2022 was when blockbusters felt big again. Not just being cynically marketed as blockbusters and event releases, but being designed and built from the ground-up as features meant to be seen on the big screen. While cinemas have been slowly starting to open back up over the latter months of 2021, now they were starting to get the right kind of material to bring audiences back. Sure, some of it came in the form of bog-standard fare that made an impact just because they reminiscent of the norm pre-COVID, like rom-coms, period dramas, and B-action flicks, but a lot of the better films of this year, and indeed a good amount of the entries on this list, had the sense of grandeur that made going back to the cinemas worth doing, regardless of whoever else may or may not be in attendance.
Hell, even beyond the return of the spectacle on the big screen, when they were able to break the general air of disappointment that kept invading the year’s releases, 2022 provided a lot of amazing stories and experiences. Directors behind some terrific work in previous years returned to show off new high points in their respective careers, niche genres and filmmaking styles got to share in the mainstream spotlight, and that Self-Insert theme that spread through so much of the year’s worst films? Even that led to some great works of cinematic art.
So, to round off our look at a pretty damn good year for the movies, here are my pick for the 20 best films of 2022.
#20: Moonage Daydream
Even though this is at the bottom of the list, chances are that this will be the film that will stick with me more than any of the others on here. Part of that is down to the effect it had on me while watching it, as this was easily the biggest sensory overload I’ve had watching a film in years, possibly ever. A kaleidoscopic ascent into the collective unconscious, condensing several decades’ worth of pop culture and artistic inspiration to create a Harsh Cinema Wall that had me feeling like I was transcending reality over its two-hour-and-twenty-minute run time.
And yet that isn’t ultimately why this film has stuck with me. Rather, it’s that this has basically become my new ideal when it comes to how I write about films in these reviews, both for this blog and for Filmink. A widespread pull of the myriad of ideas and sensibilities that went into the creation of the wholly unique entity that we humans call David Bowie, but without feeling like the magic has been lost in cold explanation of the hows and why of his art. It explains everything, but puts enough trust in the audience to be able to meet it halfway in order for it all to make sense.
While I’ll likely never be able to conjure up something that reaches the level of cerebral fireworks that this invokes at every turn (not in this format, at least…), I have taken inspiration from that same methodology in my writing in the months since first watching it. I like the idea of passing on all the little bits and pieces of film theory and cultural literacy I’ve picked up over the past decade of doing this whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, helping others to have the same amazing experiences I’ve had watching movies. I’ll always strive not to ruin the potential for those experiences (but I am only human, there’s bound to be a misstep or two), and I have enough faith in the readers that have stuck with me up to now, or have even managed to find these reviews in the first place, to meet me halfway.
Idealistic? Sure. Up my own arse? Possibly. But if I’m going to spend at least another decade being a film critic, I don’t want to be the only one who gets to benefit from it. And this film will be the blueprint for that moving forward.
#19: Nope
Jordan Peele’s last two films showed him as the absurdist conscience for the topics she broached, like how White liberals fetishize Black lives and experiences in Get Out, and the American race vs. class discourse in Us. And here, he created a moment for the Hollywood mainstream (both creators and audiences) to take a step back and examine its fascination with grand spectacle, at pretty much the perfect time in a year when said spectacles were resuming their place at the top of the cinematic totem pole. Combining Spielbergian scale, otaku-friendly imagery, and his characteristically sly sense of humour, Peele pulled an Edgar Wright by subverting the tenets of the genre he was working in while also lifting it to such a level of skill and precision as to set an example for everyone engaging with it in earnest.
It's also worth mentioning that this marks the third time in a row that Jordan Peele released a film that sent me down the rabbit hole and really digging into my own perspectives on the world, and reaching some rather intriguing revelations in the process. Again, in contrast to its relatively low placing on this list, writing about this film in particular made for one of the most intensive deep dives I’ve gone through in a very long time, which is an experience I will always cherish as a writer.
#18: X
2022 was a great year for horror, slasher flicks in particular. From meta-slashers like the new Scream and Halloween Ends, to splatter slashers like Terrifier 2, to social anti-slashers like Sissy and Bodies Bodies Bodies, gorehounds got their fill and then some, and without even needing to venture outside of the mainstream to do so.
But for as good and even great as those films were, none of them felt as essential as X did. In its cross-section of classic ‘70s slasher cinema and the Golden Age of Porn, Ti West managed to make not one, but two statements about horror fiction as a whole that, even at a time when postmodern self-reflexivity has become the norm, somehow haven’t been declared with such conviction before this point. The first being the weird double standards concerning sex in films like this, specifically to do with the virgin/whore tropes that still show up quite a bit, and how they need to jettisoned if we’re going to continue kicking up pretences that we’ve learnt from the mistakes of the past. Doubly so for how those attitudes are reflected on our own side of the screen, since horror cinema tends to engender a more inclusive and progressive community than most other genres.
But the other statement, and one that I admit to only half-acknowledging in my initial review for it, has to do with the treatment of both porn and horror as artistic disciplines. Elitism will, sadly, always be a part of the discourse when it comes to discussing popular art, but when it comes to recognising it as art, neither pornography nor horror needs to be ‘elevated’ in order for that recognition to be relevant. I’ve been saying as such about adult entertainment for a while now, but I’ve mainly stayed away from the larger conversation concerning ‘elevated horror’. I don’t really put a lot of stock into that label, since I usually see it used in a ‘this isn’t like those horror films, these ones are actually good’ hoity-toity context, and I want nothing to do with that. But this film, along with another we’ll see further along in this list, finally got me to realise just how prevalent that notion of ‘making horror artistic’ has spread throughout the industry, both mainstream and independent, and… yeah, that effort isn’t needed. This is already art.
Also, when is Pearl getting an Australian release? Answer me, dammit!
#17: RRR
In contrast to how much it occupied my Worst Of list, here’s an example of cinematic fanfiction that actually works, creating a fictional meet-up between two real-life Indian folk heroes that made for one of the most balls-to-the-wall film epics of the year and even the last several. There are enough absolutely insane action scenes in this to last another ten Fast & Furious sequels, and they’re all packed with so much mythic iconography to show even the most devoted superhero fanatic just how safely the mainstream has been playing it up to this point.
Where most Indian films that I’ve watched have felt like a jumble of different genres, the comparable sensation here feels more like the result of the production’s boundless energy and it being unable to be contained within a single category. Action, comedy, drama, tragedy, romance, musical; everything that is attempted is delivered with the same unrelenting head rush, and it all works. Making plans this far ahead of time rarely works out the best for me, but just off the basis of how good this is, I pledge to include more Indian cinema into my purview on this blog. Because it is abundantly clear that the region deserves more attention for its artistic contributions.
And not for nothing, but this film serving as a two-handed middle-finger to British imperialism just makes me love it even more.
#16: Benedetta
With the genre's heyday taking place decades before I was born, I
never thought that I’d get the chance to see a proper, no-holds-barred
Nunsploitation film on the big screen. But trust Paul Verhoeven to not only
bring back the aesthetics of the genre, but use them to deliver winning satire
as only he can. Along with balancing a cheeky sense of humour and proper
dramatic catharsis, this film also followed the likes of X in managing to speak
truth to sexual power as well. Indeed, its understanding of sexuality, faith,
and where the two intersect, made for one of the more interesting additions to
the Queer cinematic canon in recent years. Considering the emphasis in
organised religion on performative appeasement over actually doing good by your
fellow man was the breaking point that got me to turn away from it all in my
youth, seeing something like this that corrects the course while still having a
sense of fun to it was very... pleasurable.
#15: Smile
A film that managed to generate such bone-deep chills in me as a viewer, to the point that it almost made me think that it was haunting me beyond the confines of the film itself, also being the most heavily-marketed film of the year… have to admit, it’s even scarier how much sense that makes. The extent to which I saw the poster for this film everywhere I went made my little quarter-moon encounter seem quaint by comparison, and to the film’s credit, it more than earned every tremor it got out of me, both in the cinema and outside of it.
Its approach to supernaturally-tinged psycho-horror refined the aspects worth being nostalgic over from the genre’s past, with more modern filmmaking techniques and sensibilities, creating a healthy meeting point for the best of both eras. But in doing so, it also serves as a much-needed vibe check on the main connection between a lot of these ‘elevated horror’ films: Trauma as the go-to for character development and plot progression. Between its utterly terrifying final frame, and its jarring but grin-inducingly fitting transition into Lollipop playing over the end credits, it feels like a deserved piss-take over how obsessed filmmakers, and indeed audiences, have become with the idea of digging up and even inflicting trauma for the sake of entertainment. In that regard, it shares similarities with the ultimate point behind Nope, only this managed to sink itself in even further because it not only made that revelation horrifying… but also kind of ridiculous in its own way.
Not that I consider the film itself to be all that humourous on the surface, as this is a horror film being what a horror film should be first and foremost: Scary. It’s just that it’s laced with enough knowing and exact genre commentary, on top of its already-hearty critiques of modern perspectives on mental health, that it earns the right to announce that we have, indeed, reached Peak Elevated Horror. And as much as I get my kicks out of psycho-horror and other films that generally leave me fucked up after watching them, maybe it is time to start looking into other avenues for drama and thrills. Because it’s becoming quite clear that some trends are looking as forced as a smile that doesn’t reach the eyes.
#14: Roald Dahl’s Matilda The Musical
There’s a certain toxic egotism that can come with the attitude that any given film was made for you specifically, doubly so when that turns the expectations you go into other films with. But when looking at something like this, I can’t help but indulge in that a bit, because this is pretty one-to-one with a lot of the stuff I like. Starting with one of my favourite books in the original Matilda, it emphasised aspects of it until they became other favourites of mine, like storytelling as a key aspect of the human experience, the fascist undercurrent to the notion of setting children up to fail within the education system and even at home, not to mention giving Tim Minchin a much-deserved change to show off his spectacular song craft. Part of me becomes overwhelmed with joy at the idea that this film could do for today’s neurodivergent, and autistic kids in particular, what the book and the Danny Devito film did for past generations (mine included): Provide a hero that we could relate to, and show that finding our own place in the world is indeed possible. Just so long as we keep a good eye out for the Trunchballs and Wormwoods of the world.
#13: The Banshees Of Inisherin
Blending tragedy and comedy together cannot possibly be as easy as this film makes it look… can it? Through the depiction of a low-key falling out between long-time friends, this film manages to create some of the biggest laughing fits and some of the hardest sobbing fits of any film on this list, and indeed of any film that has made these lists since this blog began. While I admit that this film, much like Matilda, seemed destined to get on my good side because of how recognisable its story is, there is way more universal appeal to it than that would imply.
Just as a social dramedy, it digs into the depths of human despair and misery for the sole purpose of highlighting the importance of caring for and about other living beings (not just other humans, as shown through the consistently heart-warming/breaking uses of animals in-story). But when extrapolated, it covers just about every instance of conflict that can occur between two people, regardless of the initial impetus for it. The urge to be proven right, and to be acknowledged as being right, is a powerful drug, and in social situations, it can lead people to doing horrible, terrible things to others and to themselves. And in terms of its handling of cringe comedy in the dialogue, this might be the single greatest use of small talk ever put on film. Tarantino, eat your heart out… or maybe just cut your fingers off.
#12: The Northman
Now here’s a film that’ll put hair on your chest… and eyes… and tongue… and probably your blood platelets too, as this guttural roar echoing out of lungs made of celluloid is as high-minded and mythical as it is muscular and blood-soaked. A genuine 4D experience that doesn’t require any supplementary technology to create that effect, it puts all the effort mortal man can muster into immersing the audience in its story and its universe, backtracing Shakespearean revenge tragedy to the days of Norse legend and filling every inch of the screen with a sense of awe. In-between the wincing at all the blood and guts, of course.
Not only that but, for a film that is as out-and-out manly as this, it far and away has the healthiest attitudes to the masculine and the feminine of any modern phenomena trying to extol the virtues of being a man. In the face of so much bewildering and regressive Manosphere crap, something like this that actually gives that dose of testosterone without following it up with “women, on the other hand…” is a source of great relief for me personally.
#11: Crimes Of The Future
Much like with Nunsploitation in Benedetta, words cannot express how happy I am that I got to see a new David Cronenberg body horror feature on the big screen. And while I can understand not wanting to pigeon-holed in any one genre, this serves as a prime example that, even after all this time, he still has a mastery of the format that few, if any, can match.
A pulsating, throbbing, engorged display of practical effects, grotesque and yet eerily appealing world-building, and a perspective on humanity that uses a mask of nihilism to conceal an emphatic sense of optimism. Horror not strictly as horrifying but as self-affirming, an ideal at the heart of a lot of horror fandom, showing that no matter what changes about humanity or the machines we supplement our existence with, we will always find that interface. We can survive anything, because our existence is predicated on being able to adapt to what happens to our surroundings and to us. An appeal to our indomitable little species, wrapped up in enough emo biopunk to make me hear teenaged-me squee across the fabric of time itself.
#10: Bros
Every year or so, a rom-com will come out that manages to break through my natural critical defences against rom-com tropes and clichés… and effectively turn me into one of those clichés. The end credits will start rolling, I’ll be sitting there with tears in my eyes, filled with an inescapable need to text my boyfriend and tell him (as verbosely as possible, because this is still me we’re talking about here) how much I love him and how much being with him means to me.
All My Life managed it in 2020, and this film did it in 2022. Sure, it’s got a sharp-enough brain and tongue to drop truth bombs about Queer experiences in the streets, in the sheets, and in the cinema seats… but honestly, I just love this for how sweet and charming and gosh-darn relatable it is as a romance story. No matter how much The Bubble pissed me off, seeing Judd Apatow back stuff like this assures me that the man hasn’t become a lost cause, as his knack for picking the right productions is still quite intact if this is anything to go by.
#9: Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery
Much like my initial write-up for this movie, the prevailing reason why I love this movie so goddamn much has more to do with the ideas surrounding the film than what’s in the film itself. Once again, I want to stress that this is a fucking fantastic flick, showing Rian Johnson continuing to rule the roost when it comes to modern murder mysteries, and creating a story that is both multi-layered and complex and also straight-forward and brilliantly simple.
But no, if I’m going to be completely honest, this film holds a special place in my heart thanks to Ben Shapiro. And rest assured, this is the only context that you’ll ever see me give “thanks” to that twerp. When he posted his little Twitter thread review of the film, aside from having a good laugh at someone being so aghast that a murder mystery was, in fact, a mystery (not to mention completely missing the point of fiction at large with his angered declaration of “We’re actively deceived by the writer.”), I also felt personally vindicated by what he wrote.
While managing to run face-first into the premise of the film and still finding a way to miss it, he exhibited the precise kind of spectator arrogance and profundity used to cover up basic-bitch actions and thought processes that I brought up in my review. Even this far into my career as a film critic, I still get quite insecure about what I put down to paper at times, and I was honestly worried for a time that I went too far into audience-shaming with my observations for this film. I try not to pat myself on the back when it comes to shit like this, and I especially try not to get involved in stupid social media drama… but this was a major exception on both counts.
With the latter, this is the most entertainment I’ve ever gotten out of petty Twitter shit in years, and with the former… well, I tend to see life as an expansive web of synchronicities, so I like to think that that moment was the universe’s way of telling me to stop worrying so much. No matter how poorly you think of your own skills at anything creative, there’s always a dumber fish.
Again, this movie is bloody excellent, but if we’re talking in the specific context of my favourite films from the specific year of 2022, I’d be lying if said that wasn’t a contributing factor.
#8: Mad God
2022 was a particularly strong year for stop-motion animation. The Netflix anthology The House, Henry Selick making a welcome return with Wendell & Wild, the feature adaptation of Marcel The Shell With Shoes On, Guillermo Del Toro’s phenomenal spin on Pinocchio, and while they didn’t come out with new productions in 2022, Aardman slated a release for their next feature with a sequel to Chicken Run, and Laika announced a new production as well with The Night Gardener. After worries of this format being at death’s door, as recent efforts from both Aardman and Laika haven’t done so well at the box office, this felt like a reassurance that time has not run out for this style in the mainstream.
But while that is all well and good, Mad God wound up being my favourite of the year’s stop-motion crop for one key reason: It’s about that fear of stop-motion becoming a lost art form. It’s a confronting examination of the morbid undercurrent that exists in many forms of adult animation, that being the fact that characters are being created specifically so they can live out what their creator and their audience wants, no matter how cruel or dehumanising. It even ventures into an admission that, if the format is predicated on that kind of cold detachment (and as dicey as the conversation gets concerning the bleed between art and real life, there are those who treat their fellow man with comparable sadism), maybe it doesn’t deserve to survive. Maybe we should just let the computers take over. Maybe the clock should run out.
A grim idea, but one delivered with the kind of panache that, on a subconscious level, fights against that fate by showing just how beautiful this art form can be. It’s a passion project where you can see and even feel every single minute of every single year that Phil Tippett and his crew spent making it, with an attention to construction and thematic detail that is jaw-dropping to witness. It’s also a crowning achievement in pure visual storytelling as, while untethered by legible dialogue or voices in general, it tells a sublimely bleak story about a world gone to hell and the creatures who let it happen. There’s nihilism to it, sure, but in that embracing of impending doom, it also becomes a quite powerful plea that, if the clock must run out, then we better go out with a bang. As I’ve taken to saying quite a bit over the past twelve months, I’m an edgelord optimist, and I take comfort and even inspiration from a sentiment like that.
#7: Three Thousand Years Of Longing
With how much I pontificate about the power of storytelling and the ways in which it enriches our lives, there’s something I genuinely admire about this film’s approach to that idea in particular. There is zero self-consciousness to George Miller’s display of affection for the storytelling process, regardless of whatever form it takes, and the film craft he applies here works to put the audience in that same mindset. To take us back to a time before we had seen so bloody many variations on the same handful of narratives that we could recite them wholesale in their sleep, before the sheer ease of access to such material made so many of us take the art form for granted, and restore a sense of place for the audience in their position as the audience.
And in that purity of vision, in that unfiltered want to convey a love for telling and experiencing stories, Miller created something that only furthered how much I adore this man as a filmmaker. On subsequent rewatches, Mad Max: Fury Road has become one of my favourite films ever, and this production benefits from the same quartet that gave Fury Road its power: Miller as director/co-writer, John Seale in his final spin as DP before officially retiring (and hell, he only agreed to this film because he was allowed to shoot locally), editor Margaret Sixel, and composer Tom ‘Junkie XL’ Holkenborg. It is quite astounding just how good this film looks and sounds, turning the interior of a hotel room into a head-spinning fantasia that spans the titular millennia of human history and tradition.
As someone who not only holds the artistic ideal of
storytelling as something vital, but also recognises the importance of the
audience as part of that ideal, I absolutely love this film and feel
especially privileged that I got to see this as its Sydney premiere, with George
Miller himself in tow. Seeing fellow critic Blake Howard, at a Q&A with the director, lead the audience in a round of applause for John Seale is a memory I will cherish for many years to come. And not just because I asked the question that sparked that moment.
This is one of those “younger me would’ve said I was insane if I told him that this would end up on a Best Of list” situations, and believe me, I’m just as shocked as he would’ve been. A case study in just how much impact a writer can have on a production, James Cameron’s decision to bring others into the scripting process (specifically the team of Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver, who worked on the fantastic Planet Of The Apes prequel trilogy) managed to iron out pretty much all of the issues I had with the original’s narrative structure. All of its musings on environmentalism, colonialism, escapism, spirituality, and the experience of the Other hit so much stronger here, it’s kind of ridiculous to think about.
And because the focus has been shifted completely to the interior of the Na’vi, focusing on the importance of family (smartly including foster and found family into that equation), the characters were so much more interesting this time around as well. Hell, I stand by my declaration in my initial review that that giant alien whale was the real main character, managing to create a stronger connection with the audience and the characters around them than I’ve seen from characters with reams of dialogue to their name in other blockbusters.
Where the first film, even on rewatch not long before seeing this film on FilmInk detail, left me cold and almost jealous for not seeing the appeal that so many others apparently did, this won me over in record time and then kept winning me over. While I could just point at the visual quality of this film and leave it at that (and believe me, this film looks a-fucking-stounding), I really do want to stress the improvement in the writing and characterisation here, turning that CGI wizardry into an assistance to the storytelling, rather than being the tool meant to excuse the weakness in said storytelling. I never thought I’d say this but I am on-board for every Avatar sequel that comes out after this, now that the formula has finally been cracked.
#5: The Fabelmans
While the Wattpads and Buzzfeeds of the world were using the idea of Self-Insert cinema to litter our screens with increasingly heaped piles of garbage, some of the most storied filmmakers working today were also wielding that idea… but to explicitly tell their own stories. Kenneth Branagh growing up during the Troubles, Alejandro G. Iñárritu coming to terms with his mortality and his homeland, Richard Linklater’s childhood fantasies in a Texan NASA town, James Gray reminiscing on being a Jewish New Yorker kid during the Reagan ‘80s; a lot of big names got good and personal this year.
But when Steven Spielberg gave his shot at the idea, he was ready for it. He’s spent most of his career using cinema to deal with his internal conflicts concerning his own youth, and that experience shows through here, as he managed to clear every other filmmaker in his wake. By detailing the tumultuous relationship between his parents, he in turn reveals his equally tumultuous relationship with the medium he has devoted his life to, showing both for all the good and all the strife they were capable of.
This is yet another rumination on the joyous experiences that can be offered by films that seemed destined to get on my good side, and it absolutely captured my sense of wonder about the medium for its entire running time. But the way that it acknowledged that there is a darker side to the process of preserving images, preserving moments and memories, and the toll that can take on those who decide to make that their lot in life, that I find quietly refreshing on top of that. It’s an idealistic depiction of the way of the filmmaker, but it doesn’t let that be an excuse to self-congratulate about how noble a pursuit it is. It’s a work of rose-trimmed honesty and clarity, and it makes for a high point in the career of a filmmaker with some of the highest highs in Western cinema history.
This is the best neurodivergent representation on film of the last several years. There really is no other way to put it. Whether it’s depression, ADHD, autism, or pretty much any disorder that can create barriers in social situations, not only are they depicted here with humanity and empathy, but the atmosphere created by the film creates this feeling of comfort for the audience as well. An acknowledgement that these experiences are a part of everyday life for a lot of people, and rather than using that as an example of the Other put against ‘the norm’, they’re shown as an example of Us.
There’s a real communal vibe to what Cooper Raiff puts together here, refining his approach to the introverted on film that made Shithouse so affecting, and showed a real sense of progression from just how awkward that film was. It’s a very organic progression as well, as if every real-world bit of insight he had gained about his own social difficulties gave him the tools to make sure that he wouldn’t have to put anyone else into those same positions, which shows through here both in how the characters are written and performed, but also in how he gave a platform for a budding autistic actress to help set the record straight about mainstream depictions and understandings of those on the spectrum.
Me pointing this out feels a bit like I’m missing the point of her inclusion here, since what makes her performance so freaking well is how underplayed and natural it is, but I truly have all kinds of gratitude for any film that is able to create that tangible sense of authenticity in its depiction of ASD. I eagerly await her next film role, and I not only hope that Cooper Raiff is able to maintain this pedigree for ND-accommodating cinema, but that other filmmakers take notes on how to do this shit properly.
#3: Belle
With how much time I spend glued to my laptop day by day, whether I’m writing out these posts or engaging with the internet, believe me when I say that I get how dangerous this place can be. I’ve spent long enough stuck neck-deep in thankless arguments with complete strangers, and been threatened on various fronts just for what I had to say, to know that there is a dark side to all this. But considering I have this technology, this place, to thank for me finding my own sense of self, and realising what I wanted my contribution to the world to be, I will also admit that I am getting rather tired of the entirely-pessimistic perspective so many have about the internet and its many interaction points. I may love Black Mirror for its incisive commentary on the way our relationship with our tech has changed us as a species and social collective, but the extent to which it has become… trendy to see all of this through that same bleak viewpoint is starting to become tiresome.
Because of all that, I have a lot of adoration and admiration for this film having the bravery to go ‘actually, no, this place isn’t all bad’. Sure, it acknowledges that the way we socialise on here can lead to its own set of problems, but what Mamoru Hosoda did here feels like a reclamation of the freedom afforded by an online connection. Indeed, the way he depicts both Belle and the Dragon shows how this kind of existence can be liberating for those who are naturally introverted in everyday life, as a way of finding the path to true self-expression without the physical barriers that often get in the way.
Earlier in the year, I wrote a piece for a local writing competition, where I described finding my own sense of self through accessing the Internet, how that led to its own form of isolation, and how it took a global pandemic and lockdown for me to truly become comfortable in my own skin again. It didn’t end up winning, but it was one of those things that felt like I had to get on paper one way or another, and it was in the process of writing that that I realised just how much I connected with this film in particular.
I mean, the film was already stuck in my head because of how masterfully it was put together. The animation from Studio Chizu (with assistance from Irish powerhouse Cartoon Saloon) does a fantastic job of showing cyberspace as this futuristic wonderland where everyone can be their true selves, the music is some of the most heart-wrenching stuff I’ve ever heard attached to a film, and the story both recontextualises Beauty & The Beast for the social media generation, and provides a much-needed dose of optimism to the collective unconscious and its understanding of what the internet is.
#2: Everything Everywhere All At Once
It was a real toss-up between this and what would end up being my #1 as to which would be my #1 for the year. It got so close that both films joined the very exclusive club of films that I watched more than once in the year they came out, next to Birdman back in 2015, just so I could parse which one I loved the most.
Now, rest assured, just because this didn’t reach the tippy-top of the list, that doesn’t make this any less incredible. All the emotional impact and embracing of the weird of the American independent film as an ideal, presented with the big-screen bombast and grandeur of a blockbuster, effectively showing the best of both worlds. Of all the theatrical releases I saw in 2022, this is the one that felt the most like it needed to be seen on the big screen, as its depiction of a woman’s journey through the multiverse compressed enough vibrant visual ideas to last some filmmakers’ entire careers into a single two-hour-and-twenty-minute experience.
But really, it’s the ultimate message of the thing that I feel makes it the most deserving of this high a placement on this list. It shows the pits of despair that can come from accepting the nihilistic void, along with the grim sense of liberation that can come with it, and rebukes it by showing that life will always have a meaning: The love we have for ourselves and others. Our connections with the lives around us, even the ones we could have lived had some past events turned out differently, are the only real meaning our lives need, at the end of the day. Daniels take their penchant for making audiences compelled and invested in the daftest ideas imaginable, and directs it toward the daftest of them all: Life not mattering doesn’t mean that we don’t matter.
#1: The Batman
After so many years of gushing over the thematic details of superhero movies, it was only a matter of time before one of them found their way at the very top of one of my Best Of lists. But even with how much I love this genre, industry ramifications be damned, I was still not prepared for how much I would love this film.
Watching this in the cinema made me fall back in love with the title character in a major way. In the weeks that followed my initial viewing, I poured through my comic book collection and read/re-read through large chunks of printed Batman stories. Knightfall, No Man’s Land, the New 52 run, both Eternal maxi-series, White Knight and Curse Of The White Knight, Hush and Heart Of Hush, Dark Night: A True Batman Story, Death And The Maiden, Under The Hood; I even started reading the Tom King DC Rebirth run. True, I didn’t get any further than the I Am Suicide trade because his take on the character did not work for me, but the point still stands: I went on a tear.
And then I rewatched the film itself, after revisiting my current favourite Batman film and favourite superhero film at large with The Dark Knight… and I realised that I had found my new favourite. Where The Dark Knight always had to reconcile with being the best film that had Batman in it, while Batman Begins was the best film about Batman, this one split the difference to spellbinding effect. Matt Reeves’ take on the Bat and Gotham City zeroes in on the psychological, noir, and even horror aspects of that universe, and ended up creating something that is the closest any live-action iteration has gotten to how I’ve always seen the character in the books.
That, and the film craft here is fucking gorgeous in every regard. Gotham City looks amazing, and benefits from the plentiful world-building details put into it, the characters and their costume designs work beautifully, as do the actors filling them in (much like with me liking an Avatar sequel, Robert Pattinson becoming my live-action Batman is one of those things that teenaged-me would never have believed was possible), and that soundtrack showed Michael Giacchino somehow finding new heights for his already-illustrious compositional career, with the best use of character themes of any film I’ve ever reviewed on here.
I just love everything about this, from its peeping-tom opening to the roar of Batman’s motorcycle ramping up into the end credits, and its depiction of a conflicted hero learning not to be controlled by his trauma, but to use it to lead his home into a new dawn, wiped the floor with every other superheroic depiction that came out in 2022 and… well, I’ll be upfront with it: I’m expecting it to continue wiping the floor with every other superhero film to come out within the next decade. I did mention how much I fucking love this film, right?
And it’s with that admission, over a decade after I decided that this is what I wanted to do with my life, that I am still finding new favourites being released for public consumption, that I feel rejuvenated as we enter another year of me scouring the world’s cinematic output for more stuff to love, hate, and be bored by. If all of that, even the lesser experiences, means I can come even close to finding another new film that I love half as much as The Batman, then I welcome it with open arms.
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