimed to recreate the distraught found within Mexico City during the 1970s, while commenting on the state of social-politics today, by providing the perspective of the indigenous, female house keeper Cleo. Roma echoes the idea that history repeats itself, and offers the implication that history flat out doesn’t change at all, sometime. The mother of the household that Cleo cleans, Sofía, makes it a point to mention that women are abandoned and left alone. In an industry that has overused the trope of a damsel in distress, Roma insists that, perhaps, women aren’t in need of saving, but just want to be treated like people.

With the greatest mise-en-scène in years, Roma turns every single image into a breathing snapshot of an era, an area, and a zeitgeist. With the precise sound editing, Roma turns city bustling and dystopia into the soundtrack of distress. With patient shots and the ability to soak everything in, Cuarón has reinvented the cinema of attractions. We are no longer ogling at events we recognize. We bear witness to the lives we overlook, and those that are taken for granted. Cleo’s life becomes the narrative of many generations. Roma is impactful enough to dominate an entire decade, because it speaks volumes out of the elements most filmmakers would render mundane. It is the resonance of the undermined.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.

The Best 100 Films of the 2010's