We asked some of our editors and writers to contribute a paragraph about the most memorable films and TV shows they watched this year.
Mark Bauerlein
Some of the best directors in film history have taken on the subject of Joan of Arc. Carl Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) is a standard item on film school syllabi, while Otto Preminger's Saint Joan (1956) is derived from George Bernard Shaw's play, adapted for the screen by Graham Greene. The film I recommend is just as noteworthy, the great Robert Bresson's The Trial of Joan of Arc (1962). It's a masterpiece of minimalism—the sets, lighting, and cinematography are pared down to the basics of the case. Bresson's camera is an ascetic instrument—none of the phony, gratuitous film direction that has become a staple of twenty-first-century Hollywood. He cast non-professionals because he believed they would not hide behind their performative talents. The script couldn't be more authentic. Bresson used only the actual trial exchanges—the judge’s questions and the accused's replies. The back-and-forth drama is simple and mesmerizing. Through it all, from the first interview to Joan's last moments on the pyre, one senses Bresson's fervent Catholicism, along with his concern over the fading status of the Church in his country. Watch the film for five minutes and you know you're in the hands of a quiet master.
Peter Tonguette
The year in movies was bookended by two elder statesmen offering morally rigorous and aesthetically pristine visions of the majesty of the law: Woody Allen’s French-language thriller Coup de Chance depicted an evil-doer receiving his just desserts through chance (or providence), while Clint Eastwood’s courtroom drama Juror #2 presented a guilty party trying and ultimately failing to manipulate the legal system to his own ends. That both films received scattered theatrical releases is a cause for sorrow.
On balance, however, the most lasting cinematic achievement of 2024 may prove to be Robert Zemeckis’s Here. This wonderful movie was lambasted for Zemeckis’s alleged gimmickry, including photographing every scene from an unchanging camera position and applying de-aging technology to stars Tom Hanks and Robin Wright. Yet critics’ pushback against supposedly faddish movie magic was a cover for the real source of their antipathy: the movie’s startlingly affirmative vision.
Hanks and Wright play a modern couple whose modest domicile (and the land on which it sits) has been inhabited by countless others over the centuries. Zemeckis suggests that the joys and woes of earlier generations provide a spiritual framework for Hanks and Wright, who navigate courtship, marriage, family life, estrangement, illness, and reconciliation with rare grace and decency. That the couple’s favorite song is the Everly Brothers’ “Let It Be Me” is a clue to the film’s sweet but not sentimental wavelength, one that cynical critics cannot fail to misapprehend and/or mock. The maker of Back to the Future, Forrest Gump, Cast Away, and other great films has produced a masterpiece.
Virginia Aabram
I watched the first season of HBO’s The White Lotus three times this summer. You know the ending from the opening moments of the first episode: Someone has died at Hawaii’s exclusive White Lotus resort, but who, why, or how is a mystery. In the week leading up to the death, the resort becomes a gorgeous prison that catalyzes the neuroses of the ensemble cast.
Every aspect of the show is exceptional, but the story itself shines as a fable about the choices that lead us closer or further from redemption. The ethos is fatalistic but not nihilistic—human nature must be contended with, no matter how much society corrals it. (This theme is cleverly drawn out in the camerawork, which lingers over the pristine scenery but also magnifies the savagery of the island and ocean.) But as dark as it gets, there is a light at the end of the tunnel for those who choose to move toward it. Not all do, but at least a few characters end up more human and more loving.
This is where The White Lotus outshines Succession, another HBO megahit I watched this year. Succession is a tragedy flawlessly executed, but insofar as it mirrors anything eternal, the only image that comes to mind is the writhing bodies in the lower plane of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment.
The White Lotus believes in redemption. The last scene exalts a young boy’s conversion through the church of Nature, and the final words ring out: “Praise ye the Lord.”
Germán Saucedo
This year, I challenged myself to watch at least one movie I’d never seen before every week, with special emphasis given to classics and culturally important movies. As a result, I saw many so-called “best movies of all time,” including but not limited to 2001: A Space Odyssey, Breakfast at Tiffany's, John Carpenter’s The Thing, Casablanca, F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, Rosemary’s Baby, The Seventh Seal, and Paris, Texas.
Of course, I did not neglect to see newer releases. Dune: Part Two is more than good; it’s a masterpiece of contemporary cinema. It is a tremendous feat that Denis Villeneuve managed to adapt what was largely considered an unadaptable novel.
I’ve heard many, especially older people, lament that Hollywood is not what it used to be. Dune: Part Two is a perfect counterexample—and a lesson. The problem with contemporary filmmaking—and all other types of artistic output—is not a lack of great artists, but the lack of a culture that puts its resources and support behind them.
Claire Giuntini
Do you ever wonder what happens after fairy-tale endings? Everything seems perfect; the couple has been united after incredible odds; they give each other tender looks. There’s no way it could go south. And yet, in real life, it so often does. Why? I recently watched a sixteen-episode 2024 Korean drama called Queen of Tears, which does a good job of giving one answer to this question.
The show revolves around a couple who’ve been married for three years. Flashbacks in the first episode demonstrate that they really did love each other in the beginning, but now their relationship is, at best, indifferent. The husband is determined to get out. A traditional romcom with this sort of setup would see him rescued from the loveless marriage by his real true love.
Thankfully, this is not a traditional romcom. Something happens toward the end of episode one that convinces the husband not to tell his wife he’s been contemplating separation. His reasons for not going through with his desired divorce are partially considerate, partially selfish. But it’s through sticking together that both are able to recognize that love is about more than tender looks. It’s about staying together, especially when things get rough; those same rough patches can fortify their union instead of weaken it.
Queen of Tears is no morality play—it’s there to provide the sentimentality you crave. But it also manages to convey a very timely message. Here’s a lesson for producers. As a wise woman once said, “Chocolate coating makes it go down easier.” That is, if you want people to swallow something healthful, you have to make it palatable. No one is going to watch a film, no matter how “good,” if it’s as plain and grating as chalk.
John Varacalli
Bonhoeffer: Pastor. Spy. Assassin (2024) forces the viewer to confront the term “religion.” In the film, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s faith in Jesus Christ does not prevent him from seeing that supposedly religious institutions are also often the most corrupt. Although the West today disregards the riches of religion, tradition, and the past, those of us who profess religion should still probe our beliefs. The film provokes the viewer to ask himself difficult questions such as: “Is the movement that I stand for good?”; “Is the religion that I stand for good?” Bonhoeffer reminds us that we must make use of our philosophical faculties to discover if how we live and what we believe is true, good, and beautiful. We must be ready to account for our beliefs with courage, even if it sometimes comes at the price of martyrdom.
