100 Best 2024 Movies Released So Far

This movie is hilarious. It presents a pleasant caricature of high school humor, proving there is a way to do 2000s trashy crude writing in a reimagined modern setting. Setups for punchlines and mini-arcs consistently have good and sensible payoffs, and every character up and down the cast feels focused in their own way. Because the writing had been cared for, characters and dialogue make the most of every segment they occupy and feel like they have a purpose, striking a balance between great jokes and a genuine sincerity in their messages, without feeling like either half existed just to balance out the other or just to keep things “cool.” The film comfortably takes its own advice: be yourself.

Aspiring writer-director Vita of My First Film is insufferable. When she starts out making her first feature, she’s pleasantly surprised by the people who came to help her, but the repetition of the shoot, the scene not matching the idea in her head, which she tries to put into image and word, but can’t quite make the vision clear, the anxiety and pressure to be a professional filmmaker blinding her from the concerns of her cast and crew all combine to an inevitable failure of her first feature, which also happens to inspired by Vita’s actual life. Vita is insufferable, but writer-director Zia Anger manages to make her real in an eclectic meta multimedia patchwork that won’t work for everyone, but uniquely depicts an experience filmmakers, aspiring or otherwise, haven’t wanted to talk about.

You would think that a movie about making soup for your friends and studying moss would be a strange mix, but there’s just something so beautifully delicate about the way writer-director Bas Devos links the lives of two immigrants in Brussels, with the contrast between the length of their stay, the things they make, and how long their work would last. It’s a slow burn connection, and with the pending move, it’s a fleeting one, but the runtime is just right to capture the quiet grace of their connection, the one they share as strangers in a stopping point from different places. Here is subtle and transcendent.

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.

She Taught Love has a familiar romance film plotline– a guy that’s lost meets a girl that sets him straight, and through a course of a connection, they challenge each other’s perspective to become better people– but there’s a naturalness to the conversations writer and male lead Darrell Britt-Gibson creates through his performance, casual, genuine moments that is pairs well with easy, relaxed vibe formed by director Nate Edwards. It’s gorgeously graded, meticulously framed, with slow zoom-ins and pans that gradually switch between aspect ratios to create a sense of openness or restriction, depending on the moment. And with Arsema Thomas’ unshakeable poise as female lead, She Taught Love feels elegant in a way not many indie romance films are.

Many movies try to be nostalgic, but few have come as close as Between the Temples. Directed by Nathan Silver, it channels classics like The Graduate, Harold and Maude, and early Woody Allen dramedies without trying too hard. It has the grain, patina, and camera movements of 60s and 70s movies, and its central love story–though not quite shocking now–might’ve been subversive then. But more than just a pleasant trip to the past, Between the Temples is a reassuring film about the deep and healing bond two people can forge amidst grief and loneliness. It also tackles faith and tradition without being preachy or stifling. Many scenes can feel overwhelming, but the moments after feel cathartic, even if—as in religion and as in life—they rarely give you a sure answer.

Through dreamlike colors and tears clouding my eyes, Drawing Closer paints a painful depiction of persistence in love and death. Initially, a number of coincidences and significant details about our main characters Haruna (Natsuki Deguchi) and Akito (Ren Nagase) and their interconnectedness seem to sprout up conveniently, without much weight behind them. But once the ball gets rolling, the film is feel-good in the worst way, an emotional deathtrap, and the most dangerous movie in the world for those who believe in love, and those perpetually afraid of dying in an expensive deathbed. Just thoroughly devastating and beautiful. A 10 in my heart.

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.

The Apprentice is as much about Roy Cohn as it is about the titular mentee, a very green Donald Trump. It’s Cohn who teaches Trump the dirty tricks and the power moves, and it’s he who instills in him his everlasting entitlement. It’s also Cohn who arguably steals the show. As expected, Strong disappears into his character and is at once terrifying and pathetic, but always arresting. Stan is less effective as Trump, but his more subtle turn as the real estate mogul still works, especially when set against Cohn’s more hardened and vulnerable persona. The film is powered by these two; without them, it moves like any old tale about greed, power, and betrayal. It doesn’t shy away from Trump’s known grotesqueries, but it also could’ve benefited from leaning into them more, a la Wolf of Wall Street. As it stands, The Apprentice is familiar fare elevated by the engaging performances of two of Hollywood’s best-working character actors.