The Best Films of 2021 (by Andreas Babiolakis)
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Well, 2021 has wrapped up, and we haven’t really arrived at a new place in the film industry, unfortunately. The pandemic continues to control everything. Tensions are at an all time high. Everything is out of our hands. Fortunately, the power of art is that it can sympathize (or even empathize) with us all, and either prove to be our escapes from the horrors of our lives, or vessels that help us feel identified and not alone. I was hoping this time last year that we would have moved on to greener pastures, and I can only hope for the same right now. Nonetheless, all I can do is report my findings of another scattershot year, and before you I have laid out ten exemplary works. These following features are ones that moved me, resonated with me, rejuvenated me, or challenged me. They either found the sweet spot of invigorating storytelling, or they went somewhere new to push audiences outside of their comfort zones; either way, these films knew exactly how to command us. During these tired, awful times, we have some instances of refreshing cinema. Here are my picks for the ten best films of 2021.
10. The Souvenir Part II
Joanna Hogg’s first Souvenir film went under the radar of many (well, admittedly, it somehow went under mine) back in 2019, and yet some critics that were on their A-game were championing the feature as the indie gem that it was. Well, you’d better believe that I wasn’t letting The Souvenir Part II slide by me, and this followup film is somehow even better. If Part I dealt with trauma and domestic qualms in Hogg’s own pure way, then Part II was the meta afterthought of how our deepest moments of despair can translate into art; it goes the extra mile by adding the academic deconstruction of one’s work, as if the presumptions of another can really identify with the personal connection one has with their work. The Souvenir Part II has Hogg’s keen eye all over it, right until the very last shot: a reminder that we have borne witness to her greatest project (this time outside of film school) she ever crafted.
9. Spencer
Somehow Pablo Larraín’s Spencer claimed more innocent-movie-goer casualties than his previous opus Jackie, perhaps because of the former film’s attachment to one Lady Diana. What many viewers weren’t prepared for was how deep into Diana Spencer’s soul Larraín was willing to go, with an abstract amalgamation of all of the late princesses’ deepest fears, memories, and fixations representing a highlight sequence of 2021 (a psychological detour of sorts). Otherwise, Spencer tries to humanize the pop culture icon, whose legacy was tarnished by tabloid headlines and judgmental gazes. Here, we connect with her love of fast food, her hatred of being scrutinized, and her joys of being a mother (the only solace in her life). While Larraín created a fictitious fable out of a real person’s devastations, he somehow managed to present Princess Diana as a real person more than any work before Spencer.
8. Quo Vadis, Aida?
Right at the tail end of 2020 came a Bosnian film that was included in the Best International Feature Film category at the Academy Awards: Quo Vadis, Aida?. It’s the kind of work that would often times be lumped in the category of “we saw this film too late, so let’s just call it a work of last year that we didn’t get around to”. Not this time. Considering that Quo Vadis, Aida? saw a wide release in 2021, enough people are calling it a work of this year, and I’d like to as well particularly because of how memorable it is. In this lost-in-translation thriller, we find out about war crimes being conducted (and schemed) in nearly real time, and see the quick thinking needed to try and protect loved ones from the terrors they don’t even know of yet. You can see the slowly gestating legacy that Quo Vadis, Aida? has already, considering that it survived the usual cool downs of the end of an award season. I guarantee that it will continue to haunt and shock audiences for years to come.
7. Passing
So many passion projects by performers-turned-directors miss the mark, because these aspiring filmmakers are trying their best to transition to a new medium and view their former craft in a whole new way. Then, there’s Rebecca Hall, who was clearly born to make motion pictures. She’s been wanting to tell the story of Nella Larsen’s Passing for quite some time now, and it is this ambition that shines on screen in this 1920’s race drama. Enough of the brief runtime here is devoted to two estranged friends seeing each other for the first time in decades and catching up, with one girl having gotten by through the act as passing for Caucasian (as to avoid the racism she faced because of her Black skin). We see the result of one life having to conform, and another acknowledging her peer. This transforms into a question of personal identities, relationships, and other discussions, before boiling over into a damning climax driven by hate. I know Hall made Passing to tell this particular story, but I sure hope she continues to make films.
6. Titane
After Raw, Julia Ducournau strived to create the next best body horror film in an era where we have never been so conscious of our own vessels. There’s a big reason why her latest film, Titane, bowled over the Cannes Film Festival: it is an unforgettable, visceral onslaught of the human experience shown in a mightily blunt way. Unpolished and uncompromising, Titane takes a look at various contemporary discussions — mainly the fetishization of the female body, and the new territories of transitioning — and grants us frightening versions that are impossible to ignore. By its bittersweet end, Titane is like staring at a living myth with a harrowing embodiment at near-biblical proportions; it’s as exquisite as it is disturbing.
5. The Power of the Dog
Jane Campion may win her much deserved Best Director Oscar this year for The Power of the Dog: a much more spiritual film from the legendary filmmaker. I believe that there’s something about the passive nature of this latest period piece epic that implanted itself within the minds of audiences for long afterward. Could it be the long stretches of time in 1920’s America where feelings can fester that we haven’t been accustomed to in decades? Maybe it’s the golden sheen on top of the many hearts that are marinating on loss, jealousy, and forbidden love. The Power of the Dog is much less literary than your typical Campion film, but it’s a sign that the auteur is capable of adapting to any story in her own way. This is a much more meditative work by her, but it will still carry its titular size with pure ease.
4. Drive My Car
I’ve heard a few theatre goers leaving Drive My Car describe Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s opus the same way: that it takes a while to get going (I couldn’t disagree more, as I think this film warrants the linear progression, like life and its many moments are various destinations on this endless ride). We can all agree on one thing: you’ll never want Drive My Car to end after its sublime final hour. Hamaguchi takes the spaces in between us all as a comfortable peace that can console us all. He similarly provides the hidden sides of his various hurting characters as vulnerable mementos that we can all find ourselves within. All of this vanishes as the film concludes, but the movement and the warmth remain. For a film that’s three hours, Drive My Car manages to feel like an escape more than a wallow, and it may be your next cinematic hideaway to feel seen from here on out.
3. Licorice Pizza
Paul Thomas Anderson usually gets the best out of his performers when getting them to act against type. Well, it was about time the American filmmaker went against his own conventions. Enter Licorice Pizza: a coming-of-age series of vignettes that capture the absurdities of maturation, and the realization that adults are even more buffoonish than the children and teenagers we are wished to separate ourselves from during our adolescences. Licorice Pizza feels disconnected and aimless, much like life itself (the show must go on), until we arrive at the final realization that life is what we make of it, and the people within it may very well suck (even the ones we love the most). It’s a bit of a fickle way to look at adoration, but it’s a real one, and a raw acceptance that will fuel the young dreamers of our time (or of any era) for the rest of their lives.
2. Parallel Mothers
Pain and Glory felt like a final hurrah for Pedro Almodóvar, and a great way to send off his career and wherever it would go next; he’s been at it for nearly four decades now, where else can he trek to? Well, Parallel Mothers is one massive announcement if I’ve ever seen it: Pedro Almodóvar never went anywhere. As good as he’s ever been, this latest dramedy sees two mothers of differing generations experiencing the miracle of childbirth at the same time. Of course, it’s only common for Almodóvar to come up with a creative idea and then shatter it in his own mysterious, postmodern ways. Parallel Mothers dips into near-thriller territory as it deals with deception and the oddities of heritage and legacy. It feels weird to say since the cinematic medium is over one hundred years old, but Almodóvar has presented us with a film that has given us one new way to observe mothers, daughters, sisters, lovers, and all of the important women in our life (once again).
1. The Tragedy of Macbeth
It feels a bit strange to have this film here. On one hand, it’s an adaptation of a Shakespearean classic that has been reworked to death. Then, there’s the acceptance that Joel Coen is working alone, and we’re not sure if we will ever see the brothers operating in tandem ever again (so honouring a solo work almost feels like a desecration of cinema’s finest duo). Then again, it feels so right. The Tragedy of Macbeth is an onslaught of shots, sounds, and personal hysteria, shot in a square ratio (as to allow for confinement) and with extremely scrutinizing black-and-white, hyper-detailed photography. We feel as present on this soundstage as we do in Lord Macbeth’s head. It’s the kind of cinematic artwork that is impossible to deny, but Coen also managed to inject all of Shakespeare’s deeply unsettling storytelling (of usurping hierarchies and the downfalls of the corrupted) into each and every shot. As symbolic as it is straightforward, The Tragedy of Macbeth is a constant stream of anguish and madness that combusts on a final shot that will have you feeling like you, too, are going insane. We do live in weird times, so maybe it makes perfect sense that an umpteenth adaptation told by an auteur trying his hand at something new is the greatest cinematic achievement of the year. Well, this is very well the case. The Tragedy of Macbeth is the greatest film of 2021, especially because it is a little too fitting whilst being an aesthetic escape for the ages.
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.