100 Best Underrated Movies of the ’90s

Though the drag scene is alive and well today, Paris is Burning is an important reminder that it didn’t always used to be that way. Over the course of seven years, Director Jennie Livingston leads us underneath the crime-ridden streets of 80s New York, where a glittery drag subculture is flourishing, despite all odds. Leading the community are the so-called mothers, the best performers and most fashionable of them all, tasked with inspiring and caring for newcomers. Nevermind that they’re shunned by society and suffocated (sometimes literally) by hateful homophobes and racists; when there is a ball, all that matters is that they strut, dance, and put on the best damn show of their lives. What they do is art, and Livingston makes sure to exalt the craft and pride that goes into it. At the same time, intimate interviews with iconic queens like Pepper LaBeija and Willi Ninja reveal the heartbreaking nature of the community. Most, if not all, have endured some form of abuse, and many risk their lives to earn a decent living. But again, Livingston refuses to reduce them to pure tragedy; she gets them to share their wonderfully big dreams, then gets us to hope along with them that they might just come true.

Thirty years after its release, the first ever Chinese language Palme d’Or winner has finally been made more accessible through Criterion Channel through its uncut 4K restoration. Farewell My Concubine is one of those classical epics that is considered essential viewing, but even with its near 3 hour runtime, the film still holds up all these decades later with its startlingly heartrending love story and depiction of the tumultuous shifts of 20th century China. Director Chen Kaige masterfully balances both sides, tapping into the pain Dieyi (Leslie Chung) chooses as he clings to the classical opera, the very art form that allows him a sliver of his unrequited love to be realized, but that is also limited depending on whichever government is in charge at the moment. It’s possibly one of the most beautiful and most miserable films ever made.

From the legendary Hayao Miyazaki, and courtesy of Studio Ghibli, which also brought you Spirited Away, comes this epic whirlwind of a story. Set during a fantastical late Muromachi period, the medieval era of Japan, in a time when many humans were still living among nature, while others set out to conquer and tame it, the movie follows a young man named Ashitaka, who he seeks cure for the curse of a boar god, giving him superhuman powers but eventually killing him. He rides west on a fantastic beast, where he eventually sees a young woman named San, also known as Princess Mononoke. What unfolds from here, is an epic tale of mythical war on many fronts, between the nature gods and humans. While this may sound like a dichotomy, it never is that morally simplistic. The story is action-packed and fast-paced, drawing freely from Japanese mythology as well as modern hot-topic political issues. Add to this the fantastic visuals: Hayao Miyazaki uses a mixture of hand drawings and 3D rendering that are nothing short of spectacular. In short, Princess Mononoke is movie history. If you haven’t seen it yet, do it now.

Whilst a classic in some circles, Festen is many things, but it’s definitely not mainstream entertainment. It was shot by Danish director, Thomas Vinterberg, who founded the Dogme 95 movement together with Lars von Trier in 1995, which sought to put the auteur director back at the heart of filmmaking, as opposed to the power of the studios or special effects. This was the first movie to come out from that group. You thought your family was messed up? Think again. This macabre, Poe-esque, gut-wrenching tale of debauchery will leave you feeling confused and slightly nauseous. This effect is exacerbated by Winterberg’s directing style and the crazy camerawork of Anthony Dod Mantle. With a highly volatile tone and a great cast, the effect Festen has on you is not easily shaken off.

Journalist LLoyd Vogel (Matthey Rhys) scoffs at the prospect of a profile commission, or a “puff piece”, as he calls it. His self-respect and professional ruthlessness has driven people away and this assignment may well be a test from his editor. But it is serendipity that brings Lloyd to American TV host Mister Roger (Tom Hanks) and his child-oriented show, at a time when he, a new father, is confronted with his own paternal trauma. No heavy psychological lifting here, but A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood might be one of the most profound films about father-son relationships ever made. Notably, the film is directed by a woman, Marielle Heller (The Diary of a Teenage Girl). In her film as in his show, Mister Roger doesn’t have to do much: he listens, he speaks, he suggests, and while his kindness may seem frustrating at times, it is truly radical. Additionally, Lloyd’s character is based loosely on writer Tom Junod, whose encounter with Rogers ended up a profile in Esquire magazine.

After third-grader Ali loses the only pair of shoes his sister Zahra owns, the siblings agree to share Ali’s sneakers for school. Zahra uses the tattered, ill-fitting footwear in the morning, and in the afternoon, she hands them over to Ali, who then races to get into school in time. The siblings wait for things to get better at home before they mention anything to their already-burdened parents, but in the meantime, they persevere, scooping up every bit of silver lining they find, whether it’s popping soap bubbles or taking in the city’s ultramodern sights. 

In this way, Children of Heaven is neither cynical nor cheesy. It presents the harsh reality of Tehran’s poor without robbing them of hope and agency, giving the movie the right amount of self-aware and feel-good that elevates it into a classic. Thanks to this masterful balance, plus many awe-inspiring shots and lines, it should come as no surprise that Children of Heaven is the first Iranian film to be nominated for Best Foreign Language Feature at the Oscars.

Before Turning Red and Crazy Rich Asians, there was The Joy Luck Club. Based on the bestselling novel, the film adaptation centers around the four Chinese-American women and their relationships with their mainland-born mothers. Explaining that the club isn’t particularly joyful or lucky, the film starts from June’s perspective, a perspective of a Chinese-American woman who’s lived all her life in America. However, through strategic screenplay structure and effective sequence arrangement, we learn the struggles of the founding club members, the struggles that brought them to another country, which forms the dynamics between them and their American daughters. Because of how comprehensive and layered the film is, this underrated film adaptation is a phenomenal take on the immigrant experience. Tears are inevitable with how they deal with difficulties, but so is hope.

Kimberly Peirce’s first–out of only three—film was a smashing success, mostly due to her dedication to the subject matter. Peirce spent years researching the life and tragic death of Brandon Teena after reading an article about him in The Village Voice. She felt a particular kind of kinship as a queer person herself, and wanted to construct a story out of real facts that would put the spotlight on love and the desire for connection, and not that much on the violence which dominated the public discourse. In Falls City, Nebraska, the director conducted interviews with Lana Tisdale (Brandon’s girlfriend) and her mother, while attending the ongoing trial. She took years to cast the lead and from hundreds of cis women, lesbians, and trans people, she chose the unknown actress Hilary Swank, who went on to win the Best Actress Academy Award (and the irony of that is not lost on us). The film features fantastic performances aplenty and very raw storytelling, visualized by neorealist style and low lighting. Direct references were the films of Martin Scorcese and John Cassavetes, but Boys Don’t Cry has its own blend of beauty and cruelty to take pride in.

The Commitments is the kind of film you show someone you like to test who they are. If they like it, they’re good people. If they don’t, they’re probably soulless. It’s very hard to find fault in The Commitments, a ‘90s Irish musical following a band of aimless young people hoping to escape their troubled realities one rehearsal and gig at a time. They may be penniless and uneducated, but when they take on the stage, these soul (not jazz!) performers will dazzle you to no end. The cast was chosen primarily for their musical chops and it shows—these kids can sing. And when they start, you wish they’d never stop. The lead singer, Deco (a 16-year-old Andrew Strong) is the most arresting out of them, but all 11 of them are very easy to like and follow, even through that difficult but suitable ending.

While the film adapts some of Shakespeare’s histories, you don’t need to know Shakespeare to appreciate My Own Private Idaho. In fact, instead of focusing on the Prince Hal character, Scott Favor (Keanu Reeves), the film centers on his narcoleptic friend Mike Waters (River Phoenix). Both of them are young street hustlers in Portland. However, unlike Favor, Waters has no reliable family, inheritance, or support system waiting for him to give up his job. Waters only has his body. Writer-director Gus Van Sant doesn’t really focus on the sex or the narcolepsy – these flash by us only as a state-of-mind experience, with time-lapses and freeze-frames to impart to us Waters’ detachment. Instead, Van Sant cares more about Waters’ seeking connection. It’s why the surreal shots speed by us so fast, and why the natural, lived-in scenes remain in our heads. It’s why Waters’ campfire confession, crackling under Phoenix’s earnest voice, feels so powerful. And it’s also why his later rejection feels so painful.

Kathryn Bigelow has a knack for action-packed scenes without compromising on the affective qualities of film style. It is precisely this combination that makes her a rare gem in American cinema, where the values of entertainment soar high. Point Break is one such example of controlled chaos, impeccable framing, and a convincing use of fast-paced editing to really get you as close to the action as possible. But what gives the film its flavour is how developed and synced the characters are and the Reeves-Swayze duo here belongs in the pantheon of equally hot frenemies, providing an apt, but subtle comment on the dangers of toxic masculinity. 

An early gem from Finnish maestro Aki Kaurismäki, Drifting Clouds is a deceptively simple story. The aftermath of job losses for wife Ilona (Kati Outinen) and husband Lauri (Kari Väänänen) holds a series of misfortunes, all of them tests to their marital bond. But this is only the beginning: as with Kaurismäki’s endearing use of flat irony and detached performances by regular actors of his, things can only get worse before they get better. Humanism has always shined through the director’s films, and this first part of a “Finland” trilogy makes no exception to the rule: the fact that labor and closeness are the two main themes (and are equally important for one’s survival) already elevates the absurdist comedy to something way more caring, engaged, and ultimately, tender.

Forgoing the typical catastrophic approach to the apocalypse, writer, star, and director Don McKellar opts for a grounded tone in Last Night, a film about the end of the world. In it, various Torontonians figure out how best to celebrate and mourn their final hours on Earth. While McKellar’s character Patrick originally planned to spend the day alone, he finds himself gravitating to Sandra (Sandra Oh), a stranger who he gets to know in a series of conversations.

Last Night is more like Before Sunrise than The Day After Tomorrow in that way, filled as it is with thought-provoking dialogue and interesting insights into everyday characters. Whether it was intentional or due to the obviously limited budget, the decision to leave out details like why the world is ending and how is a clever one since it allows us to hyperfocus on everyone’s psyche and inner workings. There is desperation, longing, and anxiety, but also relief, gratitude, and joy. 

If you’re watching it for the first time, you’ll be delighted to find surprise stars populate this lo-fi production—apart from McKellar and Oh, well-regarded auteurs Sarah Polley (Stories We Tell) and David Cronenberg (Crimes of the Future) also make welcome appearances. 

Starring Matthew Broderick and a young Reese Witherspoon as, respectively, Jim McAllister, a high school teacher and Tracy Flick, a notorious ‘that girl’ in his class. When Tracy decides to run for class president, we see the floodgates open as all sorts of bizarre and insane behavior pours out of the two. Quickly, it becomes clear that Tracy will do nearly anything to win, and as circumstances spiral out of control, madness descends – along with hilarity!

Without context, Minbo, or the Gentle Art of Japanese Extortion seemed like a goofy satire, especially when the silly trumpet score pops up, and unfortunate hotel employees Suzuki and Wakasugi flounder around trying to solve the hotel’s yakuza problem on their own. And when Nobuko Miyamoto shows up as the brilliant lawyer, it’s so satisfying to see her turn the tables on the yakuza purely through words, strategy, and knowledge of law. It’s hilarious, but Minbo doesn’t just poke fun– it demystifies the gangster as a cool and untouchable figure, portraying them instead as loudmouthed bullies that we can handle. It also shows us how much can be done, only if we, as a group, perhaps as a whole nation, can muster the courage to fight.

A lot of things steal your attention in All About My Mother, Spanish director Pedro Almodovar’s ode to women. There are the colorful characters, which include a transgender sex worker, a pregnant nun, and a red-haired theater diva. There are the vibrant primary colors, the jokes that catch you off-guard, and the powerful dramatic performances. It could’ve easily been a mess, but Almodóvar—in a way that only he can—makes everything coexist beautifully. The dramedy is just as much about mothers as it is about homosexuality, found families, grief, and love. Although it’s in Spanish, it conveys impactful, universal themes. It’s no surprise that it swept awards around the world, including the Oscars, Goya, and the Golden Globes.

Set in the small town of Åmål, western Sweden, the debut feature by Lukas Moodysson (We Are the Best), is itself a metonymy for the bigger questions of life. It’s playful and dead serious at the same time, in the way it portrays teenager Agnes, who, after two years of living in Åmål, still hasn’t made any friends that would attend her birthday party. Instead, she spends her time typing away on her computer, poetic diaries and love confessions to a girl from school named Elin. She’s the popular one and therefore, out of reach. The amount of tension and escalating ambivalence the film conjures with just a simple narrative decision—a bet, a kiss, an apology—is palpable throughout the 86 minutes of its runtime. A perfect capsule of lesbian desire and first love, Show Me Love is a gem of a movie; one that would make you think Close was a tad overrated. Oh, and don’t forget to add the titular song by Swedish pop star Robyn to your Spotify favorites.

There are connections we make in this lifetime that we expect to be ephemeral, especially in a new city, but sometimes these connections end up being the most meaningful relationship to us. For Jun in Comrades, Almost a Love Story, street smart Qiao is that connection. As she teaches Xiao Jun in Hong Kong city life, they both edge closer to being lovers and Hongkongers, but not quite enough to receive the title. And as fate separates them and fate (and Teresa Teng) brings them together, Comrades, Almost a Love Story crafts quite a memorable romance that stems from a shared dream of finally moving up in the world.

In Moving, we see a married couple’s relationship unravel through the eyes of 12-year-old Ren (Tomoko Tabata, an unbelievable natural). Ren is smart and mature; she performs domestic chores and doesn’t hesitate to tell her parents off. But she’s also just a child, so when she learns about her parents’ plan to divorce, she breaks down, despite herself. She concocts adorable Parent Trap-like plans and gives in to her childish and dangerous urges. She also runs away a lot, hence the title. She’s in the midst of a painful coming-of-age—of realizing for the first time that your parents aren’t heroes, your friends won’t always have your back, and your summer vacations won’t always be pretty. The film captures that anguish, just as much as it revels in the playfulness that seems innate in Ren. The result is a delightful, moving film that serves to remind us just how rich the inner world of a child is, and how she deserves to be treated just the same as any human being, that is, with respect and a whole lot of empathy.

An offbeat film with a more than decent amount of suspense. To that it adds really good music and unexpected animation, to make for a very audacious, interesting and mostly fun film. It uses all this to show how life can change in a twist and how it can be influenced by weird connections of otherwise unrelated events.

At the risk of being cliché, I’m going to state that only the French could have made a movie about racial issues and the troubles of youngsters in the suburbs and still make it elegant. I’ve tried looking for other adjectives, but I couldn’t find one that better describes those long takes shot in a moody black and white. But despite the elegance of the footage, the power of the narrative and the acting makes the violence and hate realistic as hell, dragging you into the story and empathizing with the characters until you want to raise your arm and fight for your rights. Aside from this unusual combination of fine art and explicit violence, the most shocking thing about La Haine is how much the issues it addresses still make sense right now, even though the movie was released 20 years ago.

True Romance is a wildly entertaining and twistedly enjoyable crime film, directed by Tony Scott (Top Gun) and written by a young Quentin Tarantino. It stars Christian Slater as a young nebbish comic book store employee named Clarence who falls in love with a prostitute named Alabama (Patricia Arquette), and sets his mind to rid her of her indebtedness to a volatile pimp named Drexel (Gary Oldman). The story eventually finds them absconding to California with a suitcase full of cocaine, with the intention of selling off their illicit cache to a Hollywood bigwig in order to pursue their dreams of freedom and opportunity. Replete with a remarkable cast of famous names and familiar faces (including Brad Pitt, Christopher Walken and even Val Kilmer as the ghost of Elvis), True Romance is a true 90’s-era classic. It showcases Tarantino’s trademark witty dialogue throughout, enmeshed with the savage humor and jarring violence that he has become so well known for. It’s very much an homage to Hollywood classics such as Bonnie and Clyde and Badlands (including a rousing score by Hans Zimmer inspired by George Tipton’s score for Badlands), and ultimately serves as one of Tarantino’s most underrated career accomplishments.

David O. Russel (Silver Linings Playbook, American Hustle) is one of those directors who the more you dig into his past, the more you are rewarded. I Heart Huckabees is a great example of this, as is The Fighter (both are must-watch if you haven’t seen them). But it is Three Kings that truly presented him as someone who can give great substance to big-budget movies. It stars George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg, Ice Cube, and even director Spike Jonze (Her, Adaptation), in other words, a festival of talent at its peak. And it follows three soldiers who want use the end of the Gulf War as an opportunity to get rich. Their journey through a devastated and uncertain Iraq is a thrilling one, as Three Kings is action-packed. But the purpose of this movie lies somewhere between political satire around American interventionism and social criticism of the main characters. However, none of that stands in the way of this movie being an entertaining and exhilarating movie.

Forlorn longing envelops Days of Being Wild, where the act of dreaming is as valuable as its actual fulfillment. “You’ll see me tonight in your dreams,” Yuddy tells Su Li-zhen on their first meeting, and indeed, this line of dialogue sets the film’s main contradiction: would you rather trap yourself in the trance-like beauty of dreams or face the unpleasant possibilities of reality? Wong Kar-wai’s characters each have their own answers, with varying subplots intersecting through the consequences of their decisions. In the end, happiness comes in unexpected ways, granted only to those brave enough to wake up and dream again.

In this film-within-a-film, we and a fictional version of actress Maggie Cheung are brought through the disorienting experience of French filmmaking. The film’s washed-up director wants to remake the classic silent film Les Vampires to revive his career. But as with all plans, everything inevitably goes wrong. On top of depicting the regular chaos of a movie set, this film presents the anxieties of the modern-day French film industry—about how it may be past its prime, and how it can still compete on a global level. And through the steady, inscrutable face of Maggie Cheung, we remember the creative collaborations we’ve had ourselves—the energetic passion, the behind-the-scenes power dynamics, and the pure chaos of the process.

While being known for co-writing the Dogme 95 manifesto, Lars von Trier’s first film after breaks his rules with built sets and music added in post. Still, Breaking the Waves has plenty of von Trier’s thematic preoccupations, challenging the notions between faithfulness and sexuality by positing a married couple who cannot indulge in marital pleasure, due to being paralyzed. While the premise leads to explicit scenes, it’s more harrowing than sexy, really. It’s terribly heartbreaking as Bess does all she can for her marriage, first by praying for her husband’s return, and then following his perverse wish, partly from guilt, but partly from pleasure, even when it goes contrary to her repressive church and community. Breaking the Waves may not be an easy watch, but regardless of what you personally feel about the morality of Bess’ actions, von Trier will nevertheless bring you to empathy.

When it comes to work, most apply to a job, take a 9-5 role for some decades, and then retire once enough funds have been acquired, the body gives out, or they reach the statutory age in their respective countries. This path isn’t as straightforward for the artist. La Belle Noiseuse is a portrait of an artist in his later years, only making a return due to an unexpected muse. It is quite lengthy, almost four hours, so it may feel like a daunting task for casual film viewers, as much as it is for the painter, but the way Rivette dedicates the time to the etching, the turn of the page, the brush of the paint upon the paper feels so calming, with the artist and their muse at their most natural. It’s easy to deduce the inevitable connection that forms, but La Belle Noiseuse is much more interested in the creative process, rather than the romantic drama, more interested in exploring the way art endeavors to capture the soul, even when the muse continues to remain elusive.

Strictly Ballroom is an energetic, fun and hilarious movie. Baz Lurhman does an incredible job telling the story of a rebellious young dancer who just wants to dance his own steps in the face of conformity. When he finds an inexperienced yet determined dance partner it’s the beginning of an unexpected love story like no other. This movie isn’t like the usual rom-com, it has colour, vitality and passion. It’s a Moulin Rouge but with even more character, and the work that put Lurhman on the map for everyone.

When a stranger claiming to be your long lost uncle suddenly announces that he’ll be visiting you, there’s an immediate mystery there: is this man really who he claims he is? The Stranger is centered on that idea, but the way Satyajit Ray expands on his short story transforms this domestic drama into a witty and contemplative dialectic about civil society, Western versus Indian thinking, our ideas of home, and trust in a world that’s forgotten how to do so. Agantuk may not be Ray at his finest, but it’s a great film to end his career on, with a memorable character that encapsulates Ray’s philosophy.

While the mixed reception of its near-faithful American remake Vanilla Sky might make some viewers pause, there’s an intuitive brilliance in the Spanish original Open Your Eyes that isn’t easy to translate. Sure, the apparent differences help– it’s shorter and less complicated, and Cesar’s face turns more grotesque than David’s does. But what’s startling about Open Your Eyes is the way writer-director Alejandro Amenábar guides the camera through its various shifts, creating a more subtle and gradual realization that something is wrong, and thus, a more terrifying dream turned nightmare. Amenábar has later deemed the film as his worst, saying it was written when he didn’t know much about life, but, in our opinion, Abre Los Ojos still holds up as a groundbreaking existential sci-fi simulation, one that still puzzles and captivates years after.

Many people would rather see happy, positive depictions of people like them, but sometimes, it’s important to see the sides that we don’t really like to see, but should have some awareness of, in order to address them. It’s because of this director Lee Tamahori initially thought that adapting the Maori novel Once Were Warriors would end up as a flop– the novel depicts the worst sides of modern Maori people, as disenfranchisement pushed many to poverty, alcoholism, and abuse. However, Tamahori ended up crafting a fierce, intense debut by focusing on Beth Heke and her children– granting more screentime to their healing rather than their suffering. Once Were Warriors isn’t an easy watch. Tamahori makes the alienation, the rage, and the hardship feel palpable. But he mostly reminds people to return to their roots, returning to one’s culture to truly heal as a society, and this is why Once Were Warriors proved to be one of the best films ever made from New Zealand.

Love can happen anytime and anywhere, but some of the best love stories are about the kind of love that fundamentally challenges the lovers in question, as well as the kind of people these lovers are. One such film that does that is Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. It’s a simple holiday romance, but the straightforward plot works because of the leads’ playful chemistry and because of the way writer-director Aditya Chopra understands the characters of his directorial debut. While abroad, the two young adults are pushed to think about each other as they navigate an unfamiliar continent, but as they return to their regular lives– with Raj still remaining in Europe and Simran moving back to India– they’re challenged like many second-generation kids, to either return to the culture they grew up in, or adapt to the culture of where they’re going. Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge suggests that being Indian and living abroad, as well as personal happiness and respecting one’s family, doesn’t have to contradict, and it’s these ideas that makes it a classic.

A Simple Plan, directed by Sam Raimi (The Evil Dead, Spider-Man) is a psychological thriller that follows two brothers and a friend who stumble upon $4 million in a crashed airplane. Initially agreeing to return the money once winter is over, they start to argue among themselves and get paranoid about being found out, eventually resorting to lies, deceit, and murder. The film, which stars Bill Paxton (Aliens) and Billy Bob Thornton (Fargo, Landman) as brothers, twists into horrifying turns, each one revealing a dark truth about what humans can do when shoved into desperate circumstances. Thorton was rightfully nominated for an Oscar for his role as the weak-link brother, while writer Scott B. Smith was nominated for an Oscar for adapting his novel of the same name for this film’s script.

An absolute delight of a gem starring a young Winona Ryder as well as an amazing cast. Arguably Jim Jarmusch’s best film, it tells the story of 5 different places at night from the perspective of cab drivers and their passengers: Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Rome, and Helsinki. It’s really hard to pick a favorite among the stories, from a messy tomboy having to deal with a busy businesswoman, to a blind woman in Paris making a frustrated driver from Ivory Coast go insane. But look out for Helmut and Yo-Yo, from the New York story. I’ve rarely seen anything in film as fun as their story.

While many homophobic people like to think otherwise, there have been gay people all throughout history, some that have survived war and pandemics and persecution and even became widely renowned. Gods and Monsters is a more speculative than accurate biopic about Hollywood director James Whale, who was actually out during his career. That being said, it’s astounding how writer-director Bill Condon and lead Ian McKellen created such a bittersweet examination of the Lost Generation, not just of the loves that were lost but of the lives that could not be lived, the longing that could not be actualized. And the film takes a risky, but nuanced subversion in the way it examines the Hollywood system, subverting the roles Whale and Boone have placed on others and on themselves. It’s a daring portrayal of both homosexuality and of the film industry, one that’s emotionally poignant and ahead of its time.

At the height of the 1997 Asian financial crisis, a small Singaporean family scrambles to keep their middle-class status afloat. The parents shave their expenses and work extra-long hours, but their busyness causes them to neglect their misbehaved son. When his misdemeanors prove to be too much, the mother is forced to hire a stay-at-home nanny, and her presence (along with other external pressures) brings about a change in the house. Suddenly, everyone becomes a bit more aware of their limitations and potential, and from this, a shared empathy grows. In other hands, this story might come off as bare and forgettable, but under first-time-feature director Anthony Chen’s helm, Ilo Ilo comes to life in rich detail, thoughtful shots, and captivatingly natural performances. Despite its many heartbreaking scenes, the film rarely dwells in sentiment, and it’s this restraint that makes Ilo Ilo all the more gripping to watch. 

Audition is not for the faint of heart. It’s shockingly violent and deeply unsettling, filled with sights and sounds that will haunt you for days on end. But there is grace to its terror; it’s profound and artistic in ways that elevate it from generic horror fare.

On a deeper level, Audition is about the destructive power of abuse, trauma, and loneliness, about how a society that neglects to recognize this eventually suffers from it. The revenge plot isn’t merely individual, as well, but a representation of the female subconscious: tired of objectification, eager for redress. And everything about the way the film is made, from the shaky camera and titled frames to the dramatic shadows and eerie lighting, reflects that imbalance. 

Audition may be chilling and gruesome, but it’s also smart and important, a psychosexual thriller that captures female anger well before it became the rage. 

Before he developed his signature dollhouse visual style, Wes Anderson made his feature debut with this lowkey, heartwarming, and decidedly not-symmetrically-perfect comedy about a bunch of misfits. Bottle Rocket isn’t as much of an outlier in its director’s storied filmography as might initially seem, however. Written in partnership with college buddy Owen Wilson — who, along with brothers Luke and Andrew, made his acting debut here — the film is delightfully offbeat and unexpectedly moving in the way we’ve come to expect from Anderson.

Dignan (Owen Wilson) and Anthony (Luke Wilson) are two drifting, boyish twenty-somethings, although only Anthony seems aware of his directionlessness, as Dignan has graciously developed a 50-year life plan for the two of them (complete with hilariously vague bullet-points such as “Make wise investments” and “Own multiple accommodations”). The means to these ambitious ends is a life of crime — specifically, pulling off grand heists. But Dignan’s meticulousness hasn’t accounted for distractions, and his madcap scheme falls at the first hurdle when Anthony falls in love with a housekeeper at the motel they hide out in (Lumi Cavazos). Their sweet romance is one of the film’s many delights, as is its barrelling deadpan humor, which never betrays the warmth of the Wilson brothers’ heartwarming depiction of ride-or-die friendship.

For a film made in the mid-90s, by a straight white man in his early 20s, Chasing Amy is startingly smart and sensitive, filled with more relatable moments than anyone would care to admit. Sure, by today’s standards, its exploration of sexuality is questionable at best and cringe-worthy at worst, but it’s also an honest depiction of how an era (and some people still) confront this reality. And for all the important issues it tries to address, like homophobia, racism, and toxic masculinity, it’s also at its core a confectionary romcom. If When Harry Met Sally asks, “Can women and men be friends?”, then Chasing Amy complicates it with a question of its own: “Can a lesbian and a guy who falls in love too quickly be friends?” You may or may not arrive at an answer by the film’s end, but you’ll find much to like in its earnestness and thoughtfulness.

Cheerfully outrageous yet heartwarmingly tender, the Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert was ahead of its time, daring to dive into drag and transexuality, when the rest of the world was still coming around to accepting homosexuality. On the bus which the title is named after, two drag queens and a trans woman have a road trip, that does have some difficult moments, when they drive through intolerant towns, but overall, becomes quite lovely, as the three forge a bond through drag, witty, sarcastic quips and sharing vulnerable moments. While all three leads are portrayed by cis men, and the role of Bob’s Filipino wife feels slightly stereotypical, overall, The Adventures of Priscilla is a grand ol’ time, a joyful film about finding family in a world where tolerance wasn’t a guarantee.

Known for showcasing the grittier side of New York in his films, Martin Scorsese shifts to its upper echelons in The Age of Innocence. Based on the 1920 novel, the film follows society attorney Newland Archer (Daniel Day-Lewis) as he courts and marries the respectable May Welland (Winona Ryder), despite his desire for childhood friend Countess Ellen Olenska (Michelle Pfeiffer).

Undeniably gorgeous and impressively shot, what ultimately makes the film stand out among Scorsese’s work is how well the three leads embody the complex characters of the novel on multiple levels. Day-Lewis skillfully turns a corrupt, arrogant lawyer into someone who admirably refuses to be anything but himself, while Pfeiffer hides a stubbornness and frustration within Olenska. But it’s Ryder who best portrays her character’s complexity, Welland’s wide-eyed gaze concealing secret manipulations. All of them drive this story that not only mourns for lost love, but acts as a mourning for a lost Golden Age.

Warm and nourishing as the film’s cuisine, Soul Food is a celebration of the modern African-American family, represented here by the Josephs. The Chicagoan family has a longstanding tradition of making dinner together every Sunday—a ritual, we’re told, that’s lasted for at least 40 years. However, when the matriarch Big Mama Joe gets hospitalized, the simmering tension between her daughters boils over and threatens to break them apart. Many of the struggles they go through are familiar but not cliché, as writer-director George Tillman Jr. draws from his own experiences in a close-knit, extended family. So even if some plot lines feel unresolved, the film is well-paced, soulfully scored, and evenly balanced between the three sisters. Like the food cooked on-screen, this movie will still leave you hungering for more.

When citizenship and rights can only be achieved through federal service, you have no choice but to militarize. Johnny Rico is young, impressionable, but noble; in other words, he is an archetypal hero even if he initially enlists just to be close to his girlfriend Carmen (Denise Richards). From then on, Starship Troopers unfolds as a high-strung high school drama, but in the middle of a space colonization. During one such mission, a highly evolved insectoid race, Arachnids, proves to be the most dangerous enemy to human supremacy and the fight is on. What’s interesting about Starship Troopers is that it shows how a well-oiled propaganda machine works and for that reason, it was accused of indoctrination and army endorsement. Even more, it was dubbed fascist, instead of the fascist satire it claimed to be. But today, it’s indisputably a cult film and a great introduction to the Paul Verhoeven’s work in Hollywood.

You can tell Drugstore Cowboy was written by someone who has been through drug abuse and incarceration himself. This is the kind of film that has to be lived, not researched. It’s realistic, sure, and it gets at the interiority of a drug user with ease. But there is no judgment to be found here, no preachy criticism or misguided glorification of a hardened lifestyle. Bob (Matt Dillon) and his wife Dianne (Kelly Lynch) have created a nomadic, transient life that allows them to live on drugstore lootings one district at a time, while looking out for each other and the other couple they live with, Rick (James LeGros) and Nadine (Heather Graham). They chose this outlaw life, and because of the agency the film affords them, there is joy to be found despite their difficulties. It’s an authentic story, elevated by imaginative editing, a jazzy, heart-thumping score, and believable performances by a quartet of capable actors.

When a shy student somehow attracts the attention of the most popular guy at school, it’s pretty much the stuff of plenty of straight teenage romcoms. Get Real is this, but gay, but there’s a tenderness to the way these teenage archetypes are portrayed, and simply placing Steven and John’s closeted relationship side-by-side with the usual straight sexual shenanigans of the classic teen genre immediately challenges the double standard. It’s a simple and straightforward approach (heh), but at the same time, it’s ahead of its time, yet oh-so-very 90s. It’s surprising that Get Real hasn’t garnered the cult status it deserves.

There are strange coincidences, connections, and chains that link two people within a place, whether they’re aware of it or not. Customers in a strip club may be linked just by the desire they share over a dancer, but in writer-director Atom Egoyan’s Exotica, they’re more so linked by trauma and grief, by trying to carve a piece of the world that they once lost. The way Egoyan unpacks these hidden connections is intriguing, taking the club’s seedy atmosphere to fuel the mood and mystery of each transaction, which, with the surprising innocence of the characters, creates a compelling contrast that we can’t help but watch.

When someone does everything they can to stop you, even to the point of irrationality, that’s hater behavior. This is exactly what drives Dutch-Belgian drama Character. The murder mystery, that is, whether or not Katadreuffe actually killed Dreverhaven, is surprisingly not the most interesting part about this movie– it’s actually what the hell Dreverhaven has against Katadreuffe, because, as the film unfolds, the petty, irrational actions the older bailiff done against the newbie lawyer starts to add up, piece by piece, to the point that this actually starts to matter in Katadreuffe’s life, to the point that it wouldn’t be a surprise if Katadreuffe actually killed him. Gloomy, moody zoom-ins into their faces emphasize the leads’ intense performances, which they infuse with an understanding of the stakes that aren’t obvious to even their own characters. Karakter adapts the bestselling Dickens-like novel with style and subtlety.

In most cases (and in so many romance films), the heart clinging to a past love can be silly, at best, and self-sabotaging, at worst. Nostalgia filters the past through rose-tinted lenses, skewing our perspective of what’s true and what’s imagined. In another filmmaker’s hands, A Tale of Winter could very well be this cliché, but writer-director Éric Rohmer gives every reason to believe that Félicie’s love is true. Their separation is caused not by a breakup, but by a simple wrong address. She hasn’t closed herself off to finding someone else, but the feeling, hers and the scenes themselves, don’t quite match to the summer romance montage. When she does talk about The One to her prospective suitors, she’s sane and sober, regardless of whether or not she’s right. And because of excellent writing and Rohmer’s approach, we can’t say her choice is wrong.

If you are a fan of Hong Kong martial arts films, you probably already know who Jet Li is. The iconic action star has plenty of great titles in his filmography but the work that shot him to continent-wide stardom was Once Upon a Time in China, and for good reason. His competitive background in wushu lent to fast yet fluid action sequences, and it’s all paired with intuitive cuts, intricate sets, flowy costume designs, and camera work that made him shine. But what made the action stand out is that it’s all in service of retelling a real life Cantonese folk hero’s story, infused with the understanding of the nineteenth-century foreign occupation of China and the then-upcoming concerns over globalization. It made for a thrilling action-comedy-melodrama that eventually garnered a reputation as a wuxia staple.

The three leads residing in the Edinburgh flat of Shallow Grave are terrible people. They’re obnoxious snobs that like to lord over potential roommates simply because they can. So you can imagine that it’s rather hilarious to see them get torn apart– not just because of themselves generally, but precisely because their snobbish roommate selection process chose the absolute wrong person to room with. Director Danny Boyle captures that meltdown with excellent shots and an electronic soundtrack, with compelling performances that balances the dark humor with the thrill, pairing the seemingly silly contempt they have for others with the real mistrust that lays between them even before money enters their lives. There are certain moments that do feel familiar, but on the whole, Shallow Grave digs deeper than expected.

In the 1995 adaptation of the Jane Austen novel Sense and Sensibility, Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet play Dashwood sisters Elinor and Marianne, whose recent loss of wealth has them looking for suitable partners. Hugh Grant’s Edward Ferrars and Alan Rickman’s Colonel Brandon show their interest, but circumstances regarding love and money complicate their relationships with the women. For this film, Thompson was nominated for a Best Actress Academy Award, but she eventually took home the Screenwriting Oscar for adapting the beloved novel. Thompson added scenes and lines which did so well, the film is often. credited as starting the Austen renaissance in modern cinema. The performances are unforgettable, but it’s the pieces—the lush dresses, sweeping hills, grand mansions, homely cottages, paired with a lovely script—that make it a beautiful whole.

For most prominent people, the biopics made about them are usually made by others that know of them, but not personally. Because of this, Jacquot de Nantes is a special one. Filmmaker Agnès Varda recreates the childhood of her fellow filmmaker Jacques Demy through a mix of memories only they could have accessed as a married couple. She recreates most of his happy childhood in black-and-white film, inter stitching them with scenes from Demy’s own movies as well as rare bursts of color from the stories that made him. She also adds the few clips Demy took for film before illness kept him from directing. The footage is already unparalleled compared to most biopic makers’, but with Varda’s signature style, Jacquot de Nantes is a moving ode to Demy, the movies that made him, and the love that they shared.

Each time a classic gets adapted, there’s always the question as to why it should be told again. After all, we’ve already heard it before. The huge-nosed Cyrano loves Roxane, but he gets to express his love through the face and signature of the handsome Christian, who’s happy to use Cyrano’s wit in turn. In today’s world, that’s historical catfishing. However, there’s something compelling about the way this 90’s French adaptation embraces its story. Perhaps it’s the lead performance from Gérard Depardieu, or perhaps it’s the expensive production, but much like its protagonist, the film is unapologetic about what it wants but prioritizes what is necessary. Cyrano de Bergerac gets us swept up in the same feeling, just with a different sort of panache.

In the fallout of his conflict with producer Tsui Hark, filmmaker John Woo was alone, virtually blacklisted, and unable to find funding for what could have been the prequel to A Better Tomorrow. Because of these circumstances, he self-funded this action thriller Bullet in the Head. Of course, it’s possible that the themes of brotherhood, loyalty, and betrayal are entirely coincidental, but nonetheless, Woo crafts a compelling narrative, helped by its haunting score and the tear-tracked performances of the three leads. Setting the film in the Hong Kong riots and Vietnam War, Bullet in the Head reveals how war never leaves any relationship unscathed, not even between those who proclaim to be brothers.

In Rounders, Matt Damon plays a law student and reformed poker player who is forced back into the game in order to help his newly-paroled best friend (Edward Norton) pay off overwhelming gambling debts. It’s an enjoyable insider’s look into the world of high stakes gambling and of Poker specifically, giving the viewer compelling insights into Poker in terms of strategy as well as human psychology. Damon and Norton are well-cast in their roles — Norton particularly great as the sleazy and manipulative “Worm”. Not-overly-surprising in its storytelling, yet highly enjoyable from beginning to end, this one will appeal to fans of gambling and sports films, as well as those who enjoy modern film noir and pseudo-noir films with a nice dramatic edge.

A sweet and wholesome tale of two boys falling in love against the backdrop of 90s homophobia and social issues. Jamie is a heavily bullied high schooler whose only sanctuary is his family’s low-income apartment. His mom Sandra decides to also make that apartment a sanctuary for Ste, another highschooler suffering from an abusive father and older brother. They share Jamie’s bed and their prospect of friendship quickly turns into something else.

Beautiful Thing is beautifully scripted and never too emotional. In fact, whenever the story moves towards the emotional, a funny scene is introduced to ease the tension. Many of these scenes feature Sandra’s boyfriend, a well-spoken hippie by the name of Tony. Features heavy British accents, subtitles may be necessary!

Slow, contemplative, but captivating, Baraka uses no narration, dialogue, or text to connect its images. The documentary stitches together shots with different subjects from different locations around the world. At first, it seems very peaceful—gorgeous, high-definition shots of nature paired with a soothing, resonant score that lulls you into hypnosis—but as the film progresses, director and cinematographer Ron Fricke presents more scenes with people, from the cities to the countryside, to places rarely documented on film. Depending on how you look at it, Baraka will either feel like just a compilation of screensavers or a profound meditation on how intrinsically connected everything is. It’s totally breathtaking either way.

Comparisons are easy between friends and within peer groups, but the comparison that is most immediate is that between you and your sibling, especially when they wound up more successful than you are. Hilary and Jackie captures that experience between two real-life musical sisters, but the comparison is so much more difficult as Jackie shot to cellist superstardom, even with under the same musical beginnings as her less known sister Hilary. It’s flawed, but it’s deeply personal, diving into their shared anxieties from two different lives, and it’s surprisingly well-rounded, perfectly halved between the sisters’ perspectives led excellently by Rachel Griffiths and Emily Watson. Hilary and Jackie is not comfortable to watch, especially during Jackie’s later years, but it’s a daring portrait of a difficult, but still loving, sibling relationship.

At first glance, Dogfight seems to be just a standard love story: a Marine falling in love with a woman just before he’s sent overseas. But underneath, there’s a rebuke at American masculinity that needs to be acknowledged. As Eddie and his friends make bets at the expense of their dates, Dogfight rightfully portrays this treatment as casual, unthinking cruelty, and it’s the exact cruelty that they inflict on themselves, the same obedient mindset that continues to push them to various wars around the world at that time. River Phoenix evokes that startling realization with the gentle way Eddie starts to treat Rose, and as the night alternates between his date and the shenanigans his buddies go through without him, Dogfight questions the way boys come of age, this mindset, and what it means to grow up.

Upon the first few minutes of Institute Benjamenta, or This Dream People Call Human Life, it’s obvious that the Brothers Quay’s first live-action film is highly unusual. First, it’s entirely black and white, with embellished, serif subtitles translating the initial German. Second, many of the film’s shots take the form of moody, gothic close-ups, reminiscent of 1920s silent films, like when Johannes examines his new pupil’s health, or when Lisa directs Jakob with an animal’s hoof next to his cheek. And third, the plot itself is strange, as the students are taught not to think anything of themselves, with only Jakob questioning their instruction. But there’s a certain beauty in the surreal approach the Brothers Quay takes in adapting the Swiss-German novel, a certain intuitive feel that allows the story to expand past its stilted movement, restrained frames, and the school’s oppressive tutelage. Institute Benjamenta is bizarre, but it’s undeniably a fascinating film, even at its most disturbing.

In war, sometimes, what stands between life and death is convenient papers, passable acting, and a buttload of luck. That was true of real-life World War II survivor Solomon Perel, whose story is depicted in Europa Europa. Somewhat like a Jewish Forrest Gump, all Perel wants to do is survive, but through his pretenses, he inadvertently witnesses the ideologies that tore the European continent apart, revealing the hypocrisy and arbitrariness of the ideas that needlessly pushed them into war. The film also acknowledges the toll it took on him, the way he finds friendship and love from the people who would have killed him if not for his lies. Europa Europa is a striking survival tale that proves how absurd real life can be.

The fate of one’s financial, interpersonal, and physical desires are intertwined through marriage, and because of these sometimes conflicting needs, most people are willing to go past what they would like to acknowledge to win the affections of the person they believe would fulfill them. Henry James’ 1902 novel The Wings of the Dove is centered on this idea, but the 1997 film adaptation softens the leads, with the striking dynamic between Helena Bonham Carter, Alison Elliott, and Linus Roache feel like it was bound with some genuine affection, mixed alongside the self-centered desires present in the novel. Readers of the original book might not appreciate this change, but overall The Wings of the Dove paints an interesting interpretation to the classic novel, and does so with all the flair standard in British period romance dramas.

Before Games of Thrones delivered court intrigues, shocking murders, and adulterous affairs, Queen Margot delivered all these nearly two decades earlier, depicting the dramatized, real life events of the French Wars of Religion. While it doesn’t have dragons, it has style, with some of the most stunning scenes intercut with some of the most gruesome, pushing the envelope with a freedom only possible due to none of their descendants still holding the French throne. It’s also one of the most expensive French films ever made, but every franc was put to good use, with luxurious sound, sets, costumes, and camerawork excellently supporting the cast’s performances. Initially released to mixed reception in America with 20 minutes cut from the runtime, La Reine Margot has thankfully been restored and re-released in full for its 20th anniversary in 2014.

It’s both sad and amazing that a film about toxic masculinity and corporate culture released in the ‘90s remains relevant today. In the Company of Men is about two incels who exact polite revenge on women by attacking a deaf office worker named Christine (Stacy Edwards). Of course, things don’t go exactly as planned since this is the kind of film that twists and turns in unexpected curves. It’s also the kind that can fly with the barest of budgets, proving that sometimes all you need is a blistering script, skilled performers, and an eye for what visually works to make an effective film. In the Company of Men is a black comedy, so it’s not always easy to watch, but it’s profoundly thought-provoking as it asks relevant questions about the violence of fragile masculinity, the entitlement of supposed “nice guys,” the soul-sucking cruelty of corporations, and the dog-eat-dog-world of modern-day capitalism. That a small team can pack all these big ideas in its modestly budgeted indie is a wonder in itself.

In lieu of a strict plot, Dazed and Confused follows a bunch of teenagers on the last day of school. Incoming freshmen are hazed and the seniors get wasted, and in between those moments, some kids find love, pick up fights, talk about each other, and wonder about their imminent futures. All this is scored by an impeccable playlist of ‘70s rock. But despite being a period film, Dazed and Confused feels timeless in its depiction of youth: they’re at once apathetic and ambitious, jaded and hopeful. Most of all, they’re messy, so the film’s meandering pace feels fitting. Vignettes of different students—bullies, nerds, jocks, freshies—paint a familiar picture, and so they feel real and reflective of a certain time in your life, regardless of who you were when you came of age. It’s almost like an artifact in the way it captures the specificity of teenhood, but it’s also just invigorating to see kids enjoy their freedom and feel a mix of emotions, even confusion, for the sprawl of years ahead of them.

The Negotiator isn’t reinventing the wheel on cop thrillers, and so the first few minutes of this film by Gary Gray (The Italian Job, Straight Outta Compton) pass by predictably. Jackson’s Danny Roman is a superstar of an officer, then quickly falls from grace once he gets wind of a corrupt scheme within the hallowed halls of his department. Framed and desperate, he does what he does best: negotiate his way out. He stages a hostage situation of his own and outsmarts the police at every turn. The only man who can match his wit is fellow negotiator Chris Sabian (Kevin Spacey), whose outsider status helps Danny investigate his suspected colleagues. Danny and Chris butting heads is the highlight of the film: they’re both quick-witted and genuinely concerned for the greater good, but their differing means puts them on opposite ends. But more than their fiery chemistry, it’s Jackson who elevates the film into modern-classic status. It’s hard to imagine this film working if not for Jackson’s verve, gusto, and utter commitment to playing a man so desperate to get the truth that he’s willing to compromise his moral code. The Negotiator may be formulaic, but thanks to first-rate performances, it’s also deeply interesting and highly entertaining.

When a man ends up in a house full of girls, the question in many stories is: who will that man fall for? Where Little Women provides everyone with a suitor and The Beguiled does the opposite, Belle Époque takes a much more comedic route for Fernando to pick his wife. Far from being a Casanova, Fernando is much more naive. He stumbles from girl to girl in a series of hilarious sequences, never truly understanding what each of them wants. It’s pretty silly stuff. But it’s also the kind of lighthearted romp that remembers the joys and pleasures available to Spain before the fascist Franco regime took over.

Sometimes, we meet people we don’t like, but in some way or another, we’re forced to keep dealing with them. Most of us would just try to avoid them. But not Werner Herzog, no. Instead, in memory of actor Klaus Kinski, he created a funny documentary about their rather difficult bond, a bond that has stuck through multiple films. It’s not the most flattering portrait of the actor. Oftentimes, Kinski was referred to as a problem in the films’ production, with Herzog recollecting why in the places they shot in. Despite this, however, Herzog chose still to work with him, and the respect he holds for Kinski’s craft adds a fascinating fondness that a standard documentary could never capture.

Love can last a lifetime, but sometimes, a few days is all that’s needed for it to start. The Bridges of Madison County is about one such love. Considering Francesca Johnson’s children only learned about it after she died, and that this relationship is with someone other than their father, it’s not the easiest romance to root for. However, the decisions that they choose still make the romance compelling. The appearance of Robert Kincaid, as a traveling photographer, challenges the smalltown domesticity Francesca has forged for herself. With many of Francesca’s options barred from her because of the war, as well as the conventional family life people tried to recover after it, her romance with Robert uncovers how much women like Francesca sacrifice for their family, thanklessly and tirelessly, to the point that it has become the only thing they end up having. The Bridges of Madison County honors the pain of what could’ve been.

An adaptation of Bruce Lee’s Fists of Fury, Jet Li’s Fist of Legend shares the same occupied Shanghai, the same Jingwu School, and the same tensions between its Chinese and Japanese fighters. However, it’s an entirely different story. Rather than the straightforward conflict over the dojo, Fist of Legend takes on a more complicated plot, with both the Chinese and Japanese fighting amongst themselves, not just with each other. As such, it’s less gung ho than the original. Jet Li’s Chen Zhen isn’t as nationalistic as Lee’s– instead Chen and his opponents celebrate their craft and what they can learn from each other. So while Fury might be more exciting, Legend has the higher ambition of depicting its characters as people with principles, not just representatives of whichever country they come from.

Ostensibly, The Thief is about a career criminal that charms his way into the lives of a single mother and her son, as he pretends to be a soldier coming from the war. It’s not a great relationship. Far from the stable, helpful personality they meet on the train, this man is unpredictable, violent, and can never be relied upon. He only indulges the both of them when he thinks he could get something out of it. So it’s easy to see the drama ahead of them, but along with the symbolic metaphors this relationship hints at the Soviet Union post World War II, The Thief captures such a compelling tragedy with such a terrific cast.

Warm, enchanting, poetic and delicate, this is an almost silent film about a poor Vietnamese girl who goes to work for a well-off family in Saigon. The film follows her experiences as she grows but is also very focused on the nature around her, and the beautiful little details of this nature, which the young girl seems attuned to and curious about. The feelings in the film come more from the excellent visuals rather than the plot itself.

Equal parts touching and comical, this portrait of a working-class family in a suburb just north of London features twin daughters who couldn’t be more different—the brainy and good-natured Natalie, and her sneering, layabout sister Nicola. Written and directed by Mike Leigh (Another Year, Happy-Go-Lucky) expect the slow, dreamy representation of British society from one of the country’s best and most renowned directors.

One of Studio Ghibli’s overlooked gems, My Neighbors the Yamadas is a charming anthology film about a modern-day Japanese family. The film sets itself apart from other Ghibli films through its unique doodle-like watercolor animation and its short piano themes. While the vignettes may just depict regular family conflicts, the scenes still feel compelling due to the Yamadas’ imagination of the metaphors that they use. Exaggerating the metaphors keeps the audience breathless in certain strategic moments – most notably in the wedding day speech of the mother of the bride. While not as fantastical as Ghibli’s other offerings, the completely digital My Neighbors the Yamadas finds humor in and celebrates the mundane.

Aggressive, grungy, and rebellious, writer-director Fruit Chan’s debut film captures teen nihilism amidst abandonment in uncertain times. Immediately, the first look of this film is reminiscent of Wong Kar Wai with its use of character narration, hazy green scenes, and over-exposed film. However, Chan pairs these aesthetic techniques with the storyline of a revenge film mixed with an us-against-the-world mentality. While the protagonists Autumn Moon (Sam Lee), Ping (Neiky Yim Hui-Chi), and Sylvester (Wenders Li) start the film with teenage concerns like dealing with wet dreams, dating, and bullying, it’s clear that they go through them aimlessly, without the guidance of their fathers, almost as if with no hope at all due to their specific circumstances. In Chan’s hands, how every kid reacts to each change feels like an outburst against the adults in their life, and of the life outside of the film. It’s as if the words “fuck you” were made into a movie.

You may not know the name of Errol Morris, but you must have seen either Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy or The Night Manager, as films and TV have offered ripe adaptations of 20th century espionage novels under the disguise of simple entertainment. What you may not know is that the author of the books they are based on has been a spy himself, for most of his life. David John Moore Cornwell, better known as John le Carré (his pen name), is the subject of the latest work of detective-turned-filmmaker Errol Morris whose penchant for exploring the limits between fact and fiction has propelled the documentary form numerous times over the last decades. The film is a quasi-biographical doc with some exceptional reenactments that color Le Carré’s own tales to try and outmanoeuvre the viewer’s ceaseless desire to fix what one sees into either category: fact or fiction. With an ex-spy and a documentarian, you never know. 

Unfortunately for political activist Pierre Henri Thioune, everything does go wrong for his funeral in Senegalese drama Guelwaar. His body gets mixed up with a Muslim man’s, his family’s reunion turns awry, and his stance against dependence on foreign aid stirs rumors of assassination. But it’s a fitting way for writer-director Ousmane Sembène to lay out his own political beliefs towards how Senegal should move forward, as he juxtaposes them with all the conflicts that occur as a result of Guelwaar’s passing. After all, every funeral is made to gather loved ones and commemorate the life that was lost. What better way is there to commemorate the life of a politician, if not to engage with the beliefs that they fought for?

Best known for landmark cyberpunk anime Akira, Katsuhiro Otomo crafted strange and terrifying visions of a world that has not yet come, imagining technology that surpassed that of today, but in much pessimistic light compared to that of the genre. Three of his manga short stories are depicted in Memories, with Otomo partnering with Kōji Morimoto and Tensai Okamura to direct each segment, and with Satoshi Kon in writing, just before Kon’s own iconic surrealist films. Kon-written Magnetic Rose has been universally acknowledged as the best of them, being much more emotionally poignant, but the other two does have its charms, as Stink Bomb takes a relatively silly premise to its fairly logical, but scary conclusion, and Cannon Fodder takes the beauty of Otomo’s art into such a hollow and ugly world. All three deliver terrifying omens of death through technology used against the everyday man, whether by accident or design.

World War II changed the fate of many countries, but most prominently that of the European continent and the United States of America. Though late to the battlefield, America was one of the victors that occupied Germany after the war, and it’s this tension and setting that is at the center of Lars von Trier’s lone war drama Europa. Alternatively known as Zentropa in some territories, the film is inspired by Hollywood noir, from the black and white film to the femme fatale, but the film takes more experimental routes, starting off with lulling the viewers in a hypnotic trance, and later playing on with rear-projection and multiple layers for surreal effect. It takes noirish cynicism on a ride, exaggerating history but nonetheless reflects the way this memory is formed in the cinema of its respective countries. Europa is a fascinating breakdown of an idealist that hasn’t gone through the same terrors, one that still lingers in today’s consciousness.

See, usually, when American violence in media is critiqued, it’s usually through analytic studies or overly exaggerated lectures stirring moral panic. Instead of doing this, however, auteur Michael Haneke decided to surpass the crime genre, playing with the form and emotions in Funny Games. It’s terrifying, not because it immediately delves into the violence, but because it starts off with an ordinary, innocuous visit, that gradually escalates into an unpredictable home invasion where two teenagers inflict needless violence in such a scary yet spectacular way, even involving the viewer into their shenanigans. Ironically, this led to Haneke creating a shot-for-shot American remake of this same story, but Funny Games’ break in form made Haneke a director to remember, as he started to film outside his native Austria after the standout thriller.

When Castro took over Cuba in the 1950s, Havana’s nightlife shifted as clubs and casinos were closed down, leading to certain traditional step-based genres like son, bolero, and danzón to decline. A few decades later, prominent American musician Ry Cooder travelled to Cuba with his friend documentarian Wim Wenders, to pay homage to traditional Cuban music in an album and its respective documentary. Wenders weaves in illuminating interviews and shots of Cuba today in between the band’s Amsterdam and Carnegie Hall performances, with a certain intuition that makes each song feel like a triumph. While the documentary does focus more on Cooder, Buena Vista Social Club is a delight to watch, even with its 90s digital grain.

Many people have forgotten that representation and diversity in media isn’t meant just to fill a quota or to signal virtue– the push for it is in response to the way many of these stories were silenced, repressed, and shut out. Lilies might have been overlooked for quite a while, but its 2023 restoration has thankfully enabled more viewers to watch the tale of an imprisoned gay man finally telling his story, turning the tables on a long overdue confession. Michel Marc Bouchard adapts his play through this play-within-a-film, with director John Greyson playing with the confession booth as a viewing booth for both the bishop and the audience to get fully immersed in a love triangle a century ago, juxtaposed with motifs of martyred Catholic saints and French lilies and fire. Lilies is a well-crafted and deeply emotional masterpiece.

October Sky doesn’t tread new ground—in fact, you’ll be forgiven for rolling your eyes at a couple of cliches, including the classic “Those are your dreams, dad, not mine!” moments—but it’s so unassuming and well-made that it’s hard not to get drawn in by its many charms. There’s Gyllenhaal’s breakthrough performance for one, and the small town coming together to help each other out for another. Perhaps because the film is based on Homer Hickman’s true story, it also feels more specific and lived in than most period pieces. And it smartly avoids villainizing young Hickam’s adversaries so that they feel more real and nuanced, as opposed to the other far-fetched parts of the film. Sure, the overuse of sweeping music can feel cloying at times, but stellar performances across the board and confident direction overall make it a heartwarming, inspiring winner.

Look, Short Sharp Shock is standard crime thriller stuff. The plot has been done before– an ex-convict trying to keep himself from the underground, but still gets pulled into it by his friends– and you can tell in some shots that it takes inspiration from classic American gangster films. But, by the time of its release, we haven’t seen this story in these streets before. Writer-director Fatih Akin takes this fairly straightforward story to his hometown and styles it with the eclectic mix of languages, sounds, and images that fits more closely to his German multi-cultural neighborhood. And because of the new setting, the gangster immigrant friends make certain choices that won’t be out of place for the genre, but are informed by and have additional stakes because of the cultures they come from. Short Sharp Shock is a familiar story, but it’s done well in a new place, with a new style, and with Akin’s affection for his hometown.

With many iterations of Faust, Jan Švankmajer’s own take on the deal with the devil isn’t absolutely terrifying, and can feel bizarre, sometimes even goofy, to those unfamiliar with the animation director. However, Lekce Faust is quite creepy, as he brings the legend to modern day Prague with a mysterious map and visually disturbing puppets that brilliantly mixes live action with stop-motion and claymation into folklorish cinematic magic. It’s not the most faithful rendition of the classic tale, but it’s one of the most inventive, proving that while the deals like this pop up only in past folklore, the devil still lingers in fairly absurd ways.

Who doesn’t love a good wedding? It’s a lovely celebration anywhere in the world, but Hum Aapke Hain Koun depicted the Hindu wedding as one of a kind. The film depicts a traditional engagement and wedding ceremony in its most spectacular form, with catchy songs, elaborate sets, and colorful attire that set the standard for many South Asian weddings today. It’s so captivating that it’s easy to forgive the film’s long runtime and slow pace. That being said, certain aspects, such as the roles women take on, might not have aged well for modern viewers. Still, Hum Aapke Hain Koun remains a Bollywood classic for its undeniable impact.

Crushes seem much more important when you’re young, and when you and your sibling share one, it easily alters your dynamic, with the jealousy, comparison, and the insecurity it can foster. The Man in the Moon tackles this childhood crush with care. Writer Jenny Wingfield and director Robert Mulligan characterize each kid with consideration befitting their ages, with an understanding of the different priorities they would have with a three year age gap, the feelings they would have, and the misunderstandings they would have with each other. And this all works because of Reese Witherspoon, who even then held a screen presence that made her into a star.

With his long and extensive career, it can feel that Steven Spielberg can direct everything. The question is, can he direct a movie that depicted one of the most important freedom suits America has ever faced? Amistad, titled after the ship in the case, is his attempt, and while it does employ some tired tropes and it is a tad lengthy, it does a fair job of balancing the real history and the cinematic drama. Detractors have denounced this film as a white savior narrative due to the way the characters that go through the most growth are the white characters, but it’s Cinqué’s story that moves us through Djimon Hounsou’s performance and Spielberg’s direction. Amistad is not perfect, but it at least ensures that Cinqué’s actual life would be remembered and learned from for much longer.

Say what you will about Quentin Tarantino, but when he recommends a martial arts film, you just have to watch it. Like plenty from the genre that Tarantino’s inspired by, Iron Monkey has the same stylish, badass action that Hong Kong cinema is known for, with spectacular wire-work choreography, excellently shot fight sequences, as well as the goofy slapstick comedy that punches in some quips between hits. But what makes the film work is the folkloric story– it’s not quite as astounding as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and it’s all packaged in a familiar Robin Hood-esque plotline, but with a fantastic Donnie Yen and a script that rightly makes fun of the incompetent, corrupt cronies that rules over this small village, Iron Monkey does justice to the genre and to the actual folk hero the story was inspired by.

It won’t be surprising to hear that a film called Live Flesh would be all about the body. There are, of course, the sensual scenes that make the movie an erotic drama, but filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar shifts the original psychological thriller novel into an examination of the body, how it’s perceived, and how people break that perception in pursuit of desire. It’s because of this that even with the melodramatic flourish, the disability, abuse, and drug addiction aren’t just plot devices– they’re the natural extension of that discussion after the body has gone through trauma– but Almodóvar expands it further with the fearful time period in which they were born into, and the societal positions they take as a result of it. The excellent ensemble cast and Almodóvar’s signature vivid style bring Carne Trémula to life spectacularly.

When the love triangle is set between the most popular guy in school, his tomboyish best friend, and the beautiful principal’s daughter, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai unsurprisingly goes through the inevitable who-would-he-choose romantic storyline. We’ll say it outright: It should be cliché. And yet, we’re surprised to tell you that it works. Part of it is because of how it’s framed– before we get into the youthful shenanigans that plague schools all over the globe, we learn about them from the future outcome, namely from Rahul’s child, reading a letter from the mother that passed away. But even when we get into the overly glowy memories of the time, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai still feels different because of the way it cares about its characters. Neither Anjali or Tina are made into villains for no reason– they’re all friends that have fun together, have incredible chemistry, and care about each other. Maybe in another universe, they would have been polyamorous. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai somehow does the impossible in such a refreshing way.

Unlike the many courtroom films of its time, My Cousin Vinny forgoes theatrics and drama for true-blue comedy. It stars Joe Pesci as the titular Vinny, a newly minted New York attorney who’s taking on a murder trial in Alabama as his first case, while Marisa Tomei plays Vinny’s fiancée, Mona Lisa Vito, in an Oscar-winning turn. The loudmouthed couple are decidedly out of place in Alabama, supplying the film with many comedic gems, but they’re also unexpectedly clever. Along with its humor and memorable characters, My Cousin Vinny has come to be known for its legal accuracy and flair.

After finding marriage, having kids, and pursuing her craft, Magali of A Tale of Autumn is utterly content. She’s already had her happy ending, so what else can she ask for? It turns out, there’s still much ahead of her. Through the machinations of her meddling friends, the widow unexpectedly finds herself in two matchmaking schemes that echo the fun of romcom chaos, but take on a more mature approach, as the misunderstandings come from guardedness and self-respect. A Tale of Autumn is a delightful reminder that love isn’t just for children, and romance is possible for all ages, if only one allows themself to hope again.

While most are familiar with Hollywood depictions of the transatlantic slave trade, there were also other countries that depicted this terrible time period, including countries from the African continent. Ethiopian filmmaker Haile Gerima self-funded and self-distributed Sankofa in its initial release, but despite the lack of screens, it still managed to become a landmark classic thankfully restored. Like plenty of films on the topic, Gerima creates a harrowing depiction of the slave owners’ evil, but unlike others, it’s more interested in the difficult dynamics between the enslaved, the ways they sought refuge and freedom in each other, and the inner lives of the community they shared despite the terror, all through Gerima’s striking images and the masterfully mixed soundscape, both in the soundtrack and various accents. It’s not perfect, and it’s definitely not easy to watch, but Sankofa has a distinct vision that needs to be seen.

When forming a connection with someone, sometimes it doesn’t go the way you plan to– it’s a familiar romcom thread, something from the classics, but it’s a story that works. Trick is a witty comedy of errors with a similar thread, but through the various obstacles shy gay man Gabriel has in trying to get a one night stand, the romcom neatly introduces him, and us, to Greenwich Village’s gay community of the 1990s: the casual piano bars, the vibrant nightclubs, and the fun drag shows. It’s charming, it’s sweet, it’s humorous, and it has a lighthearted relatable struggle, one that focuses on the joys and pleasures of falling in love as a gay man.

Generally, a mentorship is a great way to find guidance and direction, but rarely do we discuss the importance of finding the right mentor– or the right mentors– and that it sometimes takes a while to find a great fit. Searching for Bobby Fischer is about real-life child chess prodigy Josh Waitzkin, but rather than depicting the straightforward mentorship plot we’ve seen in many sports films before, the film captures the journey of a boy who needs both the freedom and the structure for his chess career. Searching for Bobby Fischer does take on the tone and style typical of these child prodigy biopics, but Waitzkin’s story is worth telling, especially for children trying to find their own voice outside of their guardians.

At one of the world’s largest shipping hubs, packages (and sometimes people) can get easily lost. It can be disheartening to lose something important, but that’s why it’s important to remember to check the lost and found. Through the titular niche industry, writer-director Lee Chi-Ngai crafts a existential love story that intertwines the lost souls of Hong Kong with a mournful melancholy marked with each repetition of Dance Me to the End of Love. It’s beautiful and depressing, and yet somehow Lee manages to tie all of the pieces together eloquently into something hopeful, despite the inevitable, if abrupt, ending.

In a few seconds, a mistake can change your life forever. Insomnia is centered on a Swedish detective trying to solve a murder while trying desperately to cover a mistake made from the difficult mix of the fog and human exhaustion, but in doing so, his guilt, shame, and suspicion that no one would believe him due to past mistakes, weigh down on him, twisting the police procedural upon itself. Stellan Skarsgård holds an incredibly restrained performance throughout the entire film, and it’s well-framed by writer-director Erik Skjoldbjærg, whose use of cold white light in this debut feature eventually became the staple of on-screen Scandinavian noir.

When reading the premise, Tokyo Fist seems, at first glance, like the primordial eclectic mix of Challengers and Fight Club, with tennis swapped for boxing, and with sweat swapped for bruises. The film is entirely centered on a love triangle spurred on by a sport, with both players out to settle their rivalry, triggered again by a girl. However, being directed by cyberpunk horror auteur Shinya Tsukamoto, Tokyo Fist takes on a more visceral approach, with repressed resentment only able to be released through beating the hell out of each other, beating the hell out of themselves, and through bloodying both their fists and their opponents’ faces. It gets avant garde at certain moments, but Tokyo Fist is a sports horror ahead of its time, and an unexpected, underrated film from the man behind cult classic Tetsuo: the Iron Man.

With more and more young people moving to the city for jobs, there’s a certain beauty in the countryside that is being missed out. The Road Home is a simple and straightforward love story, one that is mostly composed of Zhang Ziyi as a country girl stealing glances at the handsome city boy who’s come to teach in the village, but there’s a certain magic in the way director Zhang Yimou depicts the rural traditions of the village, the charming and distinct rhythms of life that continues to this day. While the film glosses over the reasons for Luo’s temporary departure, which some reviewers speculate is due to China’s then Anti-Rightist campaign, The Road Home beautifully depicts the way love can bloom despite these troubles, and how this love can shift the lives of an entire town.