The Little Hours is one of those films that can be enjoyed in the moment, but afterwards leaves you wondering why it exists.
Paterson (Jarmusch, 2016)
Paterson cycles through a week in the life of its titular protagonist, a bus driver in Paterson, New Jersey (and yes, his real name is actually Paterson) who writes poetry inspired by his fellow-Patersonite idol William Carlos Williams in his spare time.
Cameraperson (Johnson, 2016)
Kirsten Johnson’s collage memoir, Cameraperson, is a gorgeous, restrained look at a woman’s mission to capture the world at all angles.
Tanna (Dean & Butler, 2015)
Tanna has an elemental beauty that is difficult to resist, and the lives and rituals of the Vanuatuan tribes are captured with a superb degree of fidelity and sensitivity.
Land of Mine (Zandvliet, 2015)
Just imagine these men—some just boys—crouched on the sand, poking for explosives, nervously deactivating them, knowing that one wrong move will be their end… imagine that, and you will also accurately represent this incredibly tense film.
A Man Called Ove (Holm, 2015)
A Man Called Ove is exactly as advertised: a funny, feel-good piece that is safe and agreeable (and nothing more).
The Salesman (Farhadi, 2016)
Asghar Farhadi is a morality play machine. He cranks them out like no tomorrow, and every single time I can’t help but admire how grippingly he tells them. The Salesman is not his best work, no, but it’s still loaded with that neorealist world-building that I love him for.
I Am Not Your Negro (Peck, 2016)
ames Baldwin was a brilliant, brilliant writer, thinker and humanist. If you’ve never read his work, you should take yourself down to your local bookstore and rectify that ASAP. I Am Not Your Negro is not a documentary about him, but it’s entrenched in his prose.
Beauty and the Beast (Condon, 2017)
Remaking what is arguably one of the best animated films ever made is inevitably going to result in backlash, because why have an inferior facsimile when you can cherish the real thing?
Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte (Aldrich, 1964)
The film is the very essence of “hag horror”: we’ve got a mentally unstable protagonist (Davis) wasting away in a decaying Louisiana mansion, we’ve got dismemberment, we’ve got gaslighting, we’ve got sassy maids with suspicious minds.
The Night of the Hunter (Laughton, 1955)
Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter is justly heralded for its craft, and I’ll join in the lament that Laughton never got the recognition he deserved for this.
The Lady Vanishes (Hitchcock, 1938)
The Lady Vanishes is not “lesser.” It’s about as good as anything I’ve seen from Hitch thus far (which is not a lot, admittedly, but I’m getting there).
Woman and the Glacier (Stonys, 2016)
Woman and the Glacier is a near-wordless evocation of self-imposed solitude in the name of nature.
The Lost City of Z (Gray, 2016)
James Gray is a director you can count on to give you just the right amount of beauty and substance. It’s always a pleasure to watch one of his films, because the compositions are always so on-point, the technique so crisp and luminescent, and the storytelling packed with emotional beats and refined characterisation.
Gifted (Webb, 2017)
There’s nothing wrong with Marc Webb’s Gifted. It’s heartwarming without being saccharine, blessed with a strong, feisty performance from young Mckenna Grace.
The Lonely Film Critic 