50 Informative Movies for Teachers and Students

What starts out as as a summer camp of teenage boys not taking anything seriously grows into a rousing portrait of their hopes and dreams for the future. You wouldn’t expect a documentary like this—shot like a reality TV show—to carry so much weight, but Boys State knows how to unearth the values that drive each of its incredibly well-rounded characters. So by the time these young men have assembled their mock governments and are casting their votes, it feels like the spirit of an entire generation is on the line. This is powerful, entertaining, and ultimately tear-jerking filmmaking that shows us how much work we still have to do and how much hope there still is.

Even before any blood is inevitably shed during A Short Film About Killing (which serves as the expansion of another episode from director Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Dekalog miniseries, alongside A Short Film About Love), there’s something positively oppressive and sinister even just in the way the movie is shot. Kieślowski and cinematographer Witold Adamek use color filters to make the film deliberately ugly—as if the image is degrading right in front of us. Oftentimes shadows obscure the edges of the frame, shining a sickly yellow spotlight on the characters on screen. It’s the perfect way to get right into the heads of these people existing in a lawless land driven by primal instinct.

When crime and punishment finally occur, they’re equally difficult to watch unfold, but in different ways. Kieślowski lingers on the details—the tools and processes that we tell ourselves will make the act of killing easier. And what he’s ultimately able to expose is how capital punishment has been made to seem humane, just, or necessary, when it’s often even more barbaric, cruel, and unproductive than a crime borne of desperation. The very government that does nothing to address the roots of crime is the same one most eager to kill criminals instead.

This story of a filmmaker who stayed in Aleppo, Syria during the war, got married then had a child called Sama, is a mix of difficult and inspiring.

There are stories of unsurmountable loss, as the filmmaker’s husband is one of the 30 remaining doctors in Aleppo (a city of almost 5 million), and she films many of the victims that come to his hospital. But while this is happening, there are also uplifting stories of resilience and rare but profound moments of laughter and joy.

We’re growing too sensitized to violence in Syria, and this movie, possibly the most intimate account of the war, can stir back a much-needed awareness of the injustices that take place.

When things get really bad in the documentary, it’s hard not to wonder where the humanity is in all of this. You quickly realize that it’s right there, behind the camera, in Sama and her mother’s will to live.

A 100-minute highlight reel of the audacious 24-hour performance staged by artist Taylor Mac in 2016, this concert film succeeds not only in capturing the show’s eclectic mix of songs, drag costumes, and interactive audience segments, but in capturing the emotional atmosphere conjured up in that Brooklyn warehouse. The very premise of the performance is ripe for analysis: a history of America starting from 1776, progressing one decade every hour, represented by selections of popular music of the time—which Mac questions at every turn, reinterpreting and reclaiming them for a contemporary queer audience. It begins as a creatively educational exercise, but gradually becomes more and more personal, until the audience is fully involved in the performances themselves.

Even the 24-hour format transcends its gimmick. That the show becomes an endurance test is deliberate, with bonds forming in real time and the exhaustion of this ever-changing drag performance conveying the weight of all this history on the most vulnerable and misrepresented sectors—who’ve already endured continuous losses decade after decade. And still there is cause for celebration, and genuine warmth among the people slowly becoming more vulnerable with each other over 24 hours. It’s a beautiful, intelligent, frequently funny, and ultimately moving experience in a class all its own.

Angle is very open about his ups and downs in this documentary. It takes us through the biggest chapters of his life as a freestyle wrestler: from his intense “exhaust training” regimen that would make you guilty about your workouts; to the infamous tournament where he would break his neck and go on to win an olympic gold medal anyway; to making the transition to pro wrestling where his intensity would reward him—as well as cost him—the prime of his career. It’s an inspiring, well-produced sports documentary, and a lot of it can be attributed to Angle’s detailed memory and willingness to tackle stories head on.

This is maybe the last Montreal Screwjob documentary the world will ever need, but in other respects, it’s an incredibly insightful look at the increasingly raunchy late ‘90s WWF through the eyes of the straight-laced Bret “The Hitman” Hart. We get insights into his bond with his sadistic dad Stu Hart, his priorities when caught between a WWF and WCW bidding war, and his loyal fans who in crowd interviews can be described as the coherent and smarter section of the audience. But what makes this one of the greatest and most important pro wrestling documentaries of all time is its divine timing, getting into Bret’s headspace talking about his future before leaving WWF, hearing his wonder before any of the unfortunate events shortly after.

Nat Geo is still the champion of pristine nature documentaries: the skies, the seas, the snow, and the coloring everywhere is divine. But the serene seaside in Scotland, combined with the reflective, poetic musings about love from Billy and Susan isn’t just cutesy light viewing. I’m confident it can heal an exhausted person. This documentary is a mesmerizing meditation on love and connection, on the things that unite people and other creatures. It might feel like a chunky 77 minutes, especially in the latter half given the pace it goes by, but it’s a warm experience that you instantly know you’ll want to revisit.

They did it. They took advantage of Pinoy movies’ penchant for sappy writing and used it to deliver on its premise. Coming into it blind more-so, you see the violent shift in writing and energy, with everything feeling more relaxed, organic, and truthful after the premise sets in. But they take that subversion a step further by unironically sticking with the sappy elements and not drowning in them; using dramatic backstories, catchphrases, and the staple recurring ’80s theme song to tease and anchor the drama throughout. By Filipino drama standards, it might be an unconventional family film, but with how well they used the tropes, it might also be the quintessential Filipino family film.

The story here is kept stripped down and tense: just a capable hero trying to stand up to the big bad. We want to root for his efforts, but find no joy in it. We feel him be bold while holding back, creating more tension that we don’t quite know how to temper. So much of the story taking place in everyday government buildings pushes the atmosphere from tense to quite frankly depressing. Just when it seems like it’s too damn much, the 2nd act trails off into a more prodding action film, but by that point the film has left its mark enough. All in all, a suspenseful, poignant ride with decent action film tropes to prevent you from dissociating.

It’s impossible to describe this incredible movie as one thing or the other. It’s an epic three-hour saga that takes you through the Nazi era, the communist era, the rise of capitalism, and the East and West German divide. But more than its historic value, it’s a coming-of-age story, one that is based on the experiences of famed German artist Gerhard Richter. It’s also a romance, following his experiences finding love and being hit with loss (in no particular order). If you liked the director’s other work, the Oscar-winning The Lives of Others, you’re sure to love this too.