Top 10 Films of 2023

I didn’t intend for my Top 10 films of 2023 to revolve around a theme, but here we are. The films that stayed with me this year are ones that involved creation and destruction, and the stories we tell about both. Perhaps those themes are at the forefront of my mind because social media demands a creator economy. It’s not that people weren’t creative before, but the Internet encourages creation and recreation. This year I stepped up my work on Substack to create the kind of writing I felt was enriching both to me and my readers. I also dipped my toe into TikTok, creating short-form videos that pushed me out of my comfort zone as I talked into a camera to convey the personality I put into my writing.

So many people are creating these days, and perhaps that’s because we’re staring down the barrel of so much destruction. We know global warming is spiraling out of control faster than we can contain it. COVID reaped millions of lives, which left open wounds in people’s families and circle of friends. Even our notions of truth and democracy feel like they’re crumbling away in front of our eyes as we confront a tidal wave of information and disinformation that our brains struggle to comprehend. Stories are how we make sense of the world, and these films recognize the power of storytelling, not only as an instrument of transformation, but also of self-deception.

The movies themselves are also in a dance of creation and destruction. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that movies as we know them will cease to exist in a couple decades, or that they’ll be so transformed by various cultural and technological forces that they’ll be unrecognizable from the films of the past 100 years. And yet I always find myself turning to movies for comfort. Even disturbing movies I saw this year like Threads (1984) or Come and See (1985) help ground me in a way that creates empathy, taking me to places that I may not want to go, but still need to understand. The movies on this list comforted me, unnerved me, moved me, and helped me to embrace uncertain times that can lead us to despair but also to hope.

10.) Godzilla Minus One

Godzilla is literally a destructive force, but it was so rewarding to see writer/director Takashi Yamazaki create something fresh and thoughtful with the iconic character in Godzilla Minus One. More than simply taking Godzilla back to his atomic roots, the film recontextualizes Godzilla as a specter of war’s trauma, emphasizing what it means to live in the face of an uncaring, unstoppable creature. Audiences typically go from fearing a monster to cheering him on as he becomes an icon. What makes Godzilla Minus One unusual is how it returns Godzilla to a terrifying force of nature and succeeds as a restoration of his power. This Godzilla isn’t here to fight a worse monster, but to make us confront our fears and mortality. It was an astounding feat when he first appeared in 1954, and Godzilla Minus One makes it no less impressive today.

9.) All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt

All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt is cinematic poetry from a poet. It is a slow, patient film that’s more concerned with images than dialogue or plotting. Raven Jackson’s feature debut is about the life of a young woman growing up in rural Mississippi, but Jackson is far more concerned with the emotions a single image can contain rather than moving along a simple character arc or explaining how we got from Point A to Point B. It is a movie that feels rooted in memory and the moments that linger. Jackson will hold her camera on a character’s hands to convey a sense of longing, and eye the periphery to see what’s just out of reach. In All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt, we’re encouraged to simply feel the scene rather than anticipate what will unfold.

8.) Anatomy of a Fall

While watching Anatomy of a Fall, I was reminded of Hebrews 11:1: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Although it has the shape of a courtroom drama, Justine Triet’s movie is concerned with the limitations of objective truth, and where we have to take a leap of faith to continue existing in the world. The case of the film concerns whether or not Sandra Voyter (Sandra Hüller) pushed her husband Samuel (Samuel Theis) to his death, or whether he jumped due to depression. However, the real emotional stakes lie with their blind son, Daniel (Milo Machado Graner), who is not only literally unable to see what’s before him, but also caught in the emotional web of considering that his mother may have killed his father. While it would be nice to look at empirical data and come to a firm conclusion, Anatomy of a Fall knows that sometimes we have to create our own truths when, for a variety of reasons, we can’t make sense of the world.

7.) Oppenheimer

Of course Christopher Nolan’s most emotional film would be about a theoretical physicist. If Interstellar is about science taking us to the heavens to build our future, Oppenheimer turns inward to show science as a destructive force made by deeply flawed individuals. Anchored by Cillian Murphy’s incredible performance, Oppenheimer feels like a story about not only our times (science leading to great achievements, but scientists being ignored by short-sighted political operatives), but also about Nolan confronting his own insecurities, like his coldness and need for control. To pack all of these ideas into a film that moves like a thriller shows why Nolan is one of the best directors of his generation, and how he refuses to rest on his laurels.

6.) The Holdovers

It's a bit of a shame that this is only the second movie director Alexander Payne and actor Paul Giamatti have made together. Their sensibilities seem so well suited to each other with both men’s art harboring deep emotions under jagged exteriors. Almost 20 years after they first worked together on Sideways, we’re now gifted with a new Christmas classic in the form of The Holdovers. Payne crafts a loving 70s throwback feature, but one completely devoid of nostalgia. The characters are facing the same issues we face today—loneliness, resentment, grief—and doing so in a stratified system where the rich kids go off on holiday, and the poor kids go off to die in Vietnam. While it’s easy to look at that world and feel nothing but despair, The Holdovers champions the notion that the only way we’re going to become better is by opening up to other people. It’s not a revolutionary concept, and it doesn’t have to be. Like Giamatti’s gruff and cynical Paul Hunham, we can perform a biting wit as a means of defense, but it’s only when we let our guard down that we might be able to grow.

5.) Killers of the Flower Moon

The word “masterpiece” got tossed around a lot when Killers of the Flower Moon hit theaters, and yet I think the film will easily sit alongside Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas, and other highlights in Scorsese’s filmography as all look at the intersection of violence and the American character. I’d argue that Killers of the Flower Moon isn’t just a masterpiece for Scorsese, but also ranks among the best films about America’s history, particularly those critiquing the stories that white people like to tell themselves about their own virtues. On a macro level, it’s a movie about casual cruelty of foolish men, but the film’s beating heart is the relationship between Ernest (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Mollie (Lily Gladstone). There were a lot of movies about marriages this year, but Scorsese invited us to puzzle over the paradox of whether a man could truly love a woman whose humanity he never fully acknowledged. Ernest believes he loves Mollie, but his actions tell of a man who loved money, status, and the good graces of his uncle (Robert De Niro) more. Ernest is an idiot, but he’s also a terrific representation of the distance between the stories we tell ourselves as Americans and the uneasy truths we choose to bury. That’s why the film’s final scene hits you like a ton of bricks.

4.) Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

If 2018’s Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is a wonderfully egalitarian superhero story that takes the Spidey mythos and weaves it into a folklore where “Anyone can wear the mask,” then this year’s Across the Spider-Verse took the idea a step (or swing) further by inquiring what this particular story means if it has to be married to the same tropes over and over again. When so many superhero stories went stale this year, Across the Spider-Verse felt as fresh and vibrant as the original by questioning why this one character has to keep going through the same plot beats. How was his universe so big, but his own story so small? With little nods like a trans rights flag in Gwen Stacy’s bedroom or a Black Lives Matter button on Miles’ backpack, Across the Spider-Verse is a story about finding yourself when the world tries to limit what you can be. It’s a superhero movie where the heroes could no longer be content to save the world; they realized they needed to change it.

3.) May December

Director Todd Haynes is always going to do something daring and interesting that tests the boundaries of genre and tone. May December is deeply dark and twisted, a story of two women seeking whatever power society will give them even if it means consistently exploiting others. It’s also an incredibly funny movie that uses music cues to great effect and can’t help but note that this grasping for power, while tragic and pathetic, is also kind of hilarious. Most filmmakers can’t balance these tones, but Haynes, with his terrific cast, makes it look effortless. While other movies are eager to give out messages to their audience, May December relishes how uncomfortable it makes the viewer. It’s a movie where the closer we get to the truth, the easier we can see how these people are lying to themselves.

2.) How to Blow Up a Pipeline

What if to build a better world, we’re going to have to tear down the current one? Most movies that skirt this idea don’t fully have the courage of their convictions. They hide behind platitudes or banal satire. They’re primal screams that have no idea what to do. But Daniel Goldhaber’s How to Blow Up a Pipeline is a story about what radicalizes people to go a step further than half-measures or venting online. Goldhaber’s film never questions if his characters are going too far; the question is put to the audience about why we’re all not this busy combatting climate change. If it’s an existential question of humanity’s survival, then How to Blow Up a Pipeline is a glimpse at a future where people join the cause not because they heard the right argument, but because the apocalypse is at their doorstep. Using a cast of terrific but widely unknown actors who further draw us into the reality of the situation, the plot jumps between the goal of destroying the pipeline, and how such a disparate group came together for this endeavor in the first place. With the pacing of a taut thriller, Goldhaber’s film is inspirational without ever being mawkish. It’s the rare movie that looks straight into the eyes of despair and never blinks.

1.) Asteroid City

It is very easy to write off Wes Anderson if you don’t understand Wes Anderson. He’s so easily parodied due to his unique style that his films have the reputation of all being the same. But Asteroid City is a film that shows while Anderson isn’t shying away from his style, he still has plenty of substance, and there’s far more to him than symmetry and pastels. Like Anderson’s previous nesting doll pictures (this time the movie is the visualization of a play explored in a TV documentary), Asteroid City actively engages with the present despite being set in the past. It’s Anderson’s COVID movie, and a film that asks why we even bother with creation if all that awaits us is death and destruction.

Perhaps it would be easier if we all “got serious” about the threats facing us. Various factors, compounded by the pandemic, have us feeling more disconnected than ever, especially in the face of annihilation whether it be from nuclear weapons or climate change. Isn’t art a bit of a luxury? But as Asteroid City shows, we need stories now more than ever. We need to create in order to make sense of a world we can’t fully comprehend. And what’s more, we’re going to need to do it together. We may not all make art the same way, but through art, we can gain a greater understanding than through simple facts alone. I can tell you about the grifters who will sell you everything under the sun, but it’s much better to see Steve Carell’s motel manager and his broken vending machines. I can tell you that pain and grief are difficult to bear, but you get so much more watching Jason Schwartzman’s Augie Steenbeck burn his hand on a hot griddle and the Augie actor, Jones Hall, failing to fully understand why. In the gaping chasms of things we can’t grasp, art becomes a way of comprehending a chaotic world, and all the more necessary as we struggle to make sense of what’s happening at a lightning pace. Or, to put it another way: “You can’t wake up if you don’t fall asleep.”

Honorable Mentions

(In alphabetical order)

• Blackberry

• The Boy and the Heron

• BS High

• John Wick: Chapter 4

• The Mission

• Past Lives

• Robot Dreams

• The Starling Girl

• Talk to Me

• Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem