As with everything else, 2020 at the movies — or, to be more accurate, at home watching the movies — was a year unlike any other, and almost exclusively in the worst way imaginable. Still, for cinephiles, there was plenty of quality to pass the time, even accounting for just how much time needed to be passed. It’s time to deliver our favorite piece of the year: In Reel Deep’s Best of 2020.
This time around, we have 16 movies that were not to be missed, including four that neither of us could resist. Here they are: the finest films 2020 had to offer.
The Top Four
Bacurau
Andrew Johnson: The only thing I don’t love about Bacurau is anticipatory: it’s hard not to imagine this film being remade by a big American studio and wrecking a masterpiece in the process. The good stuff? Everything else. Bacurau has a strong, specific sense of place - it transports you to a part of Brazil you’ve probably never considered once in your life, immerses you in a particular kind of shamanism - and then plays in a surreal manner with all the circumstances surrounding this little village. There are UFOs and machetes and a bit of a Hunger Games feel. This film knows exactly where it takes place, but leaves it up to you to figure out when and sort out why it all matters. It doesn’t hold your hand, and it takes you on one of the wildest, best rides of the year.
Steve Cimino: A lot of what makes Bacurau great has been covered by Fran Hoepfner on Defector. Which is impressive, because it’s a hard movie to describe. “There’s this little town in Brazil where the matriarch dies, and then Udo Kier and some UFO-shaped drones invade, and there are a lot of Star Wars-ian wipes and dissolves and it just rules.” It really does.
It’s slow and methodical, in a good way. It’s about colonialism but also moviemaking. There are very calculated misdirections, including how it subversively flips our expectations regarding “village teams up to fight bad guys” stories. It builds to what seems like an inevitable explosion only to end with a satisfying but comparative whimper. At points, Kier seems to be doing something of a Tommy Wiseau impression.
As Hoepfner notes, it’s the 2020 movie I most wish I could’ve seen in theaters, but I’d say it’s pretty perfect no matter how you consume it.
DA 5 Bloods
AJ: If BlacKkKlansman was an exploration of the dangerous banality of white nationalist movements, then Spike Lee’s follow-up to that film, Da 5 Bloods, feels like the beginning of response on what we might do about it all. The short answer is that it is complicated. The sins of America go far beyond our borders, and they carried by all of its people - yes, even black GIs who went to Vietnam. There are a slew of great performances to enjoy - most notably Delroy Lindo’s and a truly haunting ghostly one from Chadwick Boseman - and there is a firm reminder at the end: true justice is incompatible with the kind of individualism that drowns out everything but greed and self-interest.
SC: One of two Spike movies on my top 10! And much more of what we’d normally consider a “Spike Lee movie” than the David Byrne concert film below. Da 5 Bloods features what I think is the performance of the year from Delroy Lindo — though I expect Chadwick Boseman, also excellent here in a supporting role, to snag the Oscar for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom — as a MAGA-loving vet who rounds up his buddies for a trip back to Vietnam. Spike, the king of boastful bravado, lets Lindo rant and rave like a wild man while providing grounding glimpses of the calm, reasonable man he could’ve been, before the war and the world started squeezing and wouldn’t let go.
It gets a little absurd at moments; I did not expect the ending to be a gunfight between Clark Peters and Jean Reno. But kudos to Spike for ignoring the Irishman technology at his fingertips and resisting the urge to de-age his stars. It works thematically and it’s also less distracting than seeing Isiah Whitlock’s smoothed-out face for half the movie. Like many Lee films, this isn’t the smoothest or tidiest ride, but the bumps along the way are part of the charm.
First Cow
AJ: It’s odd, though perhaps unsurprising, that two of the best Westerns of the last few years (the other here being The Revenant) have reached well beyond the American southwest and to well before the post-Civil War era. Both films put the bleakness of survival on the frontier at their center. Sheer will matters, but, as First Cow takes pains to point out, it doesn’t really amount to much if you can’t break through the isolation at some point. The beginning and end of this film are hauntingly beautiful.
SC: Another quiet gem from writer-director Kelly Reichardt, a story about the titular cow and also about friendship. Not much happens in terms of plot; new pals Cookie (John Magaro) and Lu (Orion Lee) meet in the 1820s wilderness, neither fitting in with the world around them. Stealing milk from the aforementioned cow allows them to make biscuits and sell them in the local market, which of course draws too many eyeballs and leads to serious trouble.
But it’s the sweet moments between the friends that really resonate; they’re two beyond-bit players in pioneering America who don’t get up to what we typically associate with that era: battles or adventure. Instead, we get people trying to survive in a world where nothing was easy and life comes and goes with surprising swiftness. The things we take for granted now — easy-to-access dairy products, the (relative) freedom to pursue your dreams — were not an option then, and I love Reichart for focusing on those serious challenges without being grandiose. Some would call it boring; I’d call it brilliant.
Mank
AJ: I’m not sure I know what David Fincher was playing at here exactly. He was playing at a number of different things. I’m also not sure this film is for anyone who isn’t already in (reel) deep on classic cinema and the business of moviemaking. I am 100 percent certain I don’t care. Mank feels like it was made for people like me - people who could marinate in Charles Dance and Amanda Seyfried and Gary Oldman bringing mid-century San Simeon to life. I didn’t want it to end even if what Fincher was trying to say was muddled as one of Mank’s many, many cocktails.
SC: As my colleague Andrew Johnson noted on Letterboxd, Mank may be too “inside baseball” for many people. It certainly covers the genesis of Citizen Kane in great detail, something that may not appeal to the masses.
But as I noted on this very website, I think Mank is about more than that. I couldn’t help thinking about Herman Mankiewicz’s attempts to integrate into and then push back against William Randolph Hearst’s empire as indicative of today’s corporation-fueled media landscape and those of us who tweet, post, and rail against enabling coverage of despots like Donald Trump. It’s good to speak your truth; it also doesn’t usually mean a thing. Words are just that; they aren’t action.
Gary Oldman’s Mank is happy to back Upton Sinclair for governor and couch his beliefs in witty rejoinders, but most of it goes nowhere. Until, of course, he writes Citizen Kane, a masterpiece that skewers Hearst and holds up today as a testament against power-hungry titans. He had his shot, and he took it. We should all be so lucky.
The Best of the Rest
American Utopia
SC: Stop Making Sense is still the greatest concert film of all time, but it finally has some non-Last Waltz competition. I saw David Byrne perform this show in Los Angeles in Aug. 2018 — remember live music? — and it was a masterpiece. Spike Lee’s filmed version is just as brilliant. Byrne’s energy and the smooth, seamless choreography will make you smile for two-plus hours, as will the beloved Talking Heads songs interwoven with some solid choices from the frontman’s latest solo album.
Lee primarily makes his presence felt during the performance of Janelle Monae’s "Hell You Talmbout," a song that lists the many names — and photos — of Black people who were killed by the police. But Byrne has assembled a multicultural band that feels right at home in a Lee joint, and Spike keeps the camera moving enough to remind you that this is mostly an exuberant affair. Watching this film isn’t as remarkable as seeing the show live, but given the current state of the world and the need for a little happiness, it’s more than good enough.
Another Round
SC: Upon first glance, this feels like a light watch: four friends decide to stay slightly drunk at all times, to “maximize their potential.” Or, to cope with crippling midlife crises. What happens is exactly what you’d expect, moments of glory interspersed with the crushing results of becoming eager alcoholics. Underneath it all, writer-director Thomas Vinterberg and star Mads Mikkelsen tap into an age-old story of losing appreciation for what you have, with a fitting (and earned) redemptive climax.
There’s a sweetness in the forgiveness ladled out throughout this movie; nobody’s perfect, and nobody expects them to be. The best part about Mikkelsen’s Martin is that we know Mads is a big, handsome, charismatic man; we want him to feel happiness, but he broods so seriously and deeply that his malaise becomes inescapable. Then, when Vinterberg finally lets that malaise dissipate, it’s as joyous as you’d imagine. This isn’t a sprawling epic, but it’s as good a character study as you’ll find this year.
The Assistant
SC: It’s easy — and accurate enough — to label this “the Harvey Weinstein movie.” That’s to your benefit as a viewer, as there’s value in watching it not knowing what to expect. The perspective crafted by writer-director Kitty Green grants us access not to the ghastly assaults themselves but to the ease with which they’re enabled. Some people cower in fear; others quietly cover things up to help their careers. Still others know exactly what’s going on and do not care. Through the eyes of titular assistant Jane (Julia Garner), we see all of the above in intimate detail.
Green leads us down this path of both passive and active disinterest, letting the revulsion build as we see ignorance continuing to be bliss. There’s barely an ending, let alone a happy one, unless you count the real-life arrests of several Hollywood monsters. But even that took decades and left countless victims in its wake. We’re left unsatisfied and even depressed, very much on purpose; it’s how a story like this one must be told.
Boys State
AJ: Given what we’ve all witnessed over the last four years, Boys State feels urgent. How did we get to this point and how can we ever break free of the acute, specific political misery that plagues us here in the United States? This documentary - about a five-day mock representative government put together by teenage boys in Texas - offers some clear, but speculative answers, at least to the first question. At best, there is guarded optimism on the second. All that said, to focus on the events captured on film over five days here and relate them only to the last four years is to miss a more searing and timeless message: politics, put in the wrong hands, debases us all, and it’s especially bad when the representative government doesn’t represent the body politic. This didn’t make me feel optimistic, but it does offer flashes of hope to which you can cling. This in turn does make it a perfect film for the moment, even if it has something to say well beyond it.
Hamilton
AJ: Maybe this shouldn’t be eligible for the list. Maybe I’m “Helpless” to resist. Maybe this was one of the most thrilling film experiences I had all year. Disney+ put this on their service the week of July 4th, and in so doing delivered a little bit of optimism - the smallest bit of hope in the bleakest year of my life. Don’t give up on America just yet - not if people of color can tell the story of the Founding Fathers to a string of addictive, innovative tunes on Broadway.
Lovers Rock / Mangrove
SC: First off, Steve McQueen’s Small Axe is a series of feature films. I will not bring that to the floor for debate.
The best two are Lovers Rock and Mangrove. They’re extremely different; Lovers Rock is 68 minutes long and essentially depicts a London house party. It’s about little joys, the freeing power of music, toxic masculinity, and the opportunity to shake off oppression for a few short hours. Mangrove is a courtroom drama that puts The Trial of the Chicago 7 to shame, striving for a feeling of accuracy while deeply tapping into the drama of being Black and on trial for your life against an unwavering system.
They’re both part of McQueen’s attempt to document the lives of West Indian immigrants in London over several decades, and they’re imbued with the patience and simmering emotion that we’ve come to expect from the Academy Award-winning director. Shaun Parkes, in particular, is an absolute force as Mangrove protagonist Frank Crichlow. He understands the abusive forces that reign over him and tries to stay out of their way, but the desire to resist becomes a necessity when his restaurant becomes ground zero for their oppression.
The rest of the film is Crichlow and his neighbors rallying against their tormentors, surviving through sheer guile, legal prowess, and the unbending knowledge that they are in the right. They were, and they are, and McQueen’s intimate depiction of their struggle to prove it is a fitting tribute.
Oh, and the “Silly Games” scene in Lovers Rock is 2020’s best.
My Octopus Teacher
AJ: Moments of true peace have been hard to come by over the past year. Here is one that marinates in them - one that shows the way back to them. Find your kelp forest. Find your octopus. Smile with a bit of melancholy and bask in the knowledge that true, unlikely connections are what get us all through.
Palm Springs
AJ: Groundhog Day is a perfect film, but Palm Springs, which sounds at first like a wholesale ripoff of a classic, also, has something to say about love and companionship and what really matters in the world. This film is funniest in the first 30 minutes as you loop with Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti. It finds a more poignant gear, though, as the bond between the pair grows and they wrestle with how to break free from their existential predicament. It is sweet and wistful - perhaps never more so than when Samberg and J.K. Simmons (the only other person caught in the loop) sit in Simmons' backyard and have a man-to-man about what they have lost and gained in their time loop. That this all comes after Simmons bow hunts Samberg in the film's opening sequences makes it all the more poignant. I am here for all the Simmons' bow hunting I can get, but Palm Springs offers so, so much more.
Soul
AJ: With the possible exception of Coco, this is the best Pixar film of the past decade or so. It uses the boundlessness of animation as a medium - traditionally something oriented toward children - to explore big adult questions about existentialism and purpose. Soul is a visual stunner that lives up to the very best of Walt Disney, who famously bristled at the idea that the way he made his films meant they were just for people below a certain age.
Sound of Metal
SC: I started this movie about a heavy metal drummer who goes deaf assuming it would feature excellent sound design. I didn’t realize how much work writer-director Darius Marder and sound designer Nicolas Becker would put into building to that silence. As Ruben (Riz Ahmed) clings to hope and the bits of hearing he has left, the audience becomes isolated along with him, losing our link to the most underrated sense in the movie-watching experience. You don’t realize how important sound is until it’s taken away.
You know the implants Ruben wants won’t really work. You know his hearing will never come back, yet you want to believe because he does. And when he finally embraces the silence, the logical end moment that we all knew was coming feels truly earned. More than anything, and better than maybe any other movie I’ve ever seen, Sound of Metal captures the frustration of not being able to will your life in the direction you’re certain it should go.
Also, Paul Raci for Best Supporting Actor.
The Way Back
AJ: Put this story in the wrong hands and you get a disastrous film - one that is filled with tropes and moralizing and, likely, the wrong ending. Here, then, is a tribute to a formulaic story in the right hands, those of director Gavin O’Connor and a mid-career Ben Affleck who has something quite different to offer than a decade or two ago. There’s grief and optimism and a one-step-forward-two-steps-back thing going on that makes The Way Back a rewarding experience, well beyond a broken person neatly putting his life back together thanks to a plucky high school basketball team.