That’s right! At long last, here are my favorite films of 2023. I watched 156 movies from that year—not my record, but still quite the undertaking. As with the past few years, I’ve counted films that had an original theatrical or streaming release in the United States in the given year.

As always, we begin with…

Honorable Mentions (in Alphabetical Order):

After Love

La Chimera

Killers of the Flower Moon

Klondike (Klondaik)

Oppenheimer

Poor Things

Tótem

Trenque Lauquen

Walk Up (Tab)

The Zone of Interest

10. Showing Up

How does Kelly Reichardt pack so much history, so much character into the smallest of scales? Her latest delves into the desperation of a part-time Portland sculptor (Michelle Williams’ Lizzy) and the rich (if not always functional) cast of characters who surround her. Shot through with a soft but revealing glow by Reichardt’s longtime DP Christopher Blauvelt, the film knows the struggle of creators finding time to practice their craft as life conspires against them. We see how Lizzy uses her work as an excuse to escape the pressure of life—and then uses life as an excuse to take a break from her work. Lizzy’s sparring matches with Hong Chau’s landlord (and fellow artist) Jo add another layer of complexity as Reichardt shifts our allegiances between them, the passive-aggressiveness building without ever exploding. With its subtle tapestry, the film is proof that great cinematic world-building need not be limited to the fantasy or sci-fi genres.

9. The Boy and the Heron (Kimitachi wa dô ikiru ka)

Hayao Miyazaki returns to the silver screen with a swoony, dreamy fantasia overspilling with imagination and eccentricity. Following a young boy named Mahito as he grieves the tragic death of his mother, the film lacks nothing for ambition as Mahito is drawn into a mystic quest just outside his new home. What the narrative lacks in traditional coherence it makes up for in dream logic—like a modern heir to the works of Lewis Carroll—dolloping in psychological and social commentary without breaking the organic surrealism of its world. Hidden here as well is an autobiographical self-awareness on Miyazaki’s part, a reckoning with the cost of the many treasures he’s given us and the sacrifices along the way. Like my favorite Miyazaki films, it celebrates a future that recognizes the follies of the past and strives to build a better world in its wake. And sometimes that means recognizing the hardest truths in our lives (especially when they come from anthropomorphic herons).

8. All of Us Strangers

Here is a modern ghost story, lovingly rendered in its magical realism, offering the chance to confront phantoms of the past and present. Andrew Haigh’s newest film presents Andrew Scott’s lonely screenwriter Adam, the lonely occupant of a high-rise apartment building, taking time to visit his parents and kindle new love. The story lets us catch up to what’s happening, even as time appears ambiguous and perhaps even immaterial. As we learn more about Adam—his closeted sexuality, his sense of general unfulfillment—the film reveals its ability to wrestle with multiple afflictions and emotions, fitting given the way life often fails to conform to one problem at a time. Scott is key to making this work, bringing his trademark intensity while finding nuance in moments of heartbreak, regret, guilt, and acceptance. The human imagination has its fair share of pitfalls, but Haigh reminds us how that imagination is a chance to see life in ways we couldn’t otherwise.

7. Beau Is Afraid

Beau may be afraid (and boy, is he a lot), but man oh man is Beau fun. The film’s distributor A24 didn’t sell how much of a romp this is, its tone combining the best of Charlie Kaufman’s and David Lynch’s psychological dreamscapes. But there’s also room for the Zucker brothers, as evidenced by the sheer zaniness Ari Aster flings at the screen. Joaquin Phoenix is dependably game, and the film lays siege to him relentlessly, an absurd justification for all his worst fears. And the supporting cast can’t be denied, whether it’s Stephen McKinley Henderson weaponizing his innate on-screen kindliness or Patti LuPone channeling love and toxic dependency in the same scene. Seeing all of Beau’s worries and paranoias come true may be understandably overwhelming for some viewers, but if you’ve lived with anxiety, it’s a strangely cathartic experience. This may be a dark comedy, but it always emphasizes the comedy.

6. The Beasts (As bestas)

Rodrigo Soroyen’s slow-burn thriller has reveals and shocks that satisfy the reptilian brain, bravura set-pieces that stir the senses, and brutally honest conversations that shatter the heart. The tale of a neighborly conflict in rural Galicia that cannot help but escalate gradually and inexorably (even with many chances for cooler heads to prevail), the film touches on modern anxieties through its characters’ distrust and penchant for scapegoating. It’s especially perceptive about how negative fixation gives some people a sense of purpose and, importantly, an excuse not to confront the larger systemic forces actually oppressing them. Denis Menochet and Marina Foïs make easily compelling leads, and Luis Zahera gives the villainous turn of the year. And for a film that deals so deftly with the threat of reprisal and the perils of stubborn hatred, it measures them with acts of love that feel like the purest, sweetest form of revenge.

5. Perfect Days

Finding beauty in the everyday is a well-wrought theme, but Wim Wenders smartly takes it as a starting point for his Tokyo-set character study. Indeed, the film knows life is far more complicated in its interruptions, its heartbreaks, and its unspoken desires. Our hero’s routine is established through familiar camera angles and mise en scene, only to be disturbed by new characters or hands of fate. And as the largely contented protagonist Hirayama (a transcendent Koji Yakusho) runs up against these challenges, the fascination is in the way he chooses to adapt…or not. This is a man who finds meaning in his life by seeking it deliberately, even in the unexpected. Lest anyone believe the film simply celebrates ascetic living, Wenders lets us experience a wave of emotions flowing over Hirayama’s face in the final scene. There are blessings in the simple life, but through it, we can still grieve, regret, and pine.

4. May December

Todd Haynes’ sinister, sinewy melodrama is one that doesn’t neglect its stores of savage humor or forget to cut your heart in two. As Natalie Portman’s Elizabeth seeks to cinematically portray Julianne Moore’s Gracie (whose scandal rocked a small community in Savannah), Haynes maintains a darkly comic tone but a serious consideration of all people involved, treating long-simmering psychological damage with clear and unwavering eyes. The three central performances (Portman, Moore, and Charles Melton as Gracie’s husband Joe) are precise in their own ways, with each unlocking something in the actor we’ve never seen them do before. Indeed, as Elizabeth burrows deeper and deeper, her commitment crosses ethical lines and leaves the door open as to what “authenticity” in art can and should look like—even questioning its very existence. It’s a reminder that the salacious details of a scandal don’t dull the fact that they refer to real human lives being lived—well past the tabloid headlines.

3. Anatomy of a Fall (Anatomie d’une chute)

In its legal intrigue and probing psychological questions, Justine Triet’s courtroom drama is a riveting 150 minutes. After a man is found dead in the snow, suspicion falls upon his wife (an exceptional Sandra Hüller), leading to the trial that will ascertain her guilt or innocence. Directed with selective restraint and tasteful flourish, the film can lull us into a sense of security with familiar shots before jarring us with cinematography that recalls the hurtling camerawork of The Evil Dead—as if to shake us from any firm idea of the film’s events or characters. The mystery is captivating until you realize the movie is more interested in the complexities hovering around the edges of the trial: the horror of the secrets we hide, the perceptions from others we can’t control, and what we’ll never know even about our closest loved ones. The trial may pursue the facts of a moment in time, but the film seems more interested in the unnerving questions that remain even when the facts are known.

2. All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt

Jettisoning narrative, establishing shots, and linear chronology, Raven Jackson’s remarkable debut leaves us with the purity of experience and the selectiveness of the mind’s eye. Ostensibly a coming-of-age film of a woman’s life in rural Mississippi, the film careens across time, foregrounding sensory memories, especially tactile ones. Scenes seldom feature a complete figure in frame, focusing instead on hands and backs of heads, distilling interactions down to their essence. The daring editing, a true encapsulation of being “unstuck in time,” finds meaningful connections between people and places, even when life itself does not permit them to exist. With each new vignette, Jackson strips away the drama around the edges, finding love and hope in immediate moments. But we can still find the story in those moments, with our imaginations doing the work. Each carefully curated instant is one to savor; this is arthouse that never loses its ability to stimulate emotions as well as minds.

1. Past Lives

I’m deeply grateful for a film like this that cuts so close to the bone, makes me reckon with my own life and the choices I’ve made, and refuses to grant a concrete answer about how to deal with it all. Celine Song’s debut has Greta Lee’s Nora reuniting with a lost connection from her native South Korea before she moved to North America. The film thrives on body language, where the slightest shifts or movements in an actor’s face can suggest vast parallel universes. The luminous glow to Shabier Kirchner’s cinematography belies (and then accentuates) uncomfortable tensions, longings, and “What if?” questions. People become more than themselves—avatar abstractions for life’s untapped potential. Song suspends her characters on a razor’s edge, righting them just in time before they overstep. This is a mature understanding of how visions of possibility can fill us with remorse even when strong arms hold us in the present.

There you have it! Another (belated) year in the books. Hoping to have my 2024 list before the end of the world (but probably later).