10 Best 2024 Movies on Amazon Prime to Watch

The first things that grab your attention in Nickel Boys are its beauty and technicality. Director RaMell Ross, a large-format photographer, ensures every frame relays something deep, intimate, and moving. Then there’s how he takes these shots: we see things unfold through the POV of Elwood and Turner, students at an abusive reform school in Tallahassee, Florida. The year is 1962, and even though the civil rights movement inspires Elwood and his peers to stand up for themselves, the political climate is as skewed and violent as ever. Nickel Boys tells the unfortunately common story of how Black men, in particular, had to endure unimaginable abuse during the Jim Crow era in the South. What is uncommon, though, is the sensitivity and boundless inventiveness with which Ross tells this story. Yes, violence is unavoidable in a story like this, but Ross swaps trauma porn with something more effective and chilling—a mixture of silence, archival photographs, time jumps, and that immersive POV, which forces you to be in Elwood and Turner’s shoes. The world before them may be brutal, but inside, they hold space for beauty, fun, relationships, and wonder, manifested in the film in dreamy visual sequences. What Ross does is art in the highest form, an unforgettable balance between style and substance.

My Old Ass has a very simple premise, one it doesn’t even take the effort of explaining. For whatever reason, 18-year-old Elliot meets her 39-year-old self, and they talk at length about life. Naturally, older Elliot gives her younger self some advice to improve her life. But she also gives her a grave warning: under no circumstances must she be with a man named Chad. The film then follows younger Elliot as she tries to heed her advice and learn a lot about life in the process. Now, on paper, that may sound like sentimental schmaltz, but the two actresses playing Elliot—Stella and Plaza—are what make the film so grounded and enjoyable. Stella is bursting with life and energetic humor, while Plaza delivers her signature stoic wit. That’s not to say she’s lifeless though. By the time the climax rolls in, you’ll be struggling to keep the tears in.

Only a few people in Dita’s house are related by blood, but you wouldn’t know that by how they move. They’re tight-knit but argumentative, loving at times but spiteful in other instances. In other words, they’re complicated just like any other family. Housekeeping for Beginners makes a compelling case for the validity—and at times necessity—of found families like Dita’s, who all found each other after being shunned by their race and sexuality. As in his previous works, Director Goran Stolevski paints a realistic and relevant portrait here, one tinted with striking pain and poignancy, bound to leave your heart aching long after the credits roll.

Who would’ve thought a wordless, black-and-white, slapstick comedy would still be hugely entertaining in this day and age? Hundreds of Beavers is created in the same spirit as the Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton comedies of yore, but it’s a tribute that manages to feel fresh, exciting, and unpredictable. The premise is simple: a man tries to survive the wilderness in the dead of winter by coming up with new ways to catch game. But the execution is wildly creative and nostalgic. You’ll feel like a kid again watching Saturday cartoons, in the best possible way.

Celebrities are often described as being “vulnerable” in documentaries, but it’s never been more fitting in this case. Here, Celine Dion opens up about her near-paralyzing illness, which affects her vocal cords and muscles and consequently prohibits her from performing on stage. We see clips of the star having spasms and breakdowns as she tries and fails and tries again to get her voice back. More than just a simple biography of what Dion has achieved, which we already know is massive, the film is largely about the doubt that creeps in and threatens to rock your sense of self, and the strength of the human spirit to persevere despite all that. The film is bracingly, unflinchingly raw, but it’s never exploitative, thanks partly to director Irene Taylor’s gentle direction and to Dion’s unwavering resilience.

In case you didn’t know, Speak No Evil is based on a Danish film of the same name, released only two years ago. Given that the latter was already a hit among horror fans thanks to its unrelentingly bleak approach, it’s tempting to chalk this remake up to narcissism. As was the case with the movies Otto and Let Me In, maybe Americans just wanted something of their own. While that may be true, it has to be said that this remake, in a word, is good. It’s thrilling and terrifying in its own right, and it adds enough new elements to keep you on your toes. Apart from the new twists, the characters are also more utilized and the social commentary on class and masculinity feels more pointed. Through these additions, among others, it’s able to imagine an alternative storyline that will speak to a lot of audiences.

Frida Kahlo is an iconic Mexican painter, not just because of her outstanding art, but also because of her outlook in life, despite her ill health and tragic accident. Because of this, she has been talked about in multiple books, movies, and exhibitions, but a new documentary has popped up, this time from her own words. Carla Gutierrez’s directorial debut is a revelation, voiced primarily in Frida’s native Spanish and paired with key archival footage, vivid animations of her paintings, and an excellent acoustic score plucked from classical guitar. Being a biographical documentary, fans of the artist would, of course, be familiar with her life events, but Gutierrez’s approach is still worth watching, mostly because it’s Frida’s own words driving the film.

It’s always refreshing to see people in esteemed positions let their guard down, not to mention smoke a vape or gossip feverishly, as we mere mortals do. But Conclave is more than just a candid look at what goes down in a process as elaborate as a papal election. It’s a portrait of man’s innate thirst for power. And since it has more to do with humanity than divinity, it’s also rightfully silly. Cardinals are scrambling for votes and fighting over politics. They can be peaceful and reasonable, but they can also be petty and spiteful, just like any person pressured to vote for their future (or just like any person, period). Conclave is far from perfect—its intentions are murky at times and the visuals, though beautiful, are oddly sparse—but it works because no one in the film, not even the protagonist, is infallible. It’s a welcome reminder of our limitations, regardless of faith.

Snack Shack is the quintessential summer movie. It’s sun-soaked and full of mirth as it follows two rowdy boys fighting off bullies and scheming their way to profit, one ingenious scam at a time. But it’s also a tender coming-of-age film, one filled with realistic friendships and painfully awkward romantic encounters. In both instances, Snack Shack doesn’t reinvent the wheel—in fact it’s formulaic almost to a fault. But it’s saved by endearing performances and an effectively nostalgic backdrop. Many times, it feels like any John Hughes movie by way of Superbad. But for the most part, it’s its own distinctive, chlorine-tinged, popsicle-sweet thing.

Often deemed as South Asian John Wick, Monkey Man, of course, has plenty of the stylish action that’s been captivating today’s filmmakers and audiences alike. Dev Patel, now writing and directing alongside leading the film, created a crazy combination of action sequences that mess around with perspective, that’s fuelled by insane choreography, and that take the best from the action thriller greats, but it also mixes in such unique ways, with his one man crusade expanding into an unforgettable folklore-inspired counter campaign against a corrupt, nationalist administration. It’s not a perfect film, but Monkey Man is such a bold debut that marks Patel as a director to watch.