30 Best Movies to Watch on ITV UK

Bowling For Columbine addresses the sore wounds of 9/11 by exploring the concepts of safety and fear as perceived by various people. From school shooting survivors, through Canadians who never lock their doors, to Marilyn Manson and actor/NRA president Charlton Heston, Michael Moore’s interviewees all inform the complex picture of gun violence and its rise today. The director is not afraid to provoke and ask the pressing questions linking the abstract fear of the other to the reality of lost lives every day. Even his irony and parody—a morose cartoon arguably based on South Park especially—bites back hard.

Based on a stage play of the same name, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is a masterful example of how vital blocking is in movies. The film takes place in a few locations–a New England home, the yard, and a roadhouse a few miles away–and is shot in simple black and white. There are only four characters here. And yet, the film feels dynamic, volcanic even–every scene erupts with so much anger, passion, love, and frustration. The characters move about like they’re in a highly charged dance, and each of their lines feels like a dagger straight to the heart. You could easily see how this worked as a play, but Mike Nichols (The Graduate, Charlie Wilson’s War) translates it smartly into film. The camera is as restless as the characters, and each frame is a thoughtful decision of what to show and what not to show, betraying their actual ignorance despite their academia. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? remains a classic for a reason: it set the standard for a lot of dialogue-heavy, raw-honest films these days, but it’s also simply a riot to watch.

Undefeated won an Oscar but since it’s a documentary, few sadly paid attention to it. It tells the story of a football team in a poor area in Tennessee. Kids without a bright future, until the new coach arrives. Yes, that sounds like a very old, cliché tale. But keep in mind it is a documentary, and the story it tells is powerful, gripping, and any familiarity quickly becomes irrelevant. Even if you have no interest in American football, or in sports in general, you will love it and more than likely find yourself reaching for the Kleenex at least a few times before the credits roll.

Asif Kapadia, the genius of biopics who gave us Senna, is back with this documentary on an even bigger sports personality: Argentinian soccer player Diego Armando Maradona. Considered as possibly the best soccer player of all time, Maradona’s footage on the pitch is pure wizardry, and you’ll feel that way whether you are a soccer fan or not. But that’s not the focus of this documentary. What happens outside the pitch is more interesting: from Maradona’s modest beginnings to the passionate hatred (and love) that entire countries develop of him. And it doesn’t make his story less interesting that during his time in Naples he was affiliated with the mafia.

This is an excellent documentary that distills 500 hours of footage into 2, giving you all you need to know about a character who captured the imagination of a big part of the world for decades. 

The culture of propaganda and cover-ups that kicked off the pandemic is the subject of this compelling documentary by award-winning director Nanfu Wang (One Child Nation). Wang, who traveled with her family to China in January 2020, saw and filmed the pandemic firsthand, and wrote to major newspapers like The New York Times to convince them to write about it. They never did. 

Media and government in both China and the U.S. played down the threat, and this documentary asks how different everything would have gone otherwise. More dauntingly, it’s an examination of how the Communist Party in China managed to use the event to its advantage. 

Whether or not you’re a fan of Nick Cave’s contemplative, idiosyncratic style of music, This Much I Know to Be True still works on a purely experiential level. There’s confusion, then a rush of euphoria, then an overwhelming sense of peace when listening to Cave’s (and musical collaborator Warren Ellis’s) cryptic lyrics and delicate compositions—shot with breathtaking use of studio lights by director Andrew Dominik and cinematographer Robbie Ryan.

And things only get more emotional when you consider how far Cave has come, that these performances are happening several rough years from the untimely death of his son. And suddenly even all the unrelated B-roll footage included in the film—of Cave talking about his sculptures, talking to Ellis, answering profound fan emails—takes on a greater urgency. This sounds like music for mourning, but in its own way it’s music for celebration, too, and gratitude despite everything.

What makes Apollo 11 stand out is its sharp minimalist approach, allowing the archival footage of the mission to the moon to speak for itself. It’s stunning to think that at one point or another we had collectively seen a bulk of the footage in this film, and yet somehow let it lay dormant until the moon landing had been reduced to black and white stills in our collective imaginations. Not only does this film reinvigorate the moon landing with the power that it once held, but it does so in a way that is more thrilling than anything the Marvel CGI wizards could muster. The vibrant score adds a layer of ferocious tension, while the breakneck pace gives the feel of a rollercoaster ride. If there is any fault to find here, it is most definitely with the film’s MAGA style yearning for a time and place that never existed. Spare us the teary-eyed patriotism and the clips of Nixon, a disgraceful criminal, and vile racist, yammering on about the world becoming one. Nevertheless, this is a fantastic example of why most biopics should just be documentaries and why the fanatical fear of spoilers is a tad silly. Spoiler alert: they land on the moon.

Unlike the other documentaries depicting “Hollywood’s smartest dumb blonde”, My Mom Jayne takes on a different approach to Jayne Mansfield. Already the title tells you that it’s from the perspective of one of her children– namely, her youngest daughter Mariska Hargitay– so naturally, it takes a more respectful depiction than what’s been shown of her peers. Hargitay and her siblings present a different kind of retrospective, reassembling the remaining fragments with a more personal touch and an unexpected family mystery. My Mom Jayne is such an excellent portrait of Jayne Mansfield, one that opens surprising layers to the person behind the bombshell persona.

Man on Wire is a true technical masterpiece. You can almost feel the director telling the cameraman what angle to choose, or thinking about the questions that will generate the most resounding answers. However, this does not diminish the story this documentary tells one bit. It’s one that is glorious, riveting, and fun. It’s one where you feel like an insider to a world lived on and below wires, with high-stake risks. Hopefully the edge of your seat is comfortable, because this is where the movie will keep you till the very end.

Nothing Compares weaves a poignant story about one of the most misunderstood artists of our time, Sinéad O’Connor. The iconoclast first made waves in the ’80s with her catchy music, but she quickly reclaimed the reins of her own fame and used her platform to champion marginalized causes, long before pop stars were expected to do so.

The documentary zeroes in on this part of O’Connor’s life: what prompted her to music and how she used it as a tool of activism. The answers are multi-faceted and handled here with extreme grace. Like the many from her generation, O’Connor struggled with religion and abuse, such was the Catholic Church’s hold on Ireland at the time time.

The film contextualizes her once-shocking moments and reveals how they were all grounded on things she cared about. It’s a beautiful piece of work that reassesses and redeems a wronged artist who was ahead of her time.

This charming documentary about one of the most brilliant, groundbreaking comedians alive strikes a delicate balance between accessible and deeply appreciative, making it both a great gateway for those yet to be uninitiated into the Albert Brooks fan club and a satisfying retrospective for us confirmed devotees. It’s directed and fronted by Rob Reiner, celebrated director himself and one of Albert Brooks’ oldest friends, and the choice is perfect: his rapport with Brooks is warm and easy, extracting real sincerity from the famously deadpan comedian-writer-actor-director.

Defending My Life features plenty of talking heads gushing about Brooks’ dazzling multi-hyphenate talents (among them Steven Spielberg and Sharon Stone), a standard convention for documentaries of this kind. But what elevates this into a portrait worthy of its subject are the scenes from a dinner shared by Brooks and Reiner, during which the former opens up about his childhood, reflects on his career, and divulges the autobiographical elements that informed his work. Their tete-a-tete flows with all the unforced rhythm of conversation between good friends; Reiner’s presence coaxes illuminating insight from Brooks, which makes watching the documentary feel as close to pulling up a seat at their table as you’d hope for. The 90 minutes just fly by.

Depicting the horrifying cycle of abuse in the state’s prison system, The Alabama Solution is tough to watch. It was already hard to reckon with the related news reports, but what makes this documentary necessary is the way filmmakers Andrew Jarecki and Charlotte Kaufman teamed up with activists inside to get a deeper look into the prisons themselves. We mean this literally. A third of the footage comes straight from smuggled phones by the inmates, compiled for more than a decade, with much higher stakes than other works that employed guerilla filmmaking. Piecing together their footage with case reviews, news releases, and the state government’s wasteful, lackluster response, The Alabama Solution reveals the need for a better approach.

The Harry Potter movies undoubtedly changed the lives of its young stars forever — but a stuntman whose future the films had more tragic consequences for is the deserved focus of this moving documentary. David Holmes was just 17 when he was hired as Daniel Radcliffe’s stunt double, a role he held throughout the series. The two formed a close brotherly bond on set, growing up alongside one another for 10 years until a terrible accident during the final movie’s filming left him paralyzed from the chest down, a condition that has deteriorated over the years following post-surgery complications. 

This doc is an inspiring portrait of David, from his fearless childhood and dream-fulfilling work to the incredible resilience he’s shown since the accident. It’s also, though, a poignant testament to the loving, supportive community that Holmes inspired at work — friendships that only reached greater depths following the accident and the end of the movies. The doc’s focus empathetically expands from Holmes’ story to include its impact on his bond with Radcliffe (who features prominently here) and Holmes’ fellow stunt doubles — and, while the sheer force of Holmes’ personality would make for a compelling documentary on its own, it’s the tenderness and honesty that all of these participants show that makes this so poignant.

If Katrina Babies seems like a somewhat disjointed account of the myriad responses to Hurricane Katrina and the U.S. government’s horrible, anti-poor response to the disaster, director Edward Buckles Jr. uses this structure with much more intent. For once this is a documentary that feels like citizen reporting and not a sanitized report from experts who have little to no real personal stake in the subject. As the film swings from one talking point to the next, you get the sensation of just how much the people of New Orleans are still trying to comprehend; the loose structure brings to this film a sense of helplessness that, for some, just can’t be overcome.

A documentary about two “climbing” friends who attempt to summit Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes in 1985. I say climbing friends because they are both somewhat egotistical, yuppie risk takers and seem to be the type who are only friends when their interests align. Nevertheless, they are truly ambitious, driven adventurers. A storm hits and one of the climbers gets injured. They both know that this is a death sentence, and events go on from there. The story is epic and nearly unbelievable, but for the fact that it actually happened. I am not a climber, but the plot and story will speak to any adventurer who must accept inherent risks, including death, in their outdoor endeavors.

As the face of kung fu, a sports documentary on Bruce Lee is practically expected for ESPN’s 30 for 30 series. So many of them have been produced since the actor’s death in 1973. However, in Be Water, director Bao Nguyen captures the icon not through his works, but through his philosophy. Starting with his first screen test, the camera rarely strays from him, keeping us hooked on his magnetic presence even during voice-overs of interviews from his friends and family. This, mixed with readings of letters he’s written, reveals a man whose self-discipline and attitude power through obstacles against him. The film only diverts its attention to identifying those obstacles, but it only better proves the actor’s strength. In martial arts and in film, Be Water respects Lee as a force of nature– the rare force that broke barriers and bridged the gap between East and West.

In Amy, Kapadia eschews talking heads for something more intimate: home videos, photographs, and phone messages from Winehouse’s earliest and closest friends, which he stitches together to reintroduce a version of the singer that has, up till this point, been ignored by the public. It’s an attempt to reverse Winehouse’s vilified public persona, not by denying her struggles with drug and alcohol abuse, but by showing as many parts of her as possible. The musical prodigy, jazz fanatic, and sweet friend, as well as the troubled soul, hurt child, and obsessive lover. She’s far from perfect, but she is human, not some punching bag caricature the media has made her out to be. Though Kapadia’s methods sometimes get a little too close for comfort (using phone messages intended for her friends and private clips of her being high feels borderline voyeuristic), they also feel necessary in reclaiming an identity that’s closer to her true self. During these questionable moments, Amy feels not just hard but wrong to watch, but that discomfort is also the point. It should be unsettling to get to know a real person.

The particulars of the scandal are enough to shock, enrage, and move anyone, but the directors of BS High also put Johnson in the hot seat and skewer the guy until they wring all ego and delusion out of him. The result is a compelling and terrifying look into a con man’s mind. Johnson alternates between justifying and denying his fraudulent ways and even tries to draw empathy from the audience by explaining his upbringing. But cleverly, the directors intercut his wild speeches with heartfelt testimonies from the real victims of this scam: the young recruits who were promised a better life if they played in Johnson’s team, only to be abused and marked for life. It’s impossible not to feel for the young men, who even up until the documentary’s end, wonder out loud how they could possibly move on from such a traumatic experience. 

A music documentary with its star as one of its main talking heads runs the risk of coming off like cheap PR, but Tina Turner’s own articulate insights never restrict this retrospective on her life. If anything, she assists directors Dan Lindsay and TJ Martin in expanding the film’s scope to cover the origins of rock music and the struggles of so many women in the public eye who only ever seem to be defined according to their abusers. Even if Tina is still ultimately a conventional doc that relies on interviews and archival footage, it has a strong emotional core that gives the film a relatively unique psychological edge.

If it weren’t for the people involved, the English-language remake of the Korean sci-fi comedy Save the Green Planet might have gone the direction of many English-language remakes– that is, not well. Good news is that producer Ari Aster got the best people involved. Of course, that includes the original director Jang Joon-hwan, who had to step down from directing due to health issues, but their team-up with Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos, who too is known for twisted comedies, was truly inspired, as the original story’s off-kilter, eclectic alien plot fits in just right with Lanthimos’ distinct style. Bugonia is the insane and terrific consequence of such an incredible collaboration.

Though it doesn’t proceed like most animal/nature-centered documentaries that you’ve seen, the Oscar-nominated All That Breathes is instantly memorable in the way it de-centers the human perspective from its all-encompassing study of New Delhi, India. The wildlife rescue team that features prominently in this film still only becomes a vessel through which director Shaunak Sen explores the environmental and political hazards being faced by the nation today. It’s a movie that definitely challenges you to think for yourself, as any talking heads or on-screen explanations are traded for truly stunning shots of New Delhi as a biome teeming with life among the dirt. For those who want their documentaries unconventional, this is excellent stuff.

Backed by hefty research, dramatized by great players, and made relevant by the current and future impact aerospace has on the human race, Wild Wild Space makes for a surprisingly thrilling watch. Like the title suggests, outer space is a gold mine of opportunity right now, and the three startups the film zeros in on—Astra, Planet Labs, and Rocket Lab—are competing much in the same way the cowboys of the Old West are, full of ambition and lacking any mercy. It’s packed with drama, which you wouldn’t normally expect from a film that’s largely about physics, finance, and politics, but here we are. And the simultaneous storytelling works, too. They’re all equally interesting and overlap in smart ways, thanks to Kauffman’s deft editing and Vance’s knowledgable takes that tie it all together. Scientist vs capitalist vs madcap underdog is a story you’d never know to watch till the end till now.

The late Val Kilmer is best known for his roles in Top Gun and Batman. If you’re from an earlier generation, you might also recognize him in the tabloids as that famously difficult actor to work with, always demanding perfection in every scene. The documentary Val sheds those outer layers to reveal a man who was, above all else, sensitive, ambitious, creative, and resilient. Through intimate home videos, which Kilmer started taking when he was very young, we see him as a playful kid, a talented prodigy, a playwright, a painter, a father, and a deeply committed actor. Misunderstood and miscast, yes (for reasons that will be divulged in the film), but undeniably talented and committed as well. Val is a beautiful portrait of a complicated man in his twilight years. He’s an actor who could’ve done more if the industry had been kinder and who, thankfully, had the good sense to document almost every minute of his life with a good ol’ camera.

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.

A documentary told entirely through animated avatars can be a hard sell, but instead of playing into the expected jokes, director Joe Hunting takes this digital environment extremely seriously, and that makes all the difference. He doesn’t downplay how absurd it is to see what are essentially 3D characters going on dates and having bellydance classes together, and yet Hunting still takes time to emphasize how freeing this virtual existence is for all involved. It’s disappointing that the film never addresses the many real concerns people have about purely online relationships (deception, exploitation, and abuse, among others), but as a positive and perhaps overly romanticized view of this new, 21st-century social space, the documentary remains fresh and vital.

In 1966, Elizabeth Taylor and her friends recorded themselves talking about the ups and downs of her life. These candid conversations are the basis of The Lost Tapes, a revealing tell-all that allows Taylor to set the record straight in her own words. Here, you get to see and hear the many parts of Taylor–her romanticism, activism, and passion, as well as her fun banter with the journalists, friends, and lovers who alternately interview her. Of course, the downside to having Taylor and her loved ones narrate a biography is you only get one side of the story, while the thornier parts of her life are skated over. Things like child labor and having to play a married-24-year-old at 16 years old, or being physically abused and suffering a miscarriage, these are things Taylor, and therefore the documentary, shy away from expounding. But while it may not be the definitive documentary on Taylor, it certainly is the most personal and intimate. It also serves as a reminder of how we’d all like to be remembered—in our own and our cherished friends’ words.

When Moviepass announced that it would allow you to watch at least one theater film a day for just $10/month, the deal seemed too good to be true. And it was, though it wouldn’t be apparent till a couple years later after top executives Mitch Lowe and Ted Farnsworth burned through the company’s funding and ultimately ran the company down to the ground. That’s one story MoviePass, MovieCrash tells, that of a business that bit too much than it could chew. But the documentary also brings to the fore the overlooked story of Stacy Spikes and Hamet Watt, the company’s Black co-founders who built something special and innovative, but who were shoved off in a frustrating move of greed and racial politics. That’s the more interesting part of the film, especially since Spikes eventually reclaims what’s his. It’s also what gives the documentary more heart than the usual tale of a business’s downfall.

As a psychological profile of its subject, this documentary about the so-called “mastermind” behind the Bling Ring burglaries isn’t as rigorous as it should be — but as a portrait of that hyper-materialistic era and our never-ending obsession with fame, it fares much better. Rachel Lee was identified as the “ringleader” of the teenagers’ crime spree by some of her accomplices but had never spoken in public until this documentary. That suggests a juicy exposé; in line with this impression, Lee initially presents as starkly self-aware. However, our trust in her ability to give us a truly honest account soon crumbles as she lists off rather weak reasons for her crimes: her middle-class upbringing and parental divorce (though her teenage experiences with drug abuse are more plausible explanations).

Though the film points out the logical flaws and inaccuracies in Lee’s account, it never really takes her to task for them, compromising the rest of her contributions. What is more incisive is its treatment of ancillary figures in the scandal (a fame-obsessed investigating officer and a Bling Ring victim-influencer) — examples which, coupled with the doc’s examination of the flashy excess of the ‘00s, lay out a much clearer picture of the kids’ motivations than much of what Lee offers.

Erin Lee Carr, the director of Britney vs Spears, returns with a scoop. Ringleader is not just another pop culture doc, because it features a first-time interview with the young woman at the center of The Bling Ring robberies in Hollywood, Rachel Lee. But this is not the kind of film that tries to pick the brains of a perpetrator. Instead, the director positions herself as a journalist in front of her subject and questions her frankly, an approach resulting in amusing frankness. However, the rest of the doc feels too formulaic in the way it stitches together personal archive footage that is more or less neutral. Banking too much on exclusivity when it comes to the interview, already clouds it with expectations. One is led to ask whether Lee is good, bad, repentant or sociopathic and project onto her such qualities—a move which invites a similar fascination with celebrity life the film tries to untangle.

It makes sense that a documentary about Faye Dunaway doubles as a documentary about the best of late 20th-century cinema. Dunaway, after all, has starred in many defining films, including Bonnie & Clyde, Chinatown, and Network, the latter of which won her an Oscar. But there are times when it feels like the documentary equates Dunaway to her career, and we get way too many clips of these admittedly great films, as opposed to more intimate slices of Dunaway’s life. Still, it’s heartwarming to see Dunaway take control of her narrative after falling victim to the press’ relentless defamation of the star. Yes, she’s difficult and a diva, she admits that many times in the documentary. But she’s also a fastidious hard worker—someone’s gotta be, or else they wouldn’t come up with the classics that we have now.