15 Best Movies on Hulu Based on True Stories

American cyclist Greg LeMond, who in 1986 won the Tour de France has been a legend in the sports world, but filmmaker Alex Holmes presents him to the wider audience with a brand-new inspirational documentary. The Last Rider is everything this kind of film can be—its hook is courage and hard work that pays off, its mode of storytelling is personal, intimate interviews, and its framework is a “modern hero” kind of narrative. By stringing together conversations with LeMond himself, his friends, family, and colleagues, Holmes tells a chronologically-sound, emotional version of a landmark career. For many, the 1986 or 1989 win wouldn’t mean much (unless you’re a sports fan or French), but the educational bits of The Last Rider make for good trivia material. If you need a courage boost, here’s the story of a professional cyclist, injuries, perseverance, and fame, to cheer you up.

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.

Ballet has always captivated with its grace and poise, so of course it captivated cinema as well, with classics such as The Red Shoes and Black Swan centered on the dance, the culture, and of course, the drama. The juxtaposition of the ideal feminine form and the ugliness of competition, the sabotage, and the objectification are regular topics, but The American adds the national identity into its themes, tackling the anxieties of a young American in an academy that isn’t friendly to outsiders. It’s stunning. It gives justice to the journey of the real ballerina Joy Womack, portrayed excellently by Talia Ryder with breathtaking ease, and given dramatic flourish through the direction of James Napier Robertson. While it doesn’t quite surpass classic ballet films, Joika proves that real life ballet can be more emotional, more traumatic than any drama made about the dance.

Dangerous Beauty is supposedly based on real-life Venetian courtesan Veronica Franco, and to its credit, the person existed, her educational background is true, and her being charged in front of the Inquisition for witchcraft after an epidemic has really been documented. It’s a perfect idea for a feminist feature promoting education for women, and highlighting the double standards with pleasure and sexuality, so on that note, it presents an okay case. Sadly, this was made during the time when Hollywood was not able to conceive of a film about a woman without having to center it on her pursuit of love, even though reportedly, she chose to become a courtesan to avoid marriage altogether. Because of this, Dangerous Beauty isn’t as dangerous as it could have been, leading to a fairly mundane historical drama undercut by its romance. And it doesn’t even highlight her writing!

Miranda’s Victim often feels like two different movies smushed into one. On the one hand, it tells the story of how Trish finds the courage to speak up against her abuser, who happens to be a person of color. On the other hand, it shows us the legal intricacies that led to the founding of what we now know as Miranda Rights. In better hands, these two stories (one emotional and one technical) could’ve worked well together, and they would’ve spoken to the intersectionality at the heart of this complicated case. But instead of going for nuance, instead of exploring the complex racial and gender politics that inform this case, Director Michelle Danner goes in all sorts of odd directions as if herself confused about what the focus should be. 

Breslin is heartbreaking and powerful as Trish, but she’s only given so much to act with. Despite being based on a real person, her character is reduced to trauma and tears—a caricature of abuse—and nothing more. The movie is at its strongest when it converts into pure courtroom drama by the third act. Suddenly, it’s brisk and intelligent, bolstered by the compelling one-two punches of the judge (a commanding Donald Sutherland) and the two lawyers (Ryan Philippe, a revelation, and Luke Wilson, only slightly better here than in his earlier turn in Legally Blonde). As a story about violation and abuse, there’s surprisingly little compassion to be found, despite the title. But as a legal drama, it’s as informative as it can be.