70 Best Woke Movies to Watch Right Now

Just based off its title, Mutt is already a film that tackles a state of in-between, and perhaps what makes it already precious is how honest and personal it can get, while remaining a good fictional story. This striking debut took Chilean-Serbian filmmaker Vuk Lungulov-Klotz more than six years to make, at least from the initial stages of the script as he was working through his own transition, how that felt and how he dealt with it in life and art. That said, Mutt is a film that stands on its own feet, without the need for any such context: the script, the performances, the frantic pacing of it, they are all top-level stuff. A generous, open film that has its trans protagonist be who they are, whatever that may be, and gives as much insight as it allows for curiosity and empathy. If Mutt is educational in any way, it is through it’s apt storytelling and truthfulness that bleeds through the screen; its significance for trans cinema cannot be overstated, but it is also once of the most accomplished debuts of 2023.

Without context, Minbo, or the Gentle Art of Japanese Extortion seemed like a goofy satire, especially when the silly trumpet score pops up, and unfortunate hotel employees Suzuki and Wakasugi flounder around trying to solve the hotel’s yakuza problem on their own. And when Nobuko Miyamoto shows up as the brilliant lawyer, it’s so satisfying to see her turn the tables on the yakuza purely through words, strategy, and knowledge of law. It’s hilarious, but Minbo doesn’t just poke fun– it demystifies the gangster as a cool and untouchable figure, portraying them instead as loudmouthed bullies that we can handle. It also shows us how much can be done, only if we, as a group, perhaps as a whole nation, can muster the courage to fight.

Not to be confused with the American cop thriller with the same name, Shōhei Imamura’s Black Rain is about the atomic bomb, but it’s not really concerned about nuclear warfare. Sure, the film opens with gruesome shots of the day the bomb dropped, not sparing the viewers from the gore and the titular nuclear fallout, that in black and white looks the same. And yes, much of the conflict occurs because of the lingering effects of the radiation. However, Imamura is much more concerned with the way Japanese society had tried to deal with it through going back to tradition– through going through the motions of matchmaking and propriety and social status and through excluding those who suffered directly from the bomb. Black Rain has a singular perspective, one that stands out due to the country’s denial of war crimes.

Originally a novel inspired by real life incarceration, Don’t Let Them Shoot the Kite is actually much more optimistic than a prison stay would seem to be. Much of that lighter mood comes from an outstanding performance– Ozan Bilen, who portrays Barış, the precocious boy that lives in the prison with his mom due to a quirk of Turkish law– but the lighter mood isn’t due to ignoring the prisoners’ reality. Instead, the lightness comes because of understanding that reality fully. Despite the suspicion of the prison guards, and the way the camera makes the prison walls loom, Barış still manages to fuel some hope through straightforward, simple truths unfiltered by the tedium and mores of everyday life, and the fear people grow to learn about. Truth truly comes out of the mouths of babes in this film, and it’s what makes Don’t Let Them Shoot the Kite a classic of Turkish cinema.

While initially commissioned to be an atomic bomb documentary, Hiroshima Mon Amour became something entirely different. For starters, it’s not a documentary, with director Alain Resnais recruiting author Marguerite Duras to write the screenplay, but it was pretty unusual for a narrative film at the time. It’s a love story, yes, but with such a poetic introduction of the two lovers going back and forth about what they know and don’t know about the bomb, pairing their discussion with archival footage and captivating scoring, Resnais created a new, non-linear cryptic style to capture how memory, grief, and loss irrevocably shaped a generation. Hiroshima Mon Amour was an unexpected shift, eventually becoming one of the most influential films of the French New Wave movement.

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.

In the year of the Netflix TV Show Maniac, another absurdist title stole critics’ hearts. Sorry to Bother You is a movie set in an alternate reality, where capitalism and greed are accentuated. Lakeith Stanfield (Atlanta) is a guy called Cassius who struggles to pay his bills. However, when at a tele-marketing job an old-timer tells him to use a “white voice”, he starts moving up the ranks of his bizarre society. A really smart movie that will be mostly enjoyed by those who watch it for its entertaining value, and not so much for its commentary. It is like a Black Mirror episode stretched into a movie.

Mars One is a tender, wholesome drama that centers on The Martins, a family of four living on the fringes of a major Brazilian city. Their lower-middle-class status puts them in an odd position—they’re settled enough to have big dreams and occasionally lead lavish lives (the mother and the daughter like to party) but they barely have the means to pursue that kind of lifestyle. As a result, they’re always searching and wanting, aiming high but almost always falling flat on the ground.

There is no actual plot in Mars One. Instead, it studies its characters in a leisurely and almost offhand manner. The approach is so naturalistic, you’ll almost forget you’re watching a movie. But it’s still gorgeously shot and staged, Brazil being an inevitably striking background. At once gentle and vibrant, this big-hearted film is a must for those who are suckers for well-made family dramas.

Known for his horror films, Kiyoshi Kurosawa shifts gears and presents a family drama in Tokyo Sonata. In the film, father Ryuhei, who’s expected to be the breadwinner, loses his prestigious job and chooses to hide his firing from his family. While this premise isn’t overtly scary, the film understands the terror of being unable to maintain the current comforts of your family. And the consequences: lose your status (at best) or your life (at worst). Teruyuki Kagawa’s performance crystallizes that sense of losing control, as each expression on his face betrays how secretly afraid Ryuhei feels. The disasters that this family faces threaten to never stop, and Kurosawa executes them perfectly through excellent story structure and performance.

Ordinary People tells the harrowing story of Jane and Aries, two teenage parents struggling to survive the streets of Manila. At the mercy of limited welfare, the two resort to criminal activity to get by. When a woman offers to help them financially (on loan), Jane eventually relents—but is shocked to discover that her baby’s been kidnapped. Trying everything from going to the police to contacting the perpetrator’s mother, the reality becomes unavoidable: no one truly cares for the poor even if they’re children. Interspersed with CCTV footage of the crimes the characters commit or witness, this powerful, heartbreaking portrait of poverty still offers glimmers of hope as they fight the odds to continue their search together.