Dallas Film Now.

17. The Unknown Country ( directed by Morrisa Maltz)

I love, love, love this type of wispy travelogue film that says nothing, but manages to say everything. As the woman traveling, Lily Gladstone deserves her big year, and Morrisa Maltz’s The Unknown Country understands that the most powerful expression in cinema is not words, but the face. Harboring a restless sense of sadness and displacement, the film follows Tana (Gladstone) as she travels from Minneapolis to her cousin’s wedding on the reservation in South Dakota. From there, she heads south in search of something greater than herself. Generally keeping the viewer imbalanced on just where we are in the journey with Tana across an American landscape that’s alternatively beautiful and alarming for a single woman, The Unknown Country also takes the time to dwell on the genuine, honest faces Tana comes across in her journey. We even get to hear these people tell a quick story of their lives, and a fiction film becomes semi-documentary… as if Maltz also wants to craft an anthropological study of the goodness buried in a world teeming with angry talk radio and the division of people- something that becomes central to Tana’s long car rides that not only serve as a location marker, but also the static of a world going on carelessly around her. Ultimately, The Unknown Country knocks all this away and chooses to emphasize the people orbiting around Tana. Best when it settles on the sweet, proud worldview of her estranged relatives on the Indian reservation (including a knock out performance by long time character actor Richard Ray Whitman), it’s enervating to watch Gladstone’s performance begin to soak in their grace and carry on southward for something more. The world may still be swerving around her, but The Unknown Country has the grace and fragility to slow everything down and celebrate those in the moment.

16. The Quiet Girl (directed by Colm Bairead)

Filmed with the same gentle affinity as the title suggests, Bairead’s tale of a young girl (Catherine Clinch) spending a summer with relatives away from her usual chaotic home features so many wonderful bursts of humanity, the film plays like a fairy tale rather than the brutal anecdote of childhood turmoil it probably really is. These types of coming-of-age films are a dime a dozen, but when one like The Quiet Girl comes along, it makes every other attempt pale in comparison. And oh that ending.

15. The Worst Ones (directed by Lise Akola and Romane Gueret)

Born out of the idea filmmakers Akoka and Gueret had while making a short film and their experience of casting it, The Worst Ones begins in that (assuredly) time consuming and arduous process, but ultimately shows that when a film finds the right people, it clicks into place. It’s a film that gets a lot of name checking with the likes of the Dardennes, but another name the film harkens towards is Olivier Assayas. The Worst Ones feels messy at times and strikingly resonant the next, and its lineage to the film-within-the-film is a staple of classic French cinema. The young actors (like in Assayas’ 1990’s masterpiece Cold Water) stumble through life, love, and heartbreak with the same stone-faced resolve as Ryan and Lily do here. It’s a terrific film that ranks as one of the discoveries of the early movie going season in 2023.

14. Sanctuary (directed by Zachary Wigon)

Domination as therapy. Or maybe domination as filmmaking (and acting) itself. Wigon’s chamber piece of a john (Christoper Abbott) and the high price escort he pays to see weekly (Margaret Qualley) begins as expensive roleplaying and develops into something more sinister. We never quite know who’s playing who in this wickedly devious film (based on a play by Micah Bloomberg), made all the more enthralling by high-wire acting and several wonderful tonal shifts. I wish more people had seen this in the theater.

13. Poor Things (directed by Yorgos Lanthimos)

I’ve typically been resistant to the alienating films of Yorgos Lanthimos, but like relenting to last year’s social experiment Triangle of Sadness by Ruben Ostlund, my barriers quickly fell with Poor Things. Dizzyingly funny, uniformly cyberpunk, and ultimately heartbreaking for the way it uses a Frankenstein-esque structure to explore the expanding boundaries of human nature, Emma Stone is brilliant as the young woman unleased into the world to experience, well, everything. With a supporting cast that continually pushes the film into a realm of wonderful oddities, Poor Things left me emotionally drained and strangely hopeful…. which for a Lanthimos film is not really anything new as his askew world view just begs for attention. Here, it worked for me.

12. Priscilla (directed by Sofia Coppola)

Sofia Coppola’s best film since Lost in Translation (2003), Priscilla is a film that continues on with the filmmaker’s fascination with interiority and impressionism. It’s also a drastically (and wonderfully) different experience from last year’s Baz Luhrman sonic fest about Elvis Presly. As Priscilla Presly, newcomer Cailee Spaeny embodies the love interest of a rock and roll icon with her own sense of permanent dislocation in one of two scenarios- either orbiting the yes-man-good-ol-boy universe of Elvis’ lavishly repercussion-free dalliances, or quietly within the controlled alienation from Elvis himself. This is made clear when Priscilla first sits down to eat with the protracted Elvis family, filmed in profile by herself, dutifully nodding to others outside the frame. There’s not much room for else, and Coppola deftly alternates between these two environments, peppered with heart-stopping needle drops and a keen awareness of the objects and textures that suffocatingly surround Priscilla. In fact, the best description I can provide of Priscilla is a film of quiet suffocation, made all the more enervating when the finale happens. It’s no secret Elvis was a victim of explosive stardom, but at least someone survives this sinkhole universe of carnivorous public consumption. Based on a book by Presley herself- if it truly happened this way- my heart breaks for the conversation the couple have in a high-rise hotel room…. and the remorseful goodbye they share with “maybe in another life”.

11. Ferrari (directed by Michael Mann)

Michael Mann is back exploring his favorite themes- bodies in lanky motion, men twisting in the wind to save themselves from potential ruin, and the hard scrabbled women standing at the sidelines trying to hold everything together. Like Coppola’s previous Priscilla, Mann’s biopic of Italian racer and car magnate Enzo Ferreri is a bit of an impressionistic study of a certain time and place. We get little about the man’s life besides the current state of his moribund marriage to a blazingly fierce Penelope Cruz and his relationship with another woman (Shailene Woodley) and his son out of wedlock. Besides the moral strains, Ferrari also finds the man close to bankruptcy in the mid 1950’s. By the time it does get around to some manly, hard core racing (filmed expertly of course), Mann has created a moody and precise study of a man trying to outwit his own philosophy that two things cannot exist in the same spot at the same moment in time.

10. Joyland (directed by Saim Sidaq)

There’s a scene in the middle of Saim Sadiq’s ironically titled Joyland that sees Haider (Ali Junejo) save the lighting impaired show of trans dancer Biba (Alina Khan) by urging everyone to shine their cell phone lights towards the stage. It’s a bustling moment of joy that interrupts the generational struggle of the film’s many characters and establishes a quiet humanity that most films never realize. It’s easy to say from that point on, the film is all tragically downhill- full of subdued emotions and some of the year’s most striking cinematography- but Joyland is too smart to be just an international downer. The characters are too dimensional…. the emotions are too well earned…. and Sadiq understands that great truth comes from great sadness. Outside of the central relationship between Haider and Biba, the film tracks the rest of Haider’s extended family as they convene in one large house together. The cultural observations typical in most films like this are observed but mangled. Both wife Mumtaz (Rasti Farooq) and his sister-in-law (Sarwat Gilani) are dynamic. The various sideways and byways given to the rest of the family are highly involving as well as they try to simply live in a modernized world. But Joyland ultimately rests on the destructive relationship of Haider and Biba as they navigate capricious times together. It all comes together in a damning finale that washes over the viewer (literally) and exemplifies the messiness of life’s choices even if we try not to hurt others.

9. Anatomy of a Fall (directed by Justine Triet)

Justine Triet’s masterful, slow examination of a death also places on trial the ebbs and flows of a marriage…. where every charged conversation is a motive for murder and perception shifts between parties wildly. Sandra Huller is the woman on trial after her husband’s body is found outside the window of their three-story, snow-capped mountain chateau. Is it suicide, murder, or a simple accident? And like the best films that work in gradual shades of morality, “Anatomy of a Fall” is less concerned with what really happened than the verbal gymnastics and hidden emotions that might have led to all this. Employing a camera that’s often trying to follow what’s happening just as quickly as the audience (i.e. that startling whip pan when Huller’s son is announced as a witness) and brilliant performances from all involved, “Anatomy of a Fall” is two-and-a-half hours of French courtroom politics trying to decode matters of the heart. It’s dry, intelligent, and ultimately so haunting.

8. River (directed by Junta Yamaguchi)

Alot can happen in two minutes, and this idea is something that’s preoccupied filmmaker Junta Yamaguchi . His previous film titled Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes (and one I’ve yet to see) is described as a comedy about a shop owner whose television set shows him images of the future…. but only two minutes into the future. His latest film, River, sees the inhabitants of a mountainous inn reliving their lives over and over in two-minute intervals. Whether it’s the future or the past, Yamaguchi is searching for something, and I think he’s found it in River’s deliriously trippy and skillfully handled narrative.  Featuring wonderful acting by all involved, the film straddles humor and pathos while never quite losing sight of the weirdo genre dynamics that many films need to grace the screens at genre film festivals. Underneath that, however, it’s also an endearing ode to the many paths our lives can take and a sharp examination of the human struggle to create meaning from chaos.

7. The Killer (directed by David Fincher)

One would expect nothing less than methodical in David Fincher’s latest venture starring Michael Fassbender as a hired killer whose job-gone-wrong morphs into a globe-skipping project of revenge. Bracingly violent in small spurts, mordantly funny in others (just look closely at all those aliases he uses), but completely captivating from start to finish, The Killer asks the viewer to not really care for the man but become entranced by the calculated structure with which his urban hunter steals from every film ranging from Jean Pierre Melville to John Boorman, especially the hard boiled internal monologue that Fassbender lives within as if it’s a protective mantra to go along with his nocturnal bouts of yoga. Aided by the usual assortment of crew (including DP Erik Messerschmidt, music by Reznor and Ross, edited by Kirk Baxter), not only is The Killer the most technically fluent film of the year, but one that reverberates with cold brilliance even as its final scene takes place in the melting sun.

6. The Zone of Interest (directed by Jonathan Glazer)

I give credit to the immense power of Jonathan Glazer’s The Zone of Interest that the film still shook me even though I know the plot and have been digesting thoughts about it since its award-winning debut at the Cannes Film Festival back in May. And anyone who knows the work of Glazer can testify that his films are alienating, provocative, and at times punishing in their formal technique. In spite of all those possible obstacles, The Zone of Interest exceeded my expectations and stands as an unnerving example of the still unexplored boundaries of the Holocaust drama.

5. The Night of the 12th (directed by Dominik Moll)

I love films whose conclusion isn’t wrapped neatly into a bow. And when it comes to police procedurals- the idea that despite the dedicated work of many investigators working the facts for weeks, months, and years the ultimate answer still eludes them- the film often hits harder for me. It’s not that these people are bad at their job, but life is full of fallibility and nihilism. People disappear. People die. People are murdered for no reason. And that’s maddening. The Night of the 12th follows such a disappeared soul, and it’s made clear right from the opening that of the crime cases reported each year in France, 20% remain unsolved. This follows one of those cases. Directed by veteran Dominik Moll, The Night of the 12th is so good because of where it doesn’t end. Like Bertrand Tavernier’s masterful L.627 (1995), this is a film of habits, routines, gestures, and questions that often come so close to breaking the case open but remains mired in the mundane. The murder of 21-year-old Clara (Lula Cotton-Frapier) falls into the routine of a six-man police unit led by Yohan (Bastein Bouillon), and it’s a case that eventually haunts all involved. Directed with an exact precision that elevates talk over action and brings us to the edge of relief so often before sinking back into the abyss of confusion, The Night of the 12th is a terrific example of filmmaking that’s not quite appreciated anymore today (or maybe it is since it won the Cesar award for Best Film last year in France). With several interesting things to say about the inherent gender discrimination of solving criminal activity and wonderful acting from all involved, The Night of the 12th is one of the best police procedurals to come out in years.

4. Passages (directed by Ira Sachs)

It’d be misleading to read Ira Sachs’ latest effort through the eyes of its amorous, confused, and ultimately destructive lead character Tomas (Franz Rogowski). Oscillating between the relationship with his husband, Martin (a tremendous Ben Whishaw who deserves all the year end accolades) and his start-up affair with beautiful teacher Agathe (Adele Exarchopoulos), Tomas doesn’t feel that far removed from the caddish interlopers of the French New Wave. But Passages, ultimately, concerns itself less with Tomas and more with the two people caught up in his sexual confusion. This is a film about frank sexuality- which is terrific when it’s fresh and impetuous- and all three people in this love triangle experience it. However, what lingers most vividly about the situation is the way Sachs quickly dries out the sexuality and creates a devastating portrait of those rejected and damaged from Tomas’ willful carnality. Whishaw is brilliant in the way he recoils and holds in his sadness during one incredible scene. Likewise, Exarchopoulos is luminous in her stringent performance and the way she maintains a sense of individuality within yet another expression of amour fou (something she’s become famous for). I suppose all the character traits were there on display in the opening scene as filmmaker Tomas berates and constantly stops a scene he’s filming in order to get the right presence of someone walking down a flight of stairs. Passages is an exploration of the starts and stops we experience in a relationship as well. It’s just a shame it comes at the expense of two wonderful people like Martin and Agathe, who Sachs handles with empathy and intelligence.

3. Killers of the Flower Moon (directed by Martin Scorsese)

Scorsese’s latest is a corrosive epic that clearly reveals its shades of morality for everyone involved within the first third, then proceeds to deliberately track the insidious nature of violence and deluded companionship over the remaining three hours. Imagine if the walls closing in around Henry Hill in Goodfellas (1990) were protracted out for 180 minutes. That’s the startling feeling that Scorsese manages to uphold in Killers of the Flower Moon, but this time the criminal activity is not that of the American mafia, but just as insidious a network of people played out in the dustbowl setting on 1920’s Oklahoma and the violence against the Osage Indian nation for their valuable oil land head rights. With his usual cast of heavyweights (DiCaprio and DeNiro), the biggest coup of the film goes to the steely beating heart of Lily Gladstone as Killers of the Flower Moon was changed from its FBI-instigated criminal investigative tone to a more Native-American centric point of view. It works wonders, no less because of the stellar, granite-faced supporting cast and a rhythmic editing style that constantly makes one gasp with horror at the nonchalant violence and overhead writhes of death encompassing the entire land. Like he’s done for New York, Las Vegas, and even the bashing waters off a Japanese prisoner colony, Scorsese spiritually imbues man and nature with a fist of violence that’s hard to shake. 

2. Past Lives (difected by Celine Song)

Celine Song’s debut is a film that owes its heartfelt lineage to the films of Julio Medem, Richard Linklater, and Wong Kar Wai….. all filmmakers that certainly believe in true love, but not in the traditional way. These are filmmakers who reveal how love manifests itself across the unreachable barriers put up by the universe’s cosmic sense of humor. In Past Lives, Na Young (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) meet as kids and then spend the next 24 years hopelessly trying to rekindle what they once shared on the steps of a building, each going their own direction. Song and her actors etch so much fragility, honesty, and emotion into the vagaries of their relationship that, when the two meet again in New York for the first time as adults, their reactions are so organic and heartfelt, I felt guilty (like an interloper) for intruding on their time together. But once that feeling passes and Past Lives continues to weave its magical spell of yearning (plus facing the uncomfortable but blazingly honest performance of Nora’s now husband played to perfection by John Magaro) I ultimately felt grateful for the beauty of a film willing to allow us to share in all the uncomfortable silences that build up over (possibly) thousands of years between people.

1. Oppenheimer (directed by Christopher Nolan)

A film I saw three times in the theater, and it still wasn’t enough to quench my thirst for the sublime marriage of conflicting theoretical conversation about the destruction of humanity and the shifting loyalties of a post-war world. In his usual time-shifting manner, Christopher Nolan exacts suspense out of the sublime, whether it be the question of a small lakeside conversation or the sudden shift of attitude under intense questioning by Emily Blunt (my pick for supporting performance of the year), Oppenheimer is a towering American masterpiece that not only jumbles a cacophony of heady ideas, but solidifies Nolan as one of the most immersive filmmakers of this century through sound and image whose weight is seen and felt with every frame.

Honorable mentions: The Iron Claw, Magic Mike’s Last Dance, A Thousand and One, The Eight Mountains, Eileen, Last Voyage of the Demeter, Saltburn