Time once more to look back on the year that was in film, a year that marks the halfway point of the decade and, fittingly, delivered some of the best films of the decade thus far. But can't get on to figuring out that list until we get through the year officially, and so I pulled from everything I saw in (and around) 2025 to settle on the ten best. This year's list was particularly exciting because of how many great releases ended up coming out, highlighted by established filmmakers and upcoming voices, though it was once asked how long can one spend on an intro? And honestly no sense delaying this shit anymore because I'm already kind of overdue on my loose self imposed deadline, so might as well get to the main course.
10. Pavements
Usually documentaries aren't one of my preferred types of films, though last year saw the return of a doc to my Top Ten, but Alex Ross Perry's ode to Pavement isn't exactly a doc in the traditional sense. It does use footage of the band, tracking their discography, the ups and downs over the years, and the way their music spoke to a dedicated fanbase, but where it elevates is blending in fiction and layering in its meta elements to obscure the central subjects. The film diverts into mockumentary at times, highlighted by some fantastic performances, specifically from Joe Keery playing himself playing Stephen Malkmus, but spreads even beyond that by incorporating the conception and staging of a Pavement musical. The approach to standard band documentary (and it's still that, getting in plenty of music) is charming and inventive, making the band seem so knowable but enigmatic. Fitting in that way that my earliest exposure to Malkmus was through his work on the soundtrack for I'm Not There, Todd Haynes's similarly expansive examination of Bob Dylan. That this film earns its comparisons to that one already puts it in tremendous company.
9. The Mastermind
When you start hearing people calling something Kelly Reichardt's most accessible film, it's probably right to have a bit of concern, as the pacing on a scene by scene basis in her films is such a defining aspects of her work, but my concerns were quickly put to rest when the film opens with Josh O'Connor's JB is seen visiting a museum that we soon learn is his target for an art heist. There's an attention to detail that works to establish his character, an observer in a small pond who buys in to his own status as titular mastermind, only for us to watch him destroy his life until all he can do is meander. As usual, Reichardt has a firm grasp on the political climate of the time, even setting it in the past it feels directly in conversation with the past decade or so of American politics with JB's unassuming con artist approach played pitch perfect.
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8. Lesbian Space Princess
Despite how strong 2025 was overall, in terms of animated features it didn't exactly go up up up, though the standouts certainly did stand out, most notably from this hilarious one from co-directors Emma Hough Hobbs and Leela Varghese. The film's title can give you a pretty good idea of what it's about, and how direct its approach to gender is going to be, but it embraces its lack of nuance to wield its comedy like a hammer. While it may not end up re-shattering any glass ceilings, its charm permeates so much of the film. From Saira's songs to her journey of self discovery, there are few moments that aren't a joy to watch, and the film also packs in plenty of supporting characters to expand its comedy. Helps too when you get the members of Aunty Donna to voice some of the primary antagonists, the straight white maliens, as they get some of the biggest laughs of the film. But there is, of course, heart to it as well, and an emotional nuance that balances the lack of subtlety to its humor. Also those maliens are really funny.
7. Resurrection
Easy to look at Bi Gan's trip in to sci-fi as a love letter to cinema, opening on what is a near silent film for an extended stretch before delving in to the psyche of Jackson Yee's Deliriant, the name given to the humans who continue to dream in a world where losing that ability has granted significantly longer life, as he approaches death. It's a higher concept film, but one where the specifics aren't nearly as important as its thematic and technical prowess, both ambitious in their own right. Split in to multiple sections that borrow from different genres of film, we are asked to reflect on the role of art in life, how we understand humanity through it and how those changes act as their own kind of history. Both personal and in a more broad perspective, requiring a handle on tone that Bi Gan is more than capable of managing, and he even gets to pull out the elongated single take sequence from his last film (no 3-D this time, unfortunately) in a stunning penultimate section. There are some elements I still struggle with looking back, ones that are culturally and religiously beyond what I know, but, as with much of the film, getting too bogged down in the specifics risks missing the forrest for the trees. Even though sometimes the trees are fascinating all on their own.
6. Dracula
The past year (theoretically) brought two new films from Radu Jude, but while I still patiently wait for Kontinental '25 to release after being shafted from Philadelphia Film Fest's line up (a frustratingly common occurrence from the programmers given that Jude is consistently making some of the most compelling films on a near annual basis), there remains plenty to reflect on from his meditation on artistry and AI in filmmaking. And in the near three hours spent watching Adonis Tanta's struggling director attempt to piece together the first Romanian adaptation of Transylvania's most notable bloodsucker via conversations with various AI programs, Jude definitely presents plenty for us to consider about the digital age and filmmaking. Resisting an overdone 'AI bad lol' approach, the film plays up the absurdity and anti-art aspects of the technology while integrating it in to the narrative and portions of the film itself. Jude brings in theatre, film, and social media to probe at the relationship between art and commerce, looking at the relationship between the two and the stress points of their power struggle. As with much of his recent work, it blends crude humor with a philosophical slant to for a film that's balances its didactic elements with entertainment.
5. Sound Of Falling
Last year saw a few films that explored the passage of time through location, using a location as an entry point for thematic exploration. While that is the case with Mascha Schilinski's drama, situating itself on a small town German farm throughout the years as we see a series of young women at inflection points in their lives, what most stood out to me was the craft on display. The camera sort of drifts throughout time, giving an ethereal quality that accentuates its approach to history, capturing Germany in times of war, reconstruction, and peace, but also makes us aware of our role as viewer to create a haunting sense of danger and death that engulf so much of the film. It's oppressive, but fascinating in the moment, and conveys the scope of time, moments that will be lost forever and the people who will eventually be ground to dust. And asks us to grapple with that on an individual level. The nonlinear structure adds to this, but it also uses asides in to either daydreams or alternate futures that are chilling each time they get deployed, and, fittingly, the film's use of sound is remarkable. There are occasional points where it becomes engulfing, a cacophony that's nearly overwhelming, where the horrors of reality become manifest in a way that is staggering.
4. Barrio Triste
After a couple of Korine films, including one that made last year's Top Ten, it seemed like his EDGLRD label was going in one very clear direction, but the debut feature from STILLZ upends the technologically focused work that came before it for an ode to the physicality of filmmaking. The natural point of comparison for this film is, of course, Korine's Gummo, and early on especially those comparisons are pretty spot on, taking elements from Dogme 95 and bringing them to a group of kids in decaying Colombian barrios who take a news camera before following a day in their lives. Inherently it is giving a perspective that gets erased, and STILLZ does not shy away from making us focus on the darker aspects of life, from overcrowded homes filled with missing children, to photos of those who may have just disappeared, and, in what is the scene that has most stuck with me, a ride in the car as we listen to a radio show where a man calls in and details his life as a serial killer. A wholly unique film, the type that is rare to see get made, let alone get distribution or play on a big screen, and propelled by an incredible soundtrack from Arca. An artistic explosion, not just a thrilling debut feature, but easily among the best of the year.
3. Silent Friend
Throughout the three different time periods that encompass Enyedi's beautiful Silent Friend, the film tackles the relationships we share with others and with the world around us. This primarily happens by looking at plants, specifically one tree at a university that we see throughout the years along with the people who have memories around it. This naturally invites moments of quiet reflection, which are effective throughout; however, the portion that has most stuck with me is when the film (relatively speaking) feels almost supernatural. Since the film is not yet out, I'll dance around spoilers, but it involves a gate opening and the connected systems between the natural world and modernity intersecting. It's a beautiful moment that crystalizes many of the film's themes, and one that asks us as viewer to consider our own place in the world. We confront how even the smallest aspects of the world around us are interconnected, an idea that's easy enough to talk about but difficult to actually convey and harder still to comprehend. But that's where the brilliance of the film can be found, in these moments of beauty and hope, which (like with Sound of Falling) illuminate fundamentals of what it means to be human. How, even when the world is falling apart, both on a personal level and globally as we see in the pandemic era modern section, we are united not just as a species but as occupants on our planet.
2. Eddington
And fitting that we go from a film about unity to one that's so steeped in division. Ari Aster's latest, a COVID era tragicomedy following a mayoral race in the titular small New Mexico town, has the director confronting Our World head on in a way that captures the existential dread of the digital age in a way that few have tapped in to so directly. Would be easy to roll one's eyes at the set up, and early on there's perhaps some cause for concern when it opens up with a mask v. anti-mask standoff for multiple early confrontations, but it makes it clear not soon after that we're not going to be getting wrapped up in some safe neoliberal satire and that Aster's ambitions are much more expansive. Joaquin Phoenix as Joe Cross, sheriff turned mayoral candidate, is such a great anchor for the film because his performance invites some sympathy for his sincerity even as we can recognize his self serving interests and dangers that he's bringing to the town. Wisely, it gets juxtaposed with Pedro Pascal's Ted Garcia, incumbent mayor who is ready to expedite the town's decay if it means he can profit, gain at least some statewide notoriety, and move on to greener pastures before SolidGoldMagikarp's data center bleeds the people of Eddington for everything they're worth. The script is sharp, expansive, and focuses on division as a power tool that mocks the overpoliticized world we inhabit while those at the top continue to thrive. It's refreshing to have a film take on politics as a power structure, one where we can easily get bogged down in all the left v right angles, the barrage of information to continue to divide, that placates us. And the dangers of that placation, or the inevitability of it in a society where a dopamine rush is a swipe away, where truth and consequences are a matter of perspective. In the end, we really do just need to free each others hearts.
1. One Battle After Another
Not sure there could be a more generic choice for the best film of 2025, but sometimes it's just right. From the opening moments of Paul Thomas Anderson's familial drama you realize, as tends to be the case with his films, that we're simply in the hands of a master. When you have a film universally heralded, it's hard to actually write about it without just parroting points that have probably been discussed to death: the scale and spectacle, the two different car chases that Anderson films in such drastically different ways but both so thrilling, the arresting score that's among the year's best in terms of how its used, the supporting cast giving tremendous performances, the way it manages to keep sneaking in jokes even in its most tense moments, how its longer runtime flashes by in an instant. Realistically what could I add? Perhaps through the (slightly) less discussed portions, and a personal angle.
The first time I watched the film I was taken with it, though didn't find myself overly impressed by DiCaprio or Infiniti in their roles. Both were good, and needed to be because the core relationship between those two characters needs each to be at least serviceable for the film to work as well as it does, but I wasn't sure if they were close to my favorite performances of the year. But as time passed I kept coming back to one sequence in the film that I'd wager is about as good as anything I've seen in film in literal years. About 45 minutes in to the film we get a hard cut from the past to present, a bright closeup of Chase Infiniti's Willa in a dojo, paired perfectly with Steely Dan's "Dirty Work", that continues on to DiCaprio in a car before a parent teacher conference, burnout and transformed from Ghetto Pat to the Bob we spend the majority of the film with. Even thinking back to it now, I nearly cry recalling how stunning that who portion is, but then the music fades and we hear Bob talk about his daughter, about history, and you see how nuanced DiCaprio's performance is, the way he plays this man who has lost nearly everything, what Willa means to him, the reminder of humanity in someone so lost. It's a testament to his performance, Anderson's camera, the script, and pays off because of the work Infiniti does subsequently as Willa on her journey from child to adult, culminating in a moment before the epilogue that is nearly as much of a knockout at the introduction to her character. Anderson's There Will Be Blood is arguably the best film of the past 20 or so years, with the time between filled with plenty of other successes from him, but One Battle After Another has him rivaling his other masterwork. A monumental film, and not just the best of 2025, but maybe the best of the decade up to this point.
And with that we (mostly) bring an end to 2025, with only some smaller things that never actually released here and I probably will just end up counting as 2026 films still to come. Would say that last year was one of the stronger in quite some time, as I had a hard time trimming the list down to a top ten and there's a legitimate case for a lot of the top sixteen I settled on to have, at the very least, cracked the official ranking. As usual, feel free to let me know in the comments what I may have missed/should catch up on/why (insert film) didn't make it. Keep track of what I watch on Letterboxd, sometimes even with more words than just a few sentences. And sometimes not. Such is life.
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