Mostly one for the fans, but still offering an engaging (if almost punishingly long) profile of a pop star, Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry charts the meteoric rise and overwhelming success of its teenage subject.
The most talked about documentary of the year thus far, Framing Britney Spears gives an impassioned overview of efforts to free one of the biggest pop stars in the world from a court order that has restricted her career and personal life since 2008.
Lee Isaac Chung’s period drama Minari is one of the best films ever made about the Asian-American immigrant experience. It’s also one of the best films ever made about rural living and the seemingly never-ending chase for some to achieve “the American dream.”
A keenly detailed and emotionally charged snapshot of a young woman in free fall (both figuratively and literally), Canadian filmmaker Kazik Radwanski’s Anne at 13,000 ft. is a monumental achievement on an intimate scale.
Supernova is an achingly beautiful, progressive, tender, morally complex, and empathetic love story that takes subject matter often reserved for television-movie-of-the-week fodder and turns it into something truly special and original.
One of the best films of the year, director and co-writer Shaka King’s Judas and the Black Messiah is a fascinating, exciting, and multi-layered character study and true story that speaks volumes to the black experience in the late 1960s and early 70s.
Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel is an effortlessly bingable, yet uniquely melancholic true crime documentary saga that plays with audience expectations of the genre.
Here’s our look at the 50 Best Films of 2020 (and the first part of 2021, thanks to the extended Oscar season), a strange, but great year for movies.
Better than most other large scale disaster films out there, Greenland shifts its focus away from an abundance of speaker rumbling explosions and near misses (although there are plenty of those still to be found) and towards the feelings and reactions of the human beings experiencing them.
I honestly can’t tell if I appreciate writer-director Sam Levinson’s Malcolm & Marie or I hate it with every fibre of my being. Even more honestly, I’m in no rush to revisit something this purposefully shrill, abrasive, and combative to find out.