50 Best 2024 Documentaries So Far

Invisible Victim may not be all that different from the plethora of true crime documentaries available on Netflix and other streaming platforms, but it is worth watching if only to see how misogyny continues to be rampant at best and deadly at worst. Despite being beaten, kidnapped, drugged, and eventually murdered by the superstar footballer Bruno, Eliza Samudio was still largely framed as the perpetrator in the public’s eye because she was deemed a slut. “She died because she was money hungry,” one fan said on social media. A reporter, meanwhile, asked Bruno, “How are you handling all the embarrassment coming your way?” as if the real crime was Eliza tainting Bruno’s glowing career, instead of Bruno ending her short life. The documentary succeeds in arousing the viewer’s anger, though it doesn’t offer anything particularly new to a well-known case apart from Eliza’s never-before-seen messages to her friend, which revealed her fearlessness and defiance up until her untimely end.

Though it’s a bit chaotic in structure—it’s chronological but all over the place—The Stones and Brian Jones is a compelling and crucial portrait of The Rolling Stones’ co-founding member and original leader. Jones’ life is typical of rock stars, from the misunderstood childhood and philandering habits to drug dependence and luxurious lifestyle, but director Nick Broomfield tries to paint more nuance into his character. We’re reminded, through interviews with past lovers and even letters from a family that disowned him, that he was also ambitious, insecure, sensitive, affectionate, gentle, and moody. Too often, Broomfield will relish in Jones’ tragedy, when he could’ve focused more on his musical prowess and technical knowledge, but it is overall a fair picture. It’s sympathetic to Jones of course, but Broomfield doesn’t forget to include excerpts from Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, who ‘till now seem to harbor mixed feelings over Jones (he did have Jagger arrested after all). There’s drama and tension and a good deal of great music, which are always fun to watch.

It’s hard to botch a documentary about Martha Stewart, she who lived so many lives (she was a model, a stockbroker, a convict, a homemaker, and now a TikTok darling) and she who came back from one of the hardest celebrity downfalls stronger than ever. Her life is a roller coaster ride and watching the documentary certainly feels like being in one too. Whenever Stuart dodged a question, director R.J. Cutler did well to zoom in on a twinge on her face or show a previous photo or clip that may reveal the answer. It’s well made that way. Only the prison scenes left a bitter taste in the mouth—why should I feel sorry for her hundred-day stint when so many other wrongly imprisoned women with less privilege are still stuck there?—but everything else about this dense portrait is very filling and entertaining.

If you want a powerful, masterful rendition of the ill-fated space mission, go and watch Apollo 13 (1995). But the documentary more than half a century after the mission, and two decades after the feature film, is not half bad. Of course, being a documentary, Apollo 13: Survival is much more factual, but the true tale still manages to hold the tension, the high stakes, and the emotional pull of the actual spaceflight, with excellent editing stitching the never-before-seen archival footage and key interviews into an exciting, compelling account. That being said, older viewers that already watched the Tom Hanks drama would likely not find anything new in this film, but Apollo 13: Survival would be a decent documentary to those who have never heard of the spacecraft.

Elton John’s latest concert film follows the same structure as most current music documentaries: it splices present-day footage of the musician doing his latest (and final tour) with flashbacks of his past. In either rare archival footage or lovely animation, we see snippets of his troubled childhood, his serendipitous meet-up with writing partner Bernie Taupin, his rise to fame as an unlikely rock star, and his rocky relationships with different men. If you’re an avid fan of the singer, you likely won’t see anything new here, save for excerpts from his final tour. But whether you’re familiar with John’s music or not, this documentary is sure to be a pleaser, especially aurally.

Who polices the police? It’s an age-old question that’s nowhere near finding an answer, especially in America where law enforcement is deeply rooted in racism and violence. But this documentary by Yance Ford is a noble and ambitious attempt to answer that. It features multiple scholars who weigh in on the history of America’s police force, which evolved from sheriffs who displaced Native Americans to slave patrols who controlled African Americans and, later on, to troops who broke up protests held by the working class. The documentary is heady with ideas, but sometimes it feels like it’s taking in more than it can tell. The scholars, as cerebral as they are, sound like they’re going in circles the way the film is edited. And though Ford occasionally breaks these talking heads with poetic ruminations of his own, the documentary could benefit from a more focused, personal, and imaginative take. As it is, Power feels more like an informative but flat history lesson, instead of a powerfully moving social film.

Produced by ABC News, Print It Black is a documentary that opts for a straightforward approach instead of a stylish one. It’s more breaking news than investigative, more TV than film, but it works to highlight the urgent issue at hand. Well, two issues, which it sometimes clumsily handles. On the one hand, Print It Black is about the devastating Robb Elementary massacre and how the small town of Uvalde is further divided in the aftermath. On the other, it’s about the relevancy of the town paper, The Uvalde Leader-News, and the crucial role it plays at a time when more and more news publications are shutting down. At the intersection of these two stories is Kimberly Rubio, a staff reporter for the paper whose 10-year-old daughter was one of the victims of the massacre. Without Rubio, the two threads come undone and the documentary fails to feel like a cohesive story. Odd decisions, like leaving out the identity and motivations of the perpetrator and allotting virtually zero screentime to the other nine victims, start to become glaringly obvious. It’s a shame because both are worthy topics that deserve their own features; here, they seem unfairly smushed into a feature that’s unconfident about the way it handles them.

Jailbreak: Love on the Run could be many things depending on where you stand. You could see it as the tragic story of how an inmate successfully seduced his jailer into letting him escape. Or you could see it as the romantic tale of a woman finding her soulmate after years of denying herself companionship and affection. The commendable thing about this Netflix documentary is that it allows space for both of those perspectives through lengthy interviews with the Whites’ close friends and colleagues. That said, the editing of this Netflix documentary could’ve been tighter. The interviews could’ve been cut short and some phone call excerpts, given their explicit content, could’ve been left out, especially given how this tale ends. Not only would the documentary have been more engaging, it would’ve also been more sensitive to Vicky’s situation. “It’s like a disgusting romance novel,” one co-worker says of Vicky and Casey’s admittedly unethical relationship, but while her comment seems justified at the moment, it turns sour the moment you learn about the couple’s fate.

It’s heartbreaking that the case of Maria Soledad is as gruesome as it is common. We’ve all heard of or know about a woman who was raped, strangled, and beaten to death for no other reason than her gender. But even though Netflix’s Breaking the Silence tells Soledad’s story well enough, with detailed research and in-depth interviews, it’s ultimately hard to tell it apart from the hundreds of other true crime documentaries the streamer has produced. A cynic would say that Netflix’s interests lie not in advocacy or justice, but in riding the true crime fad. But a more hopeful viewer will want to believe in the film’s truth and stance against femicide. If you’re the former, then Breaking the Silence won’t do much for you. But if you are latter, and I kind of hope you are, then this documentary will be heartbreaking, frustrating, and more importantly, inspiring.

Though it begins with the catfishing and hacking incident that affected thousands of Tegan and Sara fans, not to mention Tegan herself, Fanatical dips into the more general topic of fandom and explores both the good and bad of it. Tegan and Sara make for an excellent case study for two reasons. One is that they came into the social media world earlier than most pop stars, and two is that their fanbase back then was uniquely comprised of young queer people. They were vulnerable and eager to connect online, which “Fegan” or the Fake Tegan who catfished their fans, exploited to no end. The documentary does well both as an explainer of fandom and as an exploration of this unfortunate event. Where it fails is as a true crime documentary. Director Erin Lee Carr approaches some of the more unwilling interviewees with a strange sort of aggression, making the documentary feel uneven at times, if not outrightly biased.