Best 2024 Movies on Hulu So Far

It’s easy to laugh about an old lady being an unwitting lead in an action film, the joke being that they can’t possibly be that. But June Squibb’s Thelma is. She refuses to be infantilized and undertakes a journey that’s dramatized to great effect. It’s still funny, but without Squibb’s character being the butt of the joke. It’s also immensely charming, smart, and moving, without ever being too saccharine or pandering. The performances are wonderful across the board, but it’s Thelma’s intergenerational bond with her 24-year-old grandson Daniel (Fred Hechinger) that’s at the heart of the film. In some ways, both Thelma and Daniel have to prove their worth to a world that gives them little credit for their idleness, even though they’re both happy and make other people happy that way. Parker Posey, who plays Thelma’s daughter and Daniel’s mother, is equally commendable as the seeingly stable but perpetually harried “adult” that keeps the two grounded in reality. Equal parts sweet and bad-ass, Thelma is the movie to see if you want to feel the warm fuzzies (minus the cheese) with the family.

After you get back home, and you tuck your kids to bed, we search for some easy entertainment in the late-night talk show. Quips about today’s news and intimate conversations with guests are just the thing to wind down, but theoretically, anything can happen at late night. Late Night with the Devil plays as a pseudo-documentary centered on late show host Jack Delroy on a Halloween night, pairing the charged, uncensored atmosphere with a supernatural twist. The film alternates between the color-toned show and black-and-white behind the scenes, and as Delroy tries to lead the show to safe entertainment, with David Dastmalchian’s genial aura, things don’t go as planned as Lily becomes host to a scary demon with Ingrid Torelli’s terrifying physicality. It’s creepy and slightly comedic, with the classic selling of the soul for fame interrupted with words from their sponsors, and it’s certainly a fun twist to the late night we’re used to seeing.

Babes tells the story of Eden (Ilana Glazer) and Dawn (Michelle Buteau), codependent best friends who are forced to reevaluate their relationship when Eden finally joins Dawn in becoming a mother. While Eden learns how to be more mature and independent, Dawn struggles to feel like herself again after two exhausting pregnancies. Burdened by these personal problems, they evaluate the boundaries of their friendship and ask themselves, what do they owe each other? It sounds like heavy stuff, but the script—co-written by Glazer and Josh Rabinowitz—has an uncanny ability to make even the most serious parts of the film feather-light. Glazer and Buteau are fiercely funny, charming, lovable, and relatable, and everything comes together seamlessly with Pamela Adlon, who makes her directorial debut with Babes, on the helm. Fans of Glazer’s Broad City and Buteau’s Survival of the Thickest will find much to laugh (and cry) at here.

At first, Marmalade just seemed like a good ol’ fashioned Bonnie and Clyde story being told by one inmate to another. As Baron tells Otis about his titular Bonnie in Joe Keery’s Southern drawl, there’s a charming bittersweet romance about a man pushed into crime because of healthcare costs and a compelling Camila Marrone as a manic pixie dream girl-flavored femme fatale. By its own, it’s already an intriguing twist to the film noir plot. But the second half turns this romance into something completely unexpected, pulling an insane set of interconnected plot twists that’s just fun to experience. There are certain moments that could have been tighter, but the performances were great, the images were stunning, and the plot was surprising. It’s such a daring move for first time writer-director Keir O’Donnell.

For people having difficulty bearing a child, artificial insemination is one way to go for parenthood, but going to sperm banks can be expensive, shrouded with too much anonymity, and have had many incidents of malpractice. Some people would rather take things into their own hands. Spermworld explores the journeys of three different internet sperm donors, who meet with hopeful parents. It can be awkward, even when the donors are fairly ordinary guys with fairly decent motives, but the way director Lance Oppenheim approaches the community is disarmingly human, acknowledging the strange quirks that come with the donation, but also the interesting parental desires human beings do have.

In Suncoast, writer-director Laura Chinn takes the personal tragedy of losing her brother to cancer and weaves it into something meaningful. The film is a sensitive meditation on death and grief, but it isn’t all grim. It’s also a coming-of-age story, one that focuses on Doris (Nico Parker), a version of Chinn’s younger self aching for normal teen experiences. The film is at its best when it zeroes in on Doris’ interiority and examines the duality of having to deal with so much death while still wanting to live a vibrant life. The surprising friendship that blooms between her and the popular kids as she chases after this life is one of the best depictions of authentic teen dynamics in recent memory. But the film is at its weakest when it tries to be something it’s not—that is, your usual tear-jerker indie fare that’s rife with lessons from a magical stranger (in this case played genially, but unnecessarily, by Woody Harrelson) and grievances from a grief-stricken mother (played powerfully by Laura Linney). To be sure, Harrelson and Linney (especially) deliver top-notch performances, but they feel shoehorned in an otherwise pitch-perfect film about a girl finding her place in the real world.

In many ways, the 1998 film The Truman Show forecasted how we’d interact with media today. Parasocial relationships are a thing, as is the feeling of entitlement we get when prying into other people’s lives. But before all that, Japanese TV producers were already testing the ethical limits of voyeurism through the reality show Denpa Shōnen, a social experiment of sorts that broadcasted how people would react in extreme situations. It was one of the first of its kind, and so The Contestant takes us through its novelty; smartly, it explains how and why a show so brutal was a massive hit. It tries to understand Japanese media and humor, not other it, while also sympathizing with Nasubi, who sits down for an enlightening interview. The documentary itself is revealing and disturbing—except for a confusing third act, in which it completely loses its critical air and tells a story of heroism that, while inspiring, feels detached from the rest of the film. What was the aftermath of all that cruelty? Did no one file a retroactive complaint? Is Japanese media still this intense and unwittingly cruel? These are things you’d expect the documentary would tackle by the end, but it confusingly doesn’t. Still, it’s an important and educational watch, one that hopefully serves as a cautionary tale against the ever-manipulative media and always-hungry viewer.

Admittedly, being released in theaters a month after Immaculate, The First Omen can almost be accused of being derivative, with similar protagonists, plots, and themes. However, unlike Immaculate, this film captures a bit of the 1970s horror style that was best seen in the original 1976 Omen film, with the paranoia, the investigations, the Eastman Kodak-inspired color grading, and the number of the devil now depicted in striking modern images and clearer digital definition. And, considering that the Roe decision was overturned two years ago, the idea of a forced virgin conception is a great way to reintroduce Gen Z to the horror franchise, as the prequel, and today’s women, now have to deal with religion and authority reducing women only into vessels. The First Omen is a timely adaptation that takes familiar horror tropes and executes them well.

When people talk about hip-hop’s origins, they tend to forget an important element: dance. Along with DJs and rappers, it’s the breakdancers who helped popularize the culture and pushed hip-hop into the movement that it is today. Breakin’ On the One gives the dancers their due and shines a light on their overlooked history. We see how it served as a buoy that saved kids from potential crime on the streets, how inextricable it is to New York history, and how it even has roots in traditional African culture. The music and editing work hand in hand to match the dynamic boom-boom-boom energy of hop-hop and breakdance, making it exhilarating to watch.

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.