The 10 Best British Movies on Hulu

As in his previous films, Director Andrew Haigh explores the delicate nature of loneliness, grief, and love in All of Us Strangers, except this time he does so through a supernatural lens. The result is mesmerizing: amid the tenderness the film draws from its characters, there’s a swirl of mystery too: how is it possible that Adam is conversing with his dead parents? Who, exactly, is Harry? The intrigue is there, and Haigh builds to a satisfying climax that answers all these questions. The mystery also lends the film an ethereal style that makes it visually resemble a horror or thriller more than it does a romance or drama. But as superb as it looks and as compelling as the ambiguity is, they never distract from the film’s central goal, which is to bring us into the complex emotional journey Adam goes through as he simultaneously develops a relationship with Harry and parses his childhood trauma with his parents. It’s a hefty film, filled with big emotional moments that will have you crying, smiling, longing, and healing all at the same time. And like any good film, it will haunt you for days on end.

There are only two main characters in Good Luck to You, Leo Grande: Nancy, a retired teacher who was recently widowed, and Leo, an adept sex worker with a mysterious past. They’re almost always in one place and work on a single goal: pleasure. But despite the seeming monotony, the movie is crackling with wit and sensuality every step of the way. It doesn’t waste any time getting to the heart of the matter. Nancy and Leo go back and forth about their past, with Nancy divulging much about the stigma of aging and Leo about the stigma of sex work. They also dive into the shame attached to pleasure, ultimately revealing more than just their naked bodies to each other and to the audience.

This is a documentary with a dark underbelly. When Bobby Shafran goes on his first day at college, everyone seems to recognize him. The person they’re actually recognizing is his twin brother, as the two were separated at birth by an adoption agency. A third brother surfaces to make the story even crazier, but things take a darker turn when questions arise about why they were separated as toddlers and to what end. If it wasn’t a documentary, this story would be an unusual science fiction on the themes of identity and nature vs. nurture.

All of the fat has been trimmed in The Courier, a fast-paced Cold War thriller based on the real-life British businessman and Soviet intelligence officer who struck a surprising friendship as they delivered vital nuclear information to the CIA. It’s tense and high-wire, but in between moments of suspense, there’s dry comic relief and moving displays of tenderness. The pacing is masterful, and every element—from score to editing to performance—works hand in hand to deliver what feels like an old-fashioned espionage film. There are little to no frills and flourishes here, just good ‘ol spying, chasing, and whipsmart comebacks.

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.

Lauren Greenfield’s film follows the Siegel family’s decline from opulent abundance to gaudy ruin. Mega wealth, delusions of grandeur, and grotesquely opulent taste—the Siegel family were the perfect subjects for the film, which sets out to document their most lavish expense: their Versailles home, a mansion sprawling more than 85,000 square feet and modeled after the Palace of Versailles.

The Siegels, no doubt, are entirely out of touch with reality. David Siegel, the owner of one of the world’s largest timeshare developers, married Jackie, a former Mrs. Florida who is 30 years younger. The Versailles home is to be Jackie’s castle, an enormous home for her eight kids and numerous pets.

But the 2008 recession does not spare the Siegels, and their company is devastated. After layoffs and desperate attempts to recover financially, the family struggles to pay back the banks. Construction halts. The Versailles home remains vacant and unfinished.

While the film does not sympathize with the Siegels, Greenfield creates a space where pity is possible as well as criticism. And from there comes the universal: desperation, longing, hope for better, if not also more, more, more.

Kinds of Kindness is three different short films stacked into one. They don’t share a lot of similarities, except that their characters are played by the same actors, all of whom excellently display varying degrees of isolation and desperation. None of these people are likable—in fact, they’re despicable—but damn if they don’t make you stop and think about what you’re watching. There’s a hitman who struggles with his guilty conscience, a plane crash survivor who may or may not have infectious cannibalism, and a cult member obsessed with cementing her status in the group. You’ll need about a day to process this deeply disturbing movie, but you won’t for a second doubt seeing it in all its glorious weirdness.

With nearly a century to cover, If These Walls Could Sing had the daunting task of giving justice to the history of the iconic Abbey Roads Studios. In 89 minutes, Mary McCartney outlines the studio’s history through archival footage and a stacked selection of artist interviews, popping only in random moments to organize the timeline. With the wide selection of artists, the film can feel scattered, as it jumps from classical music, to rock and roll, and to film scoring. The documentary doesn’t really go in-depth into how the studio developed its sound, but there are some interesting insights into certain tracks, like how the studio approached contracts, experimentation, different genres, and technology. While the film relies too much on nostalgia, it’s still an interesting tour based on the subject matter alone.

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.

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.