Is it Kenough to say that if you're curious where I am, mentally and emotionally, you can catch me openly weeping at the ninja turtle movie?
Long-time readers and eagle-eyed fans will notice that I've been starting every one of these for a few years alluding to some kind of general malaise, either covid-caused or connected to life, the movies, and everything. And every year I hope and/or promise that this will be the year wherein that malaise will have been replaced with something big and new in my life. Well, dear reader, I regret to inform you that the ill-formed and hovering aforementioned malaise continues to malaise all over me, and I find myself largely in the same place as last year. Rejoice!
That same stage of in-the-middle wobbliness that I can't quite seem to shake from the general scaffolding of my life has been compounded by what has probably been my most movie-isolated year since, like, middle school, maybe? Since the start of 2023, I (deep breath) 1) injured myself in a way that kept me from going to movie theaters for a couple months, 2) sold my car and moved to a little town two or more hours from a good theater--and one that frequently experiences the kind of weather that keeps you from traveling at all, 3) took a summer job at an even smaller and more remote location where going to the movies at all was entirely impossible, and 4) had computer issues for the past month or two that I haven't had the funds or wherewithal to resolve which have more or less kept me off the internet for longer than five minute bursts, which has made catching up on movies online frustrating at best and impossible at worst (heck, even writing and publishing this is gonna be a whole-ass effort).
And where does all that leave us? I can't speak to how my minor inconveniences have affected your life (gravely, I'm sure), but it leaves me with a pretty paltry 74 movies from the 2023 calendar year and a slightly less than standard level of enthusiasm for writing these annual text-and-movie-marathons (as evidenced by my leaving things to the last possible second before the Oscars). Probably also not a boon to my productivity or enthusiasm that I'm pretty off-consensus this year. I keep reading that 2023 produced a real bumper crop of stellar movies, one of the best Best Picture lineups in Academy history, etc. There's a lot of passion out there for 2023 releases. And I'm sure it doesn't help that I just didn't see very many, but I can't say I find myself in the same boat--hell, I am not sure if I can scrape together unmitigated passion for every movie in my top 20 (a number that is itself maybe silly to do when you've only seen 74 movies, but silliness is both my nature and my profession, and nothing will stop me).
So all of that is to say that I am gonna be re-embracing my streamlined format from last year. While last year I at least had the solid-enough excuse that typing was hard because my fingers weren't totally working yet (a choice quote from that intro: "it doesn't even hurt to do a thumbs up anymore!"), this year my (poor) excuse is that I'll streamline because I want to, and hope/promise/assume that next year will be a return to wild-eyed and glorious form. In practice, this means shorter blurbs and more pictures (which, honestly, is probably better for us all to begin with?). It also means that I'm going to just reproduce my letterboxd review for this list, if I have one and it says what I want it to say. This is a major bummer for all of you who spend time on letterboxd (and a still a minor bummer for all those who read and respect the English language), but I'll use it instead as my yearly advertisement to come join the rest of us monsters on letterboxd, aka the only good social media site left on the internet. It's just movies and pictures and bad jokes! And really, if you enjoy reading these posts (and god help you if you do, but you may be lurking out there), then know that you could read me doing this sort of thing year-round and in a much more deranged way than on here. So find me here if that's the sort of thing that interests you!
So here's the deal: 74 movies seen (feel free to ask me what I have and haven't seen, if you're curious!), the 20 best movies of the year, the 5 worst ones, the 10 best scenes of the year, and a truly punishing number of words, bad jokes, feelings, and typos between now and the end. What's not to like? I'm excited--and I'm sure you're either excited or glancing nervously at your clock--so let's jump into it!
Honorable mentions: though they didn't make my top 20, I'm still grateful for the astounding visuals and energy of Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, the museum-glass dreaminess of Priscilla, and wondrous stupidity of Theater Camp.
(on Amazon Prime, rentable)
19. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (dir. Jeff Rowe)
Look, I told you in the first sentence that this movie made me tear up--what did you expect? Absolutely thrilled that the dominance of the Spider-Verse is inspiring a rush of lookalikes and hoping that still feel like their own thing. 2023 was absolutely the year of movies that had no business being good (or existing at all) that turned out spectacular. Silly, fun, gleefully gross, with real chemistry between the four leads (helped by the fact that they actually hired teenagers to be the leads in a movie with 'teenage' in its title) and a strong enough emotional core to make me wipe dainty tears into my pillow.
(on Amazon Prime, Paramount+, rentable)
(not currently available online)
I love how committed Kelly Reichardt is to showing how no one is always wonderful, neither in their best nor worst moments, in a medium that tends to make suffering look noble and joy look easy, and I love how committed she is to staging smallness without trying to make it Something Bigger. This is a minor film in the most complimentary sense--a few days pass, some very small lessons are learned (but maybe not applied), and then there's nothing to do but put your hands in your pockets or see if your hot water works.
16. Rotting in the Sun (dir. Sebastián Silva)
God, the giddy absurdity and walls-caving-in horror of almost drowning an then waking up to a forest of disinterested dicks while Jordan Firstman pitches you his show about Instagram without even pausing to cough up the seawater in his lungs. Bits of Psycho plus Apocalypse Now plus the kind of hell that Mike Huckabee fantasizes about and the kind of queer hedonia that social media promises us all rolled in to one, and all for the wrong (or right) reasons.
(on Mubi, rentable)
(source)15. The Eight Mountains (dir. Felix van Groeningen, Charlotte Vandermeersch)
There are so many people, places, and things to love that it's sometimes easier to opt out of loving any of them at all--and who's to say if that's better or worse than loving too many of them at once, or too much. Maybe it's simpler to embrace things only in the past tense, like writing a novel, as though the only way to hold onto the things that want to disappear is to make sure that they do.
Really lovely movie, full of sections so gentle and grand that they ache. Sent me scurrying to Youtube as soon as it was over to look up Daniel Norgren's whole discography.
(on Criterion, rentable)
Kaurismäki movies are like if Bresson were a sarcastic little shit who spent a *lot* of time in front of a wall of paint swatches, dreaming about the possibilities, and this one's no exception. Funny in a brutal way (or brutal in a funny way?), a one-dry and transient attempt at romance in the proverbial desert, like watching plants grown in the cracks of the sidewalk outside a karaoke bar.
(on Mubi, rentable)
(in theaters, rentable)
(rentable)
(on Amazon Prime)
Surprised by how taken and moved I was by this small-scale spin on what it feels like to have the world breathing down your neck. I'm frequently not a fan of Shyamalan's deeply weird and arch dialogue--written and delivered like aliens above need to both understand it and be able to hear it from where they are--but sometimes, when paired with his increasingly (and aggressively) out there camera placement and image creating, it coalesces into a kind of dreamy sub-reality with its own quiet logic, and I can't help but give in. It doesn't all work, but it all works anyway, and the ending scene feels exactly right.
So thoughtful, deliberately paced and emotionally balanced, with time to spare to try and meet every character where they live. Rachel McAdams luminous, obviously. This was an especially wonderful film to see with my mom, who kept leaning over throughout the movie to tell me about the dresses she had that looked like Margaret's, or the ways her junior high was just the same, or the parts that made her remember her own childhood. Absolutely stellar 4D experience for an absolutely stellar (and overlooked) movie.
A real bag of hammers kind of movie--quiet, brutal, and tough to pick up and run with but you're going to try to do it more than once. And it's certainly a bag of hammers that rewards on rewatch, facets and faces folding and re-folding to fit whatever concept of you reality you decide to adopt this time around. A long and lonely trek to an end where the only thing to do, as the characters say, is to make up your mind and then go home. Fantastic work on all counts, plus the added semiannual bonus of getting to rubberneck at the French judicial system.
(on HBO Max, rentable)
The kind of movie that made me wish I'd written it, a big jumble of nonsense opacities pointed upwards so you can try to look at something impossible without burning it into your eyes forever. The sudden chaos near the end, followed by a balcony scene that cuts through all the garbage without ever saying anything at all is a quiet stunner. Bless Wes Anderson for putting things like the the unfinished on-ramp into this movie and then never mentioning them again.
(on Netflix)
Spoilers for Asteroid City, I guess? Though I'm not sure I know what spoiling this movie would even look like. A moment of fourth wall-breaking introspection becomes a seemingly throwaway conversation between the main character and someone we've never met, and it somehow ties the whole movie together while also making us all teary-eyed at dialogue that mostly isn't important to hear.
Probably the best representation of becoming friends over the phone that I've ever seen in a movie, the way someone goes from a string of words on a screen to someone that shares space in your life. (Also, I really need to rewatch this movie, because I didn't have every second of it memorized like I did in August, what is the world coming to)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmbQmQ17X3E