The Best Movies of 2020

In 2020, we stopped going to the movies, so the movies came to us.

It was, to say the least, a challenging year. In addition to spreading disease itself, the COVID-19 pandemic propagated innumerable strains of misinformation. Many of these were dangerous in terms of public health (“The cure can’t be worse than the disease!” “Are the vaccines actually killing people??”), but I naturally found myself drawn to (and repelled by) the specious argument that COVID was heralding the end of cinema as we know it. This wasn’t really a new outcry but was instead a mutation of an ancient form of doomsday prophesying, mingling contemporary scientific concerns with age-old fears. And so it was proclaimed: Theaters are dead. Streamers have won. The collective pleasure of piling into large auditoriums has been replaced by the lonely convenience of turning on your TV. Christopher Nolan’s next blockbuster will be automatically downloaded to your phone.

The consternation over the long-term viability of the theatrical experience isn’t entirely unfounded. After all, while fretting about declining box-office receipts—and lamenting the homogeneity of the Disneyfied movies that do dominate the market—is something of an annual pastime in critical circles, COVID really did shut down theaters for most of the year; many of them shuttered permanently. Even now, as vaccinations rise and the public cautiously returns to a pre-pandemic “normal” (some of us more cautiously than others), it’s fair to wonder whether theaters successfully weathered the storm, and whether viewers who grew accustomed to the homey perks of on-demand viewing might resist returning to the multiplex or the art house in large numbers.

We’ll see. What irks me this year isn’t the debate over cinema’s future but the performative grieving for its recent past—namely, the notion that 2020 wasn’t a good year for movies. On one level, I get it, seeing as the pandemic undeniably robbed us of some highly anticipated titles. Steven Spielberg’s newest film got delayed; Wes Anderson’s, too. For the first time in roughly three millennia, there wasn’t a new entry in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The only two titles to crack $100 million at the domestic box office (both released pre-pandemic, obviously) were the third Bad Boys installment and a buddy comedy about a ’90s videogame character who had to be redesigned following an online uproar over his scary teeth.

And yet, so many good movies found their way to American audiences in 2020. Sure, you had to work at it, and the financial barriers to enjoying the fruits of this year’s cinematic harvest—you definitely needed a broadband connection, along with the means to subscribe to multiple streaming services—are unsavory. But for those who could afford it, 2020 provided a rich and diverse bounty of entertaining, thought-provoking films.

There were sharp and funny comedies, like the toxic bromance of The Climb and the creative striving of The Forty-Year-Old Version. There were horror pictures that chilled you to the bone, like the claustrophobic terror of The Lodge or the more expansive cruelty of The Painted Bird. There were touching family dramas, like Babyteeth and Miss Juneteenth. There were stately historical epics, like Mank and News of the World. There were tense and imaginative thrillers, like Swallow and The Vast of Night. There were science-fiction melodramas (The Midnight Sky) and superhero empowerment actioners (Birds of Prey) and classical noirs (I’m Your Woman) and wistful animated adventures (Wolfwalkers) and resonant coming-of-age stories (Cuties).

Somehow, none of those films appears on the upcoming list, despite my decision to expand the field to 20 titles (really, 21). This strikes me as proof not of 2020’s trauma but of its triumph. We may not have been able to go to the movies, but there was still plenty to see.

Here are MovieManifesto’s picks for the best movies of 2020:

(A note on eligibility: Though my Oscar ballots conformed with the Academy’s dubious decision to incorporate films released in January and February of 2021, here I’m restricting my list of the best movies of 2020 to, well, movies that were released in 2020, whether virtually or in brick-and-mortar theaters. So, if you’re searching for Judas and the Black Messiah, Saint Maud, or other pictures that arrived during that two-month window, you’ll need to wait for the 2021 list.)

Honorable mention (because why stop at 20 when you can include 30?): Bacurau, Bad Education, The Climb, Hamilton, Kajillionaire, Minari, Les Misérables, On the Rocks, Red White and Blue, Unpregnant.

20. First Cow and Nomadland (tie). Arguably the two most critically beloved pictures of the year, these contemplative slices of life on the American frontier complement and inform one another, and I couldn’t justify choosing between them. First Cow is perhaps Kelly Reichardt’s finest film (assuming you can’t just isolate the third segment of Certain Women), a tender and unassuming exploration of male friendship amid harsh circumstances. As for Nomadland, it’s a one-woman show, with Frances McDormand delivering a powerhouse performance as an itinerant worker gliding through the country, turning hardship into peace. (Full review of Nomadland here; First Cow streaming on Showtime, Nomadland streaming on Hulu.)

19. The Nest. Sean Durkin’s first feature since Martha Marcy May Marlene, this gripping study of perception and status carries the tense rhythms of a horror movie, even if it spares us from actual violence (aside from the fate of a very unfortunate horse). Carrie Coon is characteristically magnetic, but it’s Jude Law, giving his best performance in decades, who brilliantly underlines the film’s themes as a corporate striver desperate to conceal the emptiness of his own existence.

18. The Invisible Man. Fueled by the helpless panic and volcanic fury of Elisabeth Moss, Leigh Whannell’s exhilarating thriller doubles as an astute depiction of the disturbing ripple effects of domestic abuse. But mostly, it’s an expertly calibrated set piece machine, deftly interweaving brilliant special effects with classical filmmaking. A seemingly simple scene in a restaurant delivers perhaps the most memorable moment of the entire year. (Full review here; streaming on Cinemax.)

17. Happiest Season. Clea DuVall’s winsome queer romance nimbly sidesteps rom-com clichés in favor of lovingly drawn characters and emotional truths. A quietly luminous Kristen Stewart headlines a top-flight cast, which also features wonderful supporting turns from Daniel Levy as a skeptical friend and Mary Holland as a happily clueless sister. (Longer review here; streaming on Hulu.)

16. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. George C. Wolfe’s lithe and energetic adaptation of August Wilson’s play turns the staginess of the material into an asset, transforming a simple recording studio into a suffocating place of miasmic prejudice and strangled dreams. In imbuing his swaggering trumpeter with outsized bravado and hidden grief, the late Chadwick Boseman saved his very best for last. (Streaming on Netflix.)

15. A Sun. This little-seen gem from Chung Mong-Hong is a marvel of complex storytelling, replete with violence and intrigue and emotional impotence. Both intimate and ambitious, it boldly excavates old wounds while also discovering new possibilities. (Streaming on Netflix.)

14. Sorry We Missed You. Ken Loach’s sensibility is as bleak as ever, but here it’s informed by honest characters and caressing details. He turns his symbolic ambassadors of the common man into flesh-and-blood characters, which makes their inevitable fates all the more shattering. (Streaming on Criterion.)

13. Palm Springs. Brilliantly sparking a familiar concept with newfound kick and wit, Max Barbakow’s time-loop comedy courses with intelligence and imagination. It also possesses real feeling, thanks most of all to Cristin Milioti, who’s both ferociously spiky and achingly vulnerable. (Longer review here; streaming on Hulu.)

12. The Father. The dementia drama has been done to death, but Florian Zeller unveils a bold and thrilling approach, wielding an array of cinematic tricks to keep its viewers off balance along with its hero. As its foundering patriarch, Anthony Hopkins delivers one of the greatest performances of his career, a heartbreaking mixture of pride, confusion, and rage. (Feature here.)

11. The Assistant. Never raising its voice above a whisper but nonetheless screaming in anger the entire time, Kitty Green’s scathing indictment of Hollywood’s toxic culture is an exemplar of rigorous storytelling and precise technique. As its silently aggrieved heroine, Julia Garner lets waves of anguish wash over her face as she quietly goes about her dutiful, dirty work. (Full review here; streaming on Hulu.)

10. Tenet. Christopher Nolan’s weakest film in 15 years is also his most eye-poppingly spectacular, with breathtaking action sequences that push the boundaries of cinema’s potential. The labyrinthine screenplay can feel overwhelming, but its convolutions melt away in the face of exhilarating effects work and ingenious production design, not to mention John David Washington’s graceful star power and Robert Pattinson’s effortless charisma. (Streaming on HBO.)

9. Straight Up. James Sweeney’s fleet and smart rom-com bristles with intelligence and ideas, interrogating traditional notions of romance and sexuality while still functioning as a breezy blast. It also sports unusually sharp camerawork, along with an enchanting performance from Katie Findlay. (Streaming on Netflix.)

8. Beanpole. Kantemir Balagov’s post-war drama is unremittingly bleak, with moments of devastating potency. It’s also oddly beautiful, a twisted love story that bends in strange directions yet never buckles under its imposing formal weight. (Streaming on Kanopy.)

7. Soul. Continuing his hot streak in the wake of Up and Inside Out, Pete Docter’s latest Pixarian wonder teems with seriousness and insight, earnestly exploring what it means to be human. It’s also a vibrant entertainment: funny, colorful, and rousing. (Full review here; streaming on Disney.)

6. Sound of Metal. An extraordinary feat of cinematic immersion, Darius Marder’s taut and sensitive drama uses sound design like an invisible tractor beam, yanking you inside the jangled headspace of its afflicted hero. Paul Raci and Olivia Cooke both invest their supporting parts with enormous reserves of empathy, while Riz Ahmed carries the show, mingling notes of helplessness and sorrow with chords of resolve and acceptance. (Streaming on Amazon.)

5. Promising Young Woman. The year’s most provocative picture is also one of its most blisteringly entertaining, packed with candy colors, neon lights, and dastardly twists. Carey Mulligan is riveting as a woman scorned and scorning, while writer-director Emerald Fennell flashes considerable talent in her feature debut, loading her exploitation-tinged revenge tale with tension, excitement, and righteous anger. (Feature here.)

4. The Trial of the Chicago 7. Aaron Sorkin’s lightning-paced docudrama has something to dissatisfy everyone: blurry ideology, revisionist history, sonorous rhetoric. None of that dampens its considerable pleasures as a piece of cinema, one that seethes with fury even as it transforms dialogue into music. A ridiculously talented cast makes meals of Sorkin’s quips, while our poet laureate of rapid-fire banter ups his game with the camera, lending visual urgency to his sordid tale of bureaucratic malfeasance and institutional corruption. (Full review here; streaming on Netflix.)

3. Never Rarely Sometimes Always. Unapologetically political and insistently personal, Eliza Hittman’s sweeping cri de coeur is a vital document in the ongoing battle for reproductive freedom. It is also a poignant character study of struggle and perseverance, leavened by wrenchingly humane performances from Sidney Flanigan and Talia Ryder. Its scale is small, its impact anything but. (Full review here; streaming on HBO.)

2. Ammonite. Transpiring on windswept beaches that shelter sharp rocks and broken bones and cracked hearts, Francis Lee’s keening romance is full of death, pain, and loss. It is also staggering in its power, watching mournfully as submerged desires fight to the surface, only to once again scurry below in the face of disapproval and fear. With her flaring eyes and sweltering mien, Saoirse Ronan is passion itself, while Kate Winslet reminds us of the sheer force of her talent, bottling regret and lust and pride and shame. This movie is a gossamer wrecking ball; it scarcely moves, yet still it crushes you into dust. (Streaming on Hulu.)

1. Emma. The year’s most elegantly composed film is also its most abundantly joyful, combining high-society gloss with down-and-dirty grit. Brisk and bright, Autumn de Wilde’s adaptation of Jane Austen’s novel is delicate, sweet, and wistful; it is also crude, loud, and hilarious. It is classical and modern, filled with gorgeous images and brimming with base desires. It is beautiful and gauche, tasteful and debauched, exceedingly pretty and indecently horny. It is art. It is sex. It is Anya Taylor-Joy. (Full review here; streaming on HBO Max.)