100 Best Movies on Kanopy Right Now

There are moments in cinema when the character and actor are irrevocably linked– to think of one is to think of the other, to the point that the line is blurred between both. One such pair is Spock and Leonard Nimoy, and, after his death, it was inevitable that the documentary about Nimoy would also be a documentary about Spock. For the Love of Spock is the first of two Nimoy documentaries, made by his son Adam, and it’s a lovely tribute to the iconic sci-fi legend that shifted the entire genre and the fan culture that emerged, but it was also a personal film where the family reckons with the fame that occurred as a result. Superfans might not learn that much about Spock (some of them are interviewed in the film), but For the Love of Spock is an excellent profile, even if it’s not as objective and logical as the character itself.

When striving towards your life goal, some concessions have to be made in order to get there, e.g. you would forgo some wants in order to fulfill that higher purpose. But how much are you willing to sacrifice? Mario is a sports drama about an aspiring football player that wants to make it higher up in the league, but it’s also a queer drama, since to be that professional means to stick to a rigid notion of masculinity for the fans, for the sponsors, and sometimes for fellow homophobic teammates competing against them. At two hours, the naturalistic depiction of Mario’s experience might be a tad too long for some viewers, but the film understands the fear, the pressure, and the compromises gay athletes are forced to go through.

When a regime falls, what follows isn’t a clean slate– it lingers, and it haunts those that were able to survive, part due to what was done to them and part to what they have done. Marshland ostensibly is a police procedural investigating a series of women murdered in rural Spain, but it’s also a clash of ideologies between New Spain, that wants to unearth the injustices that haven’t been acknowledged, and Old Spain, that wants to let sleeping dogs lie. The two plot threads don’t weave together as neatly as it could be, but La Isla Minima still works on both fronts, recreating that feeling of betrayal within that key transition period of Spain.

No one likes to be replaced. Even when it gets difficult, hardwork and years put in effort to take and keep these roles makes it feel precious, and that’s exactly how househelp Raquel feels in The Maid. It’s a funny domestic comedy, with a scowling Catalina Saavedra ready to protect the role she’s held onto for years, but Saavedra and writer-director Sebastián Silva crafts an empathetic, realistic character study of a woman so worn down from poverty, power imbalance, and having had no breaks that the rare instance of compassion feels like a threat. La Nana doesn’t quite critique the entire system that keeps Raquel in her role, but it’s a rare film that acknowledges the importance of rest and empathy in order to feel human.

Within the fantasy of fairytales and folklore, there’s a hint of something true and human wrapped inside, passed down from generation to generation, translated for the imagination of children. The Secret of Roan Inish is inspired by selkie folklore– the seals that shed their skin to become human, though they still yearn for the sea– but writer-director John Sayles brilliantly compares this to the Coneelly’s yearning for their home, the home torn away from them due to the war, and the home that’s denied to them due to the impending eviction. It’s a lovely story, one partly told by stories handed down from grandparents, but it’s made much more beautiful by the way the grandchildren actively participate in getting their home back. The Secret of Roan Inish beautifully depicts the way kids can change a family’s fate when they get to learn more of their heritage.

While zombies weren’t new in film, it wasn’t until writer-director George A. Romero’s Living Dead saga that the zombie as we know it today was created. Day of the Dead is the third in the franchise, and like Night and Dawn, Romero was more interested in the way humans were the threat, more so than the flesh-eating monsters, this time between scientific innovation and military force, both that are pushed to the extremes without any ethical restraint, and both being the very same concerns that America held at the time of release. And with Tom Savini and team’s groundbreaking special effects, it’s no wonder that Day of the Dead became a horror classic.

At first glance, The Madness of King George seemed like a history lesson about King George III. Like plenty of British royalty dramas, the film has all the opulent trappings in its sets and costumes, as well as some of the best actors from the British isles. However, unlike other depictions of the monarchy, the film depicts the king not as a benevolent ruler or oppressive tyrant– instead, King George III is terribly human, with his memory failing, being unsettled by loss, and concern over his health, which involves having to look at his urine. But the historical satire, based on the 1991 stage play, still manages to have the same mockery towards the opportunistic court, while still retaining sympathy for the very nobility it mocks, through original playwright Alan Bennett’s adept writing, as well as the excellent performance of the stacked ensemble cast.

Almost more like an audiobook than a traditional movie, the first and unfortunately final film from Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson pairs soothing narration by Tilda Swinton with surreal images of alien structures on a desolate planet for a piece of sci-fi that may very well be un-categorizable. As a “story” ostensibly meant to carry some sort of urgency, Last and First Men isn’t entirely convincing. But as an example of pure imagination that challenges how you think of biological life, it’s totally fascinating. As Swinton details the continuous cycle of death and rebirth that humanity goes through over an impossible span of time, it’s hard not to feel the hope and tragedy of it all—while also making you reconsider how things are in our present day.

As a comedy made in the 80’s all about a gay couple, viewers not familiar with this indie film might expect something tragic, raunchy, or insensitive, but Parting Glances is surprisingly understated. The main relationship is refreshingly treated with the same domesticity as a straight couple would, and the main conflict isn’t concerned with acceptance– after all, Michael and Robert were already accepted by their urban Manhattan community. In writing this, first-time director Bill Sherwood is able to focus on the upcoming long-distance relationship, Michael realizing Robert wants the distance, while Robert feels uncertain over Michael’s feelings for his ex dying from AIDS. The film doesn’t shy away from the touching, but even with the difficult pain of losing parts of the community, it’s still straightforward, unsentimental, and so funny with the witty repartee between the well-written characters. Parting Glances is a true gem.

When we think about dog films, we think about overly sentimental, feel-good flicks, with the dogs sometimes voiced by famous actors, that affirm the relationship between man and his best friend. White God is a dog movie, but it’s not that kind of dog movie. The dogs are not voiced, but yet they feel so personable as co-writer and director Kornél Mundruczó turns Hagen’s time in the street into a series of escapades, some exciting and some downright terrifying, where he evades the cruelty of man. And as the film alternates between Hagen and the young Lili, Mundruczó questions the ways we treat our furball best friends, the way we also treat those that are in our care.