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.

Beautiful in its painterly compositions and gut-wrenching in its storytelling, The Wild Robot has been dubbed one of the best animated features in a while, and rightly so. The film, which is a bit like if Tarzan were a robot, or if Stitch had to assimilate in the wild instead of the city, is a classic tale of an outsider learning to love and be accepted by her community. It’s about many other things, too, like the violence of nature, the supreme power of kindness, and the complexities of parenthood (it’s deeply humanistic for a film that features almost no humans at all). But for all the themes it tackles and the colorful multitude of characters it covers, it feels incredibly light and easy to watch. Perhaps that’s due to its hand-drawn aesthetics, which recall Studio Ghibli films more than anything, and to the voices who bring the characters to life, most notably that of Lupita Nyong’o, who gives the robot Roz so much warmth and depth despite her electronic limitations. All these and more make Wild Robot a must-watch, if not an instant classic.

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.

Demonstrating that a great stand-up routine should always stem from strong writing first and foremost, Brian Simpson makes common subjects for ridicule feel fresh again—just through how clever his writing is. Simpson seems to position himself from the same place where more controversial comedians punch down at women and at queerness. But he manages to push against expectations by keeping his focus on those who normally don’t get the brunt of the criticism, or by drawing us toward broader cultural problems that make people act the way that they do. None of this is all that novel, of course, and Simpson does end up dwelling on certain subjects for too long. But every line he speaks feels considered and is deployed with the perfect matter-of-factness, keeping the laughs consistent without ever complaining or intentionally trying to provoke.

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.

For the longest time, land was where people formed strength in community, where people were born, lived, died, and was buried in, but it was also how empires grew in power, often at the expense of the people that came before. Exhuma is centered in a haunted burial site of a Korean family that migrated due to the war, but as the shamans try to unearth the casket, they also uncover the psychospiritual ways in which Japan colonized Korea– haunting the land with their own ghosts, dividing its people through belief, and leaving deep scars that hasn’t yet been fully recovered from. While the double exorcism situation can be a tad confusing, Exhuma nonetheless elevates this folk horror drama with their respect and attention to detail for Korean shamanism.

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.

On September 5, 1972, at the Summer Olympics in Munich, Germany, Palestinian terrorists held members of the Israeli Olympic team hostage in exchange for imprisoned countrymen. The ABC Sports team, led by Roone Arledge (Peter Sarsgaard) and Geoffrey Mason (John Magaro), despite their lack of preparation, decided to fully pivot from covering sports to news. The coverage itself was historic—it was the first time a terrorist attack had been broadcast live—and so the film follows the producers, crewmen, and journalists’ efforts in relaying the news. It’s taut, thrilling, and impressively technical. We get to see the ingenuity of the team, the ethical dilemma behind their journalistic choices, and the real consequences of those choices. Like last year’s Civil War, September 5 highlights that uneasy feeling that arises from chasing the story no matter what which, like it or not, effectively dehumanizes conflict and people into mere ratings and numbers. The mistake September 5 makes, however, is that insists on being apolitical even though that avoidance is itself a statement. There are points in the film where, despite loudly declaring they’re only here to cover the news, the characters contradict themselves by favoring one side over the other (this being a big studio film, I suppose you can already tell which side that is). It could use a bit more courage and nuance, but as it stands, September 5, along with films like Civil War, She Said, and Spotlight, is a worthy journalism procedural.

Giannis Antetokounmpo’s rags-to-riches life story is the stuff of movies, and indeed it’s been told many times on print and screen. But this is the first time he and his family are telling it themselves, which is a big deal since Antetokounmpo, as it turns out, is inseparable from his family. Their revealing interviews about how they struggled as undocumented immigrants from Nigeria in Greece add a new, moving depth to a well-known journey, which Director Kristen Lappas wisely divides into chapters named after Greek ideals Antetokounmpo represents. Despite Lappas’ background (she is Greek-American), she makes sure to balance Antetokounmpo’s heroic moments with the Greek government’s at-times unfair treatment of the athlete and other immigrants in the country. She also puts a spotlight on the pressures Antetokounmpo is going through as one of the youngest champs in NBA history. After all, at just 29 years old, he’s already a two-time MVP and playoff winner. This doc proves that the story of how he got there is no less remarkable.

Usually, time travellers journey back to the past. This indie comedy takes the other path instead, with one samurai travelling forward to the 2000s. Luckily, he’s transported to the most fitting place in the modern era– a film set for a period drama set in the same time he came from. This unexpected journey is rather entertaining. On one hand, it’s hilarious to see him stumble, trying to make sense of the new Japan he’s in. His appreciation for today’s modern-day conveniences highlights how freedom ordinary folk now experience. On the other hand, the film juxtaposes his predicament with national history and the jidaigeki genre, grounding the comedy with the sincere belief in Japan’s ability to transform. A Samurai in Time takes a pretty funny premise to an entirely surprising conclusion.