100 Best Films of the 2010s: Honorable Mentions

Happy New Year!!!

As I look back on the movies that left the most distinct cinematic impact on me for this decade, I can't help but reflect on where I was personally throughout the past 10 years. I was 17 years old at the start of 2010 and was beginning to enter the second half of my junior year of high school. Needless to say to anyone who's lived through their late teens and early twenties, but the 2010s were in no way a stable time in my life. At the risk of belaboring the point, this decade, for me, has mostly been marked by growth and change (for better and for worse), but the one thing that has remained constant is my love for list-making. In fact, I made a Best of the Aughts list at the end of the last decade. Shockingly enough, that list does not hold up in the slightest. Some of the movies I put on that list I don't even like anymore and exposed some major recency bias on my part, with my top two titles being from the year 2009. So with that said, I do hope the list I'm about to share here continues to hold up in 2030, but I also know that time and perspective is bound to reshape my opinions and point-of-view on certain things. My estimation will probably grow or shrink on certain films as the years go on, especially with titles that are still fresh to me. Some movies that I'm about to list in the honorable mentions section could make a complete leap frog to the Top 10 of the decade in a few years time for all I know. Movies that I don't currently care for could just as easily do the same. The power of growing and, more importantly, rewatching can make anything possible. With that out of the way, think of this list as a time capsule for how I view these films now.

My plan is to begin with the Honorable Mentions and release my Top 100 in four parts. I should note that this list has been finalized before screening certain 2019 titles, so if you're missing Portrait of a Lady on Fire or Little Women or The Two Popes or The Irishman (screened subsequent to finalizing the list), then that's what's happening. It's also possible that I've seen it but don't think it deserves to be on the list.

One more note: I'm only including titles that had their world premieres this decade. Films that made their premiere in the 2000s but were released in the U.S. in the 2010s that I would have mentioned include: White Material, Fish Tank, Everyone Else, Our Beloved Month of August, Dogtooth, Secret Sunsine, Prodigal Sons, Mother (the Bong Joon-ho version), and A Prophet.

Films Just Outside of the Top 100: I'm grouping the honorable mentions into individual categories, since I have quite a few that I'd like to mention. Ask me on any other day and it's possible that some of these could have made it through to the Top 100. A controversial choice, but the sometimes-frustrating, consistently upsetting, and discreetly skin-crawling Hereditary (Aster, 2018) was bumped out for a last-minute entry on the list. I get why some are turned off by it, but it's bold, grim angles on grief and interfamilial unease are indelible, and Toni Collette's star turn holds everything together. I haven't taken the time to revisit Miss Bala (Naranjo, 2011) since watching it for the first time in the summer of 2012, yet it's stuck with me ever since, including that unnerving final shot. For those disappointed by the Catherine Hardwicke U.S. remake then fear not, this is a more uncompromising, formally staggering, and precisely performed work. Speaking of precisely performed, Marion Cotillard's performance in Two Days, One Night (Dardennes, 2014) is among the decade's best and my favorite Best Actress nominee of the past 10 years. The movie itself is equally gripping, both as a study of one woman's overwhelming depression and a portrait of unity and camaraderie as a guiding force through trying times. Making our way to even bleaker material, the tough, deeply sobering Timbuktu (Sissako, 2014), which threads one family's personal dramas through keenly probed, region-specific political turmoils with stark beauty. Then we have another international drama that tackles global issues through culturally specific contexts. Dheepan (Audiard, 2015) turned out to be a rather divisive Palme d'Or winner that nevertheless managed to leave a potent impact on me, partially as a result of the aspects (grisly last act, heightened conceptions of character and theme) that turned some people off. Not to spend too much of my limited word count on this, but Audiard takes stylistic risks worth taking in balancing what's brutal and tender in this story. Animal Kingdom (Michôd, 2010) shares two very broad connections with Dheepan in that both involve families (in Dheepan's case, a makeshift family) embroiled in a crime milieu and each facilitate highly stylized POVs on the psychological aspects of their films. They share no other similarities, but as a stylistic and generic exercise Animal Kingdom is just as absorbing and forceful. Also: Jackie Weaver and Ben Mendelsohn are superb. As for the last film in this group, Princess Cyd (Cone, 2017) is much warmer and mood-enhancing than any of the aforementioned titles, which is in no way a slight against it. I simply can't get enough of Stephen Cone's insistence on showing empathy towards every single one of his characters. So adept at exploring human bonds and contradictions.

Growers, Not Showers: A category for films outside of my Top 100 that were among my favorites in the years they were released and have only grown fonder in my memory. Why the queasy, unnerving enigmas of Border (Abbasi, 2018) didn't crack this list or my Top 10 last year is kind of puzzling when you consider what a daunting task it must have been to pull that project off. Approaching this story from an angle that's at once angry and empathetic, brazen and modest, guarded and open to multiple possibilities without losing any of its own distinct oddness of conception or the haunting questions it leaves us on couldn't have been as easy as the film makes it look, so I'm hoping more people (including myself) come to value it more. Even more boldly executed and enigmatic is The Fits (Holmer, 2015), a movie that I liked a lot upon first viewing while struggling to get past a take that boiled down to "That was interesting, but I'm not sure what my takeaway was supposed to be." Three and a half years later, the only takeaway I care about is enveloping myself in director Anna Rose Holmer's fearless wavelength and embracing what she does and fascinatingly doesn't open up about her characters, milieus, and bold ideas about young black womanhood. Shifting away entirely from The Fits is the sublime and sharply funny Private Life (Jenkins, 2018), a movie about a middle-aged, upper-middle class white couple struggling with fertility and adoption. In some ways it's a first-world problems subsect of movie that is much more familiar in the cinematic landscape than something like The Fits. But at the same time it isn't that, utilizing insights from Jenkins' savvy script and ensemble to create a lived-in and timely sketch of intergenerational bonds and frictions. An even timelier comedy came the same year with Sorry to Bother You (Riley, 2018), which jumps off from its humorous conceit of a young black telemarketer with a gift for using a "white-guy voice" at work into a surreal, satirical, balls-to-the-wall cautionary tale about capitalistic strangleholds on entire systems of the world. I'm not ready to say everything about it works, but Boots Riley is a singular talent with comic verve and a refreshing, intrepid inclination to try as many tricks at his disposal. Double citations for two filmmakers starting with Mike Leigh for Another Year (Leigh, 2010) and Mr. Turner (Leigh, 2014) and then Pedro Almodóvar for Julieta (Almodóvar, 2016) and Pain & Glory (Almodóvar, 2019). These four titles aren't my favorites from these filmmakers, nor do they showcase them quite at the peak of their talents, but they are highlights from this decade to be sure. Another Year and Julieta have grown on me since my initial viewings of each, with the underlying disenchantment at both films' core lingering so indelibly. Meanwhile, Mr. Turner and Pain & Glory are both considered self-conscious, self-reflexive meditations on the individual bodies of work from both directors. Turner would turn out not to be Leigh's valedictory film (I need to watch Peterloo), but as far as authorial statements on the overarching interests within these filmmakers' oeuvres goes, there's a lot to dig into with both. Switching from directors reaching the autumns of their careers to a debut feature. Patti Cake$ (Jasper, 2017), for all its big moments and rousing musical numbers, is rather modest and nuanced for a directorial debut. Anchored by a completely authentic and captivating performance from Danielle Macdonald, Patti Cake$ puts itself over with a lively soundtrack of songs, an exuberant feel for cutting and rhythm, and a love for each of its characters.

Sliding Down the Charts: Films I love less now than upon initial release, but are still worthy of a mention. The Social Network (Fincher, 2010) enters this category in the "Movie That I Adored As a Senior in High School, But Now Only Have Deep Admiration For" slot. That Rooney Mara opening has stuck with me all these years, as well as the Reznor/Atticus score. I find nearly everything else about it engaging and dramatically deft, but I've grown to find the whole more impenetrable upon re-watches. I want to be in the camp that loves The Master (Anderson, 2012) & Phantom Thread (Anderson, 2017) minus the reservations that reveal themselves to me overtime. I'm slightly more inclined towards the crowd that considers The Master to be a modern classic than Phantom Thread, which loses narrative power towards the last third, particularly on a second viewing once you've put together where it's going. Overall, I'm quite fond of both of these works and the direction Anderson is taking his career, even when I get the sense that his movies are beginning to tilt into self-conscious aggrandizing. A favorite of mine at the time of its release, Martha Marcy May Marlene (Durkin, 2011) is in serious need of revisiting, having only ever watched it the one time on DVD. I have hazy recollections regarding mood, character, and incident, which could easily be a testament to the film's lingering, elliptical power or to the hype failing to outlast awards season, which is prone to happen to people like me who follow those things. (Not a fault of the film's!) I suspect the former is more likely, but I'd be curious to see how I feel about it today. Another tough but potent sit, The Snowtown Murders (Kurzel, 2011) is extremely difficult to love, but I still somehow managed to be really into it at the time, being the weird, morbid 19-year-old that I apparently was. It made my Top 10 in 2012, but my growing affection for other movies that year has gradually pushed it slightly outside of it and the decade list. Still, as relentlessly suffocating as Snowtown is, virtually every element of craft and direction are off the charts and there are a ton of great performances in it. Might be worth pursuing if you were into Justin Kurzel's Macbeth (I was!). Can't speak for Assassin's Creed, though. Moving on to less morose titles, I found The Kids Are All Right (Cholodenko, 2010) to be a funny, sensitive, intelligent, and tender family portrait, anchored by terrific performances from all of the leads. I valued and benefited from it so much upon release for being a lived-in queer portrait as well, with the power to reach a generally broad audience. I can't say that every single thread in the movie is being well-served, but that ending still kills me and I'd watch it right now if it were on TV. American Honey (Arnold, 2016) is a pretty exhilarating 3-hour sit and a simultaneously deflating one as a refraction of a specific cultural and political climate. I was frequently moved by our gradual understanding of Star (played by a fantastic Sasha Lane) and beguiled by the film's looseness, though I do concede its limitations in the way it depicts these kids' circumstances. And finally, my affection for Drive (Refn, 2011) might have been sullied by how off-put I am by all of Nicolas Winding Refn's recent movies, but it's also likely that my dwindling love is a symptom of the heartlessness he brings to  his films. Which isn't to say that Drive is an empty movie, but I end up finding less reason to care after each viewing. But still, such craftsmanship!

Personal Pets: The movies I'm about to list are all good to great, I'd say. But they also fall in the category of movies I love that also happened to be ranked lower than other favorites in their respective years when it came down to it. For all intents and purposes, both 21 Jump Street (Lord & Miller, 2012) & The Lego Movie (Lord & Miller, 2014) should be on a list that includes favorites from the past decade, but at the same time I'm not going to rank them higher than something like Atlantics. Still, if we must have recognizable properties at the forefront of studio filmmaking, then let them justify themselves with as much wit, conceptual brio, and wholehearted charisma as these two did. Both films are extremely funny as well, but as far as pure laughs go, the dynamite chemistry of Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy in The Heat (Feig, 2013) might just top them. It's not as fresh a take on its genre as Jump Street, but it's a thoroughly entertaining example of a Buddy Cop Action Comedy. What takes it further for me is the amount of character work Bullock and McCarthy sneak into the film, which sets it apart from its peers in the genre. It's hard to say American Hustle (Russell, 2013) didn't get a fair shake when you look at all of the awards it received and money it made. A more apt case study, in my opinion, would be Widows (McQueen, 2018), which was overlooked all season as a result of a poorly handled release, tentative audiences, and bigger, more broadly appealing films sapping up any momentum it had. Though stylistically and thematically contrasting at every level, Hustle and Widows both featured star-studded ensembles, focused on criminals, and were helmed by auteurs who were previously well-known for smaller films. David O. Russell's film fared much better than Steve McQueen's both in terms of awards and box office, but both seem to have a reputation for being a swing-and-a-miss, artistically, at least in terms of how they stack up to the rest of their career. I wouldn't disagree that these directors have made better films, but I appreciate Hustle and Widows' ambitions, even amidst what doesn't work in each. Nasty Baby (Silva, 2015) is another divisive film that I honestly love more and more each time I revisit it. It starts as a modest pregnancy dramedy amongst a gay man and his best friend, resolves with a wild third act swing, and ends on a joyous music video that features the film's main characters. I didn't respond well at first, but have come to realize that everything that happens in the final third is totally earned. The screenwriter of the magnificent Junebug made his directorial debut with Goodbye to All That (MacLachlan, 2014), a very tiny, underseen gem that examines sex and adult relationships with maturity, lack of judgment, and authenticity. Also features a stellar ensemble and is completely generous to everyone in the cast, so definitely seek this one out. I find the term guilty pleasure to be reductive because it reduces our ideas of what can be deemed good or bad. As if our enjoyment of a film is strictly limited to a type or characteristic that can be checkmarked in order to be seen as good. So let's say my inclusion of Burlesque (Antin, 2010) in this category is more like a pet movie that I have a strong personal attachment to. I love virtually every song, Cher is out of this world in it, and the film attains a genuine exuberance that a lot of musicals today only wish they could have. I love the movie and I don't feel guilty about it in any way. Here's hoping Cats is as pure in its convictions as Burlesque is.

So those were the honorable mentions. Stay tuned for the actual Top 100 films of the decade list!