The 25 Best Films of 2020

The last time I stepped foot inside a movie theater was March 6th, 2020. Waking up earlier than usual that morning to catch an AMC-priced matinee, I drove to Burbank with my best friend to watch a bloated Ben Affleck coach a shitty high school basketball team in between an ungodly amount of shower beers in “The Way Back.” Anyone who knows me well enough or listens to the podcast I co-host weekly, Rotten Rewind, will already be fully aware that I am an unabashed Affleck apologist, and genuine fan. I could not tell you exactly what it is about the Academy Award winning Dunkin’ Donuts mascot and star of “Reindeer Games” that I love so much, I just know that I root for him and I’m glad he’s having a nice year! In other words, there are worst ways to spend your final hours in a movie theater for the foreseeable future — I could have risked my health the following weekend for Vin Diesel’s “Bloodshot,” but better judgement prevailed.

Like most people who love movies, I really fucking miss movie theaters. I miss seeing movies by myself, something I find therapeutic and peaceful. I miss seeing movies with friends and talking about them in the lobby afterwards. I miss overhearing the variety of stupid shit that people say on their way out of the theater — things that I’m 100% guilty of saying myself. I miss the the unparalleled experience of watching something as propulsive and shocking as “Uncut Gems” in a sold out theater on opening night. Living in Los Angeles, I miss going to AFI Fest — our only legit film festival for some reason — and discovering upwards of several films a day for a week straight. I miss eating overpriced popcorn until I feel sick and bloated. Honestly, I even miss sitting through 25 minutes of trailers at an AMC, or quietly seething in my seat while some asshole scrolls through Facebook two rows in front of me. Sitting in a dark theater with my eyes glued to a 60 foot screen, watching something that hundreds — sometimes thousands — of people came together to make, will always be one of my favorite things in the whole world.

I would argue that any movie is better experienced in a movie theater, but the energy and scale of some films are especially dependent on a big screen and group reaction. An audience’s reaction is contagious, and for better or worse, can often sway my own opinion of something. I saw nearly a hundred films that were released in 2020 and nine out of ten times I thought to myself, “Fuck, I really wish I saw that in a theater.” However, I was able to see numerous films that I might have forgotten about, or pushed further down my watch list in a regular year. Being extremely unemployed during a global pandemic afforded me the luxury to watch nearly everything I wanted to last year, old and new. And guess what? Contrary to what some people might say, there was a ridiculous amount of great films released in 2020. There might not have been the Uncut Gems-Irishman-Parasite trifecta of brilliance we were spoiled with in 2019, but that would be rare in any movie-going year.

We all need something to keep us going in life, especially in a year like 2020. I’m grateful to have such beautiful friends and a supportive family to keep me in touch with the outside world. I’m grateful for coffee and dogs and the new Ninja blender I bought on Black Friday that makes me nice smoothies in the morning. As uninspired as I might have felt in 2020, I’m eternally grateful that my passion and excitement for film — making them, watching them — hasn’t vanished. I’m just grateful for the existence of movies. Good movies, bad movies, movies that challenge me, movies that make me nostalgic, movies that feature John Lithgow doing all of this, and movies that might not even be movies at all (looking at you “Small Axe”). Being alone in my room for so much of 2020, movies are the thing that really helped me from losing my mind. And Lexapro. That helped too.

So instead of writing about each individual film that made my list, I wrote about a few things from last year that reminded me why I love movies in the first place. Whether it was an outstanding performance or an unforgettable scene or just some great fucking vibes, these are some of my favorite things from 2020.

(If you don’t like reading — or you do like reading, but also like watching videos — you can watch my video countdown of favorite films at the top of the page! Look up! It’s up there!)

The Righteous Anger of “Bacurau”

In a perfect world, Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles’ blistering neo-western “Bacurau” would have been the zeitgeist-capturing movie we all united around in 2020. A film that borrows from genre heavyweights like John Carpenter — even sampling one of the horror maverick’s scores during a climactic sequence — while still feeling utterly original throughout, “Bacurau” rewrites the American western by infusing it with a subversive dose of sci-fi dystopia and grindhouse carnage. In the wake of their village matriarch passing away, the fictional town of Bacurau is thrown into a tailspin when they discover that they’ve quite literally been wiped off the map. Soon enough, strange flying saucers are hovering over the village and their communication lines are down, causing the locals to band together to fend off the encroaching threat of western colonialists.

Watching “Bacurau” made me realize how tame and politically dubious most genre films are these days, especially in America. Every genre-adjacent film wants to be the next “Get Out” and amplifies what should be political or sociological subtext, resulting in a cringe-inducing new era of “resistance” filmmaking. It would be refreshing to see directors raised on studio disruptors like Carpenter and Paul Verhoeven find fresh and subversive ways to infiltrate the studio system with radical ideas, instead of virtue signaling in hopes of garnering the kind of awards attention Jordan Peele received with his debut. What passes for bold or risky filmmaking these days are “edgy” attempts at relevancy like “Joker” or “The Hunt” — films with no discernible identities outside of their studio manufactured controversy. Maybe studio heads are right and audiences don’t want to be left with moral ambiguity to parse over after the credits roll. Even if that’s true, I’d argue that it’s an unfortunate symptom of a decade’s worth of being fed a steady diet of eighteen Marvel movies a year — it’s most certainly rotted the brains of grown adults who view politicians as superheroes instead of public servants.

I’m not naive enough to think that a hyper-violent colonialist allegory from Brazil is going to have American audiences lining up around the block, but at the same time… why doesn’t a movie like “Bacurau” have a wider audience? It’s suspenseful, funny, violent and it has a happy ending! Maybe it’s too late. Maybe the Trump-era of politics isn’t going to usher in the kind of bonkers, anti-capitalist studio movies the Reagan-era gave us. At a time when the entire world has shut down — or at least, sort of attempted to, maybe? — and wealthy politicians argued for months over how much of our own money to give back to us, “Bacurau” is the kind of furious, no-fucks-given filmmaking we need more of.

Streaming on The Criterion Channel and Kanopy.

The Shit-Stained Madness of “Capone”

Maybe being confined to my apartment for the last ten months has rotted my brain, causing some fucked up tectonic shift to occur where I can no longer differentiate between good and bad, but I think the movie where Tom Hardy shit his pants is actually good! Coming from someone who did not like Josh Trank’s acclaimed debut “Chronicle” and had no real vested interest in his take on the Al Capone mythology, I’ve gone from being morbidly fascinated, but pleasantly surprised by “Capone” to just actively defending it to anyone I talk to about it.

Does “Capone” suffer from some of the clichés inherent to the mobster movie? Definitely. Is Trank’s editing on the film a little clunky at times? Yeah, it’s a little awkward! Does Tom Hardy really shit his pants so bad that it causes Linda Cardellini to wake up in the middle of the night, alarmed to find a massive pile of fly-infested shit pouring out of her senile husband’s asshole? Yeah, that’s something that happens in this movie! And is it true that comedian Neil Brennan plays Capone’s attorney in a single scene where Capone, yet again, shits his fucking pants during an FBI interrogation??? You’re goddamn right it is. Is “Capone” also an uncompromising vision of physical and spiritual decay seen through the eyes of an increasingly delusional gangster reckoning with his own mortality? Yeah, it fucking rocks.

Look, “Capone” isn’t for everybody and I accept that. It’s not the glorifying gangster epic that fans of the genre might be seeking out, nor is it the awards-baiting biopic that it easily could’ve been in a less interesting director’s hands. It’s weird and grotesque and tonally ambivalent in the best way possible. While it doesn’t reach the decade-spanning heights of “The Irishman,” it still inverts the expectations of the genre in a surprisingly radical way. It’s a term that gets thrown around a lot, and I hate to even write it, but Trank’s vision is downright… Lynchian at times. I know, I know, I’m sorry, but it’s true! The film is even shot by longtime Lynch D.P., Peter Deming, who infuses Trank’s vision with that specific type of “ordinary surrealism” felt in some of Lynch’s best work.

“Capone” might not be getting the Criterion Collection treatment anytime soon — though I’d argue it has more of a place in the canon than say, “Boyhood” or “Roma” — but it’s the movie that Trank set out to make. It’s ambitious and sad and unlike most films I saw last year, it fucking stayed with me. It’s a certifiably bonkers, meditative gangster ghost story coated in shit. How many other movies can you say that about?

Streaming on Kanopy and Amazon Prime.

For Your Consideration: Best Actress

There was a wealth of fantastic performances worthy of your attention in 2020, most of them coming from actresses in an increasingly crowded race for best actress. While it’s more than likely that actresses such as Frances McDormand, Viola Davis and Carey Mulligan will gain recognition for their excellent work, there’s a slew of equally fine performances that deserve to be in the conversation.

In “Black Bear,” Lawrence Michael Levine’s ambitious deconstruction of mumblecore and toxic filmmakers, Aubrey Plaza utilizes her trademark deadpan delivery and impenetrable presence to turn in one of the most electrifying performances of the year. It’s her Gena Rowlands moment and she knocks it out of the park.

Out of all my favorite performances of last year, the most challenging character to play isn’t even a character at all. In Charlie Kaufman’s “I’m Thinking of Ending Things,” actress Jessie Buckley has to develop a flesh and blood character out of a role that is essentially the sub-conscious of somebody else. Tasked with being the audience’s surrogate in a constantly shape-shifting story, Buckley effortlessly gravitates between scenes of existential panic and absurdist humor to reciting poetry and quoting an entire excerpt from Pauline Kael’s notorious pan of “A Woman Under the Influence.” It’s an incredibly layered, unforgettable turn.

“Miss Juneteenth” is a charming, richly observed debut from Channing Godfrey Peoples, but it’s MVP is undoubtedly Nicole Beharie. As a former beauty pageant queen turned hardworking single mother, Beharie delivers a masterclass in subtlety. It’s the kind of seamless, exquisitely textured performance that often goes unnoticed, but Beharie’s work deserves to be the star-making vehicle she’s so long deserved.

“Palm Springs” was the perfect mid-year comfort blanket so many of us needed, and so much of the films success is indebted to stars Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti. Samberg gives his most nuanced performance to date, but it’s Milioti whose wonderfully expressive face and perfectly timed delivery that walks away with the movie. An actress who’s been working steadily for almost 15 years, “Palm Springs” finally gives Milioti a leading role worthy of her talents.

One of the many great films that appeared to get swallowed up at the beginning of the pandemic was Carlo Mirabella-Davis’ body horror/character study “Swallow.” Taking what could have been a particularly gruesome “My Strange Addiction” episode and turning it into an oddly moving look at how our traumas manifest themselves in often unexplained ways, Mirabella-Davis’ debut works in large part due to Haley Bennett’s fearless performance. As an isolated housewife who develops pica — an eating disorder that causes someone to crave non-food items — Bennett gives a performance that’s both ethereal and primal. The fact that the movie works as well as it does is a testament to Bennett’s talents, and proof that Hollywood needs to stop giving her thankless supporting roles.

The Lingering Melancholy of “Ham on Rye”

There are few genres as ubiquitous as the coming of age film. From Richard Linklater’s “Dazed and Confused” to the late-’90s wave of gross-out teen comedies and the recent surge of female-led hits like “Lady Bird” and “Booksmart,” the genre is well-trodden territory for both mainstream and independent directors alike. Thirty-year-old director Tyler Taormina is well aware of the tropes of the genre, and uses them to the most unlikely advantage in his micro-budget debut, “Ham on Rye.” In what might be the most subversive coming of age film to come around in decades, Taormina’s debut tells the very loose story of a group of teens whose fates will be decided by a bizarre rite of passage that involves a local deli and a dance-off that’s reminiscent of “The Bachelor.” That might not sound like the most enticing set-up to most, but plot takes a backseat to vibes in Taormina’s suburban bubble. Produced on what would be most indie films’ craft service budget, “Ham on Rye” is impossible to boil down to a simple plot, and even more impossible to shake. What begins as a hangout flick in the tradition of Linklater’s ’90s classic, albeit shot like “The Picnic at Hanging Rock” through the hazy lens of a vintage Nickelodeon series, soon unravels into something far more melancholy and even sinister. A startlingly original vision of youthful nostalgia and the unstoppable forces of time, “Ham on Rye” is the rare film that can reinvigorate your faith in modern independent film.

Streaming on MUBI. Available to rent on Amazon.

The Humanism of “How to with John Wilson” and “Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets”

Being a human being is fucking hard. I know this isn’t exactly a groundbreaking revelation, but it’s something simple I have to remind myself of from time to time. For almost half of my life, I took public transportation in Los Angeles. I was the last of my friends to have a car, often taking three buses from the San Fernando Valley to West L.A. so that I could sell steamed buns and noodles in a food court. While I have no intention of ever willfully working in a food court again for the rest of my life, I do sometimes miss the bus rides I would take to get there. At the time though, I hated it. Public transportation in L.A. is horrible because long ago, Los Angeles decided it was a “car city” and repeatedly squashed any plans to improve our subway and bus lines. The bus is never on time, it usually smells like shit and piss, and occasionally you get to see a giggling demon deep-throat a ten-inch dildo on your way home. But as much as I hated not having the freedom to drive where I wanted, when I wanted, I miss how much more connected I felt to the world around me when I took the bus. I read more books, discovered more new music, and had more creative ideas than I ever had in my life. I had innocuous conversations with strangers and bizarre encounters with people whose very existence is ignored by most of society.

“How to with John Wilson” was the perfect year-end remedy for a time when most of us felt more disconnected to the world around us than ever before. A six-episode docuseries that begins with filmmaker and narrator John Wilson asking a question and then allowing that simple question to take him down whatever strange path he finds himself on. Predominately shot in New York over the course of two years, the show offers one of the most disarmingly funny and humanistic insights into what it is to be alive that I’ve ever seen. Similar to executive producer Nathan Fielder’s brilliant satire of late-stage capitalism, “Nathan for You,” Wilson’s socially awkward, but otherwise harmless presence allows for him to encounter a slew of fascinating subjects in his exploration of the mundane. (One particular man that Wilson interviews, who hates circumcision, but loves the movie “Parasite” will be seared into my brain for the rest of my life.)

Watching the series reminded me all of those years I spent taking buses around Los Angeles, observing a multitude of human beings and bizarre interactions. Public transportation forces us to be amongst one another and therefore reminding us of how much we need each other in life. “How to with John Wilson” explores how strange it is to be a person on this planet, and how opening ourselves up to one another engenders a level of empathy we could all use a lot more of right now.

Before John Wilson broke out with his HBO series, he worked on the 2015 David Byrne concert film “Contemporary Color” with the sibling filmmaker duo, Turner Ross and Bill Ross, IV. The most identifiable connective thread between the filmmakers’ respective works is their modern reworking of the documentary format, and of course, their unwavering empathy for the people society turns their backs on. In their latest experiment in carefully concocted vérité, “Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets,” the brothers document the final hours of service inside a beloved Las Vegas dive bar and the motley crew of barflies and locals that gather to say goodbye. At least that’s what the Ross’s would like you to think.

In reality, the Roaring 20s bar is in New Orleans, and the eccentric group of regulars is mostly comprised of complete strangers. The brothers kept the cameras rolling for eighteen hours straight, supplying their cast of first-time and local theater actors with enough booze to keep things interesting. The beauty of “Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets” is that you can watch the film with or without prior knowledge of the artifice on display and have two very different viewing experiences, neither of which take away from the intoxicating brilliance of what the filmmakers have concocted. While some have pointed out the comparisons to the work of directors like Sean Baker, it might feel more appropriate to think of the film as something a guy like John Cassavetes might conceive of if he were alive and making films today. “Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets” is radiating with life, humanity, and tragedy; a film that will have you longing for late-night conversations with strangers and the communities we build in our most beloved public spaces.

“How to with John Wilson” is streaming now on HBO. | “Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets” is available to rent on iTunes for 99 cents!

The Existential Despair of “I’m Thinking of Ending Things”

It took me three viewings to fully appreciate what Charlie Kaufman was doing with his adaptation of Iain Reid’s breakout novel, “I’m Thinking of Ending Things.” Being a fan of the novel and Kaufman, the film was my most anticipated movie of 2020, which is usually a recipe for disappointment. The first time I watched it late at night when it premiered on Netflix, I felt what so many felt when they saw Kaufman’s directorial debut, “Synecdoche, New York” — I felt like dying. Or maybe I was dead already. It was bloated, often too literal in its adaptation of Reid’s source material, and it completely rewrote the novel’s essential ending. The centerpiece sequence at the family home of Jake (Jesse Plemons) was the closest I felt Kaufman got to unlocking the key tonal balance of existential dread and absurdist humor (two things Kaufman can typically do better than most modern writers) that worked so well in the novel. The second time I watched it, the deliberate pacing and “bad” editing rhythms clicked into place, and I was able to respect and admire Kaufman’s directorial choices. It wasn’t until the third time that everything really fell into place for me.

When a film speaks to you on a personal level, you can usually put aside minor criticisms or nit-picks because you feel some sort of attachment to the characters or filmmakers. I know that I do that with Kaufman’s films because like so many young white male creatives, I too am a self-loathing, occasionally narcissistic person with lots of Big Feelings. While I might not have related to the suicidal narrator in “I’m Thinking of Ending Things” as much as other Kaufman surrogates, it was the overall feeling of the film that was impossible for me to shake. The overwhelming feeling of loss and how it manifests itself in strange, unexpected ways throughout our lives. It’s been almost ten years since I lost my mother to cancer and while I might not dream about her as much as I once did, I still have the same reoccurring nightmare every few months. I’m in an apartment that looks just like the one she lived in until she died, except it’s not. Maybe the wallpaper is a different color or the furniture has been rearranged, but I know it’s where my mother lives. I can hear her voice coming from some other room in the one bedroom apartment, but I can’t find her. The apartment feels bigger than it was, and new doors keep opening, but she’s never behind any of them. Sometimes in the dream I know that she’s dead, and sometimes it’s as if I thought she was dead but through some miracle, she’s alive again. It’s not unlike that final sequence in Steven Spielberg’s underrated “A.I.: Artificial Intelligence” when Haley Joel Osment’s life-like robot is given one last day with the human mother that adopted him. He knows that when the day is over, she’ll be gone again forever, but she thinks it’s just any other day. He treasures the time he has left with her, but is unable to forget that when she closes her eyes to go to sleep, the fantasy will be over. That’s how my dream feels. I can hear her, but I can’t see her. I wake up and for a few moments, I think it might still be real. I wonder if the last ten years has just been one long bad dream.

“I’m Thinking of Ending Things” is the only film I’ve ever seen that has come close to replicating the sensation I feel when I have that dream. It’s knowing the inevitable, but trying to fight it anyway. It’s the one last glimmer of hope you cling to because it’s the only thing standing between you and the end.

Streaming on Netflix.

Why Won’t Anyone Watch “I Know This Much is True”?

Last year, HBO released the six-episode miniseries, “I Know This Much is True,” based on the bestselling novel by Wally Lamb. Directed by “Blue Valentine” filmmaker Derek Cianfrance, the show stars Mark Ruffalo as Dominick Birdsey, a 40-something house painter who spends most of his life caring for his mentally ill twin brother, Thomas (also played Ruffalo). You might also know it as the show released in the middle of a global pandemic that critics described as a “roiling mass of misery that fails to provide you with a compelling reason to keep watching,” and “a carnival of horrors weighed down by moralizing, hysteria, and cross-associations.” Practically written off by critics and audiences alike for not reading the room, as if Cianfrance, Ruffalo and the head brass at HBO intentionally released a heavy melodrama in the midst of an unparalleled crisis to make us all feel super bummed out.

My best friend even prefaced his recommendation of the show by telling me how relentlessly bleak and heavy it is, knowing that aspects of the series could be potentially triggering for me. This is a show that not only tackles the death of a mother, but also mental illness, incest, abuse, and the trauma of losing a child over the course of six episodes. Luckily, I have a pretty high threshold for “depressing” material. Ever since I could remember, I’ve usually gravitated towards some the bleakest shit imaginable. There are people who grow up with trauma and intentionally avoid heavy material like “I Know This Much is True” at all costs, and there are some who are compulsively drawn to it. I would never fault anyone for not watching something because they know it could trigger deep-seated trauma, nor would I judge someone who told me they turned the series off. I get it. People were dying by the thousands, why would you wanna watch something about schizophrenia and death?

But it did get me thinking: why do so many people avoid shows like “I Know This Much is True?” People with seemingly pretty good lives, who aren’t suffering from mental illness or abuse or the loss of a loved one, are the people I hear the most complaining about shows like this. “What’s the point? The world is already so fucked up,” is what I hear the most often. Does it force them to acknowledge that there are people whose lives who are rooted in inescapable trauma and pain? Would it force them to reckon with the fact that the world might already be a fucked up place, and their blissful ignorance is only making it worse? Now this might seem like a stretch, but bear with me here… I’ve noticed that most of the people that hit me with the predictable “Life’s hard enough” excuse when asked why they won’t watch a particularly heavy film or series, are the same people who seem to think that the world’s problems begin and end with the presidency of Donald Trump.

Look, I know that Donald Trump is a fucking racist, xenophobic, worthless pile of shit and by no means do I not think that removing him from power was extremely important, but I would never delude myself into think he’s the once in a lifetime boogeyman that MSNBC has brainwashed a generation of liberals into thinking he is. So yes, I know that turning my thoughts on an HBO series starring Mark Ruffalo into a rant on #Resistance Politics might seem far-fetched, but it’s a connection I can’t shake. These are the same people who log on to social media every time something crazy happens in this country — which, at this rate, is about ten times a day — to boldly claim “This is not who we are.” Yes bitch, this is who we are! These are the same people that want their fascism and xenophobic politics delivered to them by a charming, well-spoken Democrat. What they really don’t like about Donald Trump is that he doesn’t disguise his bigotry with eloquent rhetoric. His very presence is so jarring because he says the quiet part out loud, and Americans aren’t used to that. He’s openly, flagrantly racist and corrupt and nobody knows what the fuck to do with that kind of behavior. But most of all, these are the people that simply do not want to be inconvenienced by politics.

What does this have to do with the show where Mark Ruffalo plays twins?! I’m not suggesting that every single person who isn’t willing to sit through a “difficult” show is in denial of the world’s problems, but I do think a lot of them are. A majority of these people like their dramas to end triumphantly, with fiery speeches and a swelling score to remind us that the good guys prevail. They don’t care how much these stories trivialize the truth, as long as they don’t ask them to question their staunch ideologies (see last year’s worst offender, “The Trial of the Chicago 7”). What’s frustrating is that this allows us to continue to turn a blind eye to some of the most harrowing, necessary stories. I’m not implying that “I Know This Much is True” is essential viewing for every American, but the outright disdain and vitriol the show received is a symptom of a greater problem.

Even more frustrating is that Cianfrance’s show isn’t even that bleak. It can be a brutal watch, but it’s by no means misery porn. The episodes are increasingly balanced by a morbid, but occasionally broad sense of humor, an enormous amount of empathy, and a finale that’s unexpectedly moving, and dare I say, uplifting. It’s also one of the most complex and humane depictions of mental illness I’ve ever seen, especially when most portrayals of schizophrenia come across more like horror movies than psychological studies. We can’t constantly write off difficult subject matter because “the world is bad enough.” The world has been filled with unfathomable ugliness since the beginning of time. A show like “I Know This Much is True” isn’t trying to bum you out, or remind you how shitty the world can be; it knows the world can be an ugly place, and life can be a never-ending struggle. Cianfrance’s immense level of empathy as a filmmaker keeps us from looking away from the tragedy unfolding, but it’s the show’s final moments of hope that will stay with you. We’re all connected, and we’re all in this mess together.

All episodes are streaming now on HBOMax.

The Revelation of Charlie Hunnam in “Jungleland”

When I was 13 years old, I watched every episode of the short-lived Judd Apatow series “Undeclared” when it aired on Fox almost 20 years ago. Like so many fellow millennials, I adored “Freaks and Geeks” and was excited to watch anything new from Apatow, who wasn’t the comedic juggernaut he is today back in 2001. If that was the first time you saw Charlie Hunnam in anything, you would also be surprised at the trajectory his career took over the next 20 years. I never actively disliked Hunnam as an actor, I just never quite understood his leading-man status (outside of the fact that yes, he’s very handsome and British). As far as I was concerned, Charlie Hunnam, Garrett Hedlund, Joe Anderson, and Boyd Holbrook were all the same actor. Is that a shitty, extremely reductive way to talk about an actor who seems like he’s a pretty fucking good dude in real life? Absolutely. I can be a petty bitch sometimes.

2020 might be a year of many things, but it will also now remain the year that I admit I was fully wrong about Charlie Hunnam. Sure, I saw him in James Gray’s underrated “The Lost City of Z” in 2016 and was thoroughly impressed by his work, especially in the final moments, but he remained overshadowed by co-star Robert Pattinson’s quiet supporting turn. All that changed when I rented Max Winkler’s first straight-up dramatic feature, “Jungleland” on VOD in November. Like “The Way Back,” Winkler’s boxing drama isn’t exactly looking to reinvent the wheel (although I do find “Jungeland” to be a much better and more memorable film overall), but it is smart enough to know that its strongest asset is its ensemble. Co-starring Jack O’Connell and Jessica Barden (both are excellent), “Jungeland” is the first film I’ve seen that fully understands how to utilize Hunnam.

Now 40, Hunnam is slowly making what is hopefully his transition into the Colin Farrell/Jude Law character actor stage of his career. Handsome, charismatic, but undeniably a little scummy, Hunnam is nothing short of a revelation in “Jungleland.” From the moment he comes on screen, you can’t take your eyes off of him. Miraculously, he takes the familiar role of the fast-talking, fuck-up brother and turns into something that feels wholly authentic, fresh, and genuinely exciting to watch. It’s the kind of towering, magnetic performance actors like Brando, Pacino, De Niro or Mickey Rourke would’ve given in their prime. One of the more underrated films of last year, “Jungleland” is already worthy of your attention, but Hunnam’s work here should be celebrated with the very best of last year’s performances. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong about an actor, and I can’t wait to see what he does next. His performance is simply electrifying.

Available to rent on iTunes and other rental streaming services.

The Pure Ecstasy of “Lovers Rock”

Is it a miniseries? Is it a movie? Is it a collection of movies that’s being packaged as a series? It’s the “Twin Peaks” conversation all over again, this time courtesy of Steve McQueen’s five-part “Small Axe” anthology series. Released on Amazon Prime at the tail-end of 2020, McQueen’s sprawling series tells five stories revolving around London’s West Indian community from the end of the 1960s up until the early 1980s. The series ranges from very good to excellent, with “Alex Wheatle” being the only entry that didn’t fully captivate me (“Education,” the series’ final installment is severely underrated in my opinion). The loosest installment of the five, “Lovers Rock,” is a 70 minute dance party that culminates in the most stunning filmmaking of McQueen’s career. While much has been written about the show-stopping centerpiece sequence featuring an a capella rendition of Janet Kay’s “Silly Games” (possibly the most magical 10 minutes of anything I saw last year), it’s the film’s final stretch and underlying sense of dread that had my jaw on the floor.

During the final musical sequence — a sweaty, marijuana-soaked dance-off to The Revolutionaries’ throbbing dub-track “Kunta Kinte” — the underlying tension that looms over corners of the party culminates in a blistering, vibrant catharsis through music. This is unquestionably the most uplifting, joyous 70 minutes of McQueen’s career thus far, but you can’t help but sense the unspoken tension throughout “Lovers Rock.” The house party at the center of the story is being held in secrecy because this was a time when Black clubs and places of gathering were being shut down by the British government. Nestled between the courtroom drama of “Mangrove” and the intense character study of “Red, White and Blue,” “Lovers Rock” is a celebration, but it’s also a release. It’s hard to recall a film that is able to transport us to a moment in time so specifically, without feeling the urge to weigh the story down in unnecessary exposition or plot. It’s simultaneously a musical and a hangout flick, a mood piece and a love story. McQueen’s mastery of craft has never been in question, but with “Lovers Rock,” he bares his soul and shows us his heart. For me, it was hands down the best film I saw all year.

All five “Small Axe” films are streaming now on Amazon Prime.

Watching My King Ben Affleck Crush a 24 Pack While Making a Very Difficult Decision

It might seem in poor taste to laugh at a real-life alcoholic reckoning with his demons on-screen, but as someone who was raised around severe alcoholics — some of whom threw their entire lives away over it — sometimes you just gotta laugh through the pain. There were few scenes last year that were both as inherently funny and heartbreaking as watching the bloated, hulking Affleck lumber around 800 square feet of misery, drinking himself into oblivion. Unquestionably the best performance of his career, Affleck puts every ounce of his soul into the role of Jack Cunningham, a construction worker battling alcoholism after the loss of his infant child, in Gavin O’Connor’s “The Way Back.” He doesn’t hit a false note throughout the film, but the authenticity Affleck brings to an early scene of Jack just fucking destroying a 24-pack of shitty beer was one of the most arresting scenes of 2020. A totally solid, if unmemorable entry in the sports drama canon, it’s Affleck’s raw, deeply personal work that elevates the material and resonates most after the credits have rolled.

Streaming on HBOMax.