My Top 10 Films of 2023
My favourite films that released in 2023.
What a year 2023 has been. Transformational, transitional, and almost nearly traditional in how it has been for studios, companies, and even industry insiders. Hollywood can probably best attest to it; it’s definitely been a success story for sure.
In film, we’ve witnessed the lethargic crash of comic book movies, where the MCU has defied box office odds and the DCEU’s final run is a miserable shakedown at best. We’ve also had strikes within Hollywood, one that was important and needed, and thankfully have turned favourable for all of those involved.
It has also been a terrific year for film in general, ranging from small indie gems and the Barbenheimer phenomenon to Taylor Swift’s massive middle finger to studios and the prominent success of Everything Everywhere All At Once as an awards darling.
I’m going to journey back, take a look at the year as a whole, and pick out my favourites from all that I’ve seen in 2023, as well as films released in 2022 that got a wider release in 2023.
This is not an exhaustive list, mind you, and there are still plenty of films that I’ve yet to see that are currently pinned to my watchlist (ie. Poor Things, All of Us Strangers and The Zone of Interest to name a few). But, after looking at my top 10 for the year of 2023, I’m happy with how it has turned out.
Before I begin my top 10 rankings in proper formality, I’d first like to shout out some films that almost made my list. Without further ado, here they are, in no particular order.
Hon. mention: How To Blow Up a Pipeline
Neon has been slowly picking up steam as one of the greatest distribution companies in film currently. From indie gems to international powerhouses, their ability to single out a film constantly surprises and impresses. It’s no different here in terms of quality with Daniel Goldhaber’s How To Blow Up a Pipeline.
Inspired by rather than loosely adapting Andreas Malm’s non-fiction book of the same name, this is a taut ecological thriller in which a group of radical climate activists plot to destroy an oil pipeline, and in turn, kickstart a chain reaction to bring down big corporations in America.
The group’s attempt at environmental activism is fuelled by a propulsive score from Gavin Brivik, turning every scene into a high-stakes and personal affair that builds into a crescendo of a third act. The film shows that there are no heroes in the war against the corrupted and the greedy, there are only reasons to keep on fighting. Parts bravery, parts pain, all parts urgent and timely.
Hon. mention: Rye Lane
2023 has been a terrific year for debut filmmakers, across the globe. We had the YouTubers-turned-directors Phillipou brothers delivering the devil’s hand with Talk To Me, Charlotte Regan and her feature-length tender drama Scrapper, and a bunch more, but the one that I love a little bit more than most is Raine Allen-Miller’s wonderful rom-com Rye Lane.
We all know that the romantic comedy formula has been beaten to death more times than an actual dead horse. But what Allen-Miller has done to change up the script is inject it with a South London voice, tasteful direction that feels Wes Anderson-lite, and further fronted by two leads–David Jonsson and Vivian Opara–with fantastic winsome chemistry.
It’s also smartly written, balancing the throes of growth, trust, and identity, and serves up a delectable splash of laughs without losing sight of its whopper of a heart. Charming, confident, and oozing with loud and punctuated style, it’s fair to say that Allen-Miller has just earned herself a brand new fan—this was a lot of fun.
Hon. mention: Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.
How has it been 7 years since director Kelly Fremon Craig’s relatable debut in The Edge of Seventeen? That void has been whispering “Come back!” and Craig has listened, delivering a delightful adaptation of Julie Blume’s classic coming-of-age novel. The best part? It doesn’t discard any of its heart or soul.
Led by the MCU’s very own younger version of Cassie Lang, Abby Ryder Fortson steals the film as Margaret Simon, a young girl navigating the world, spirituality, and growing pains as she transitions into a teenager and adolescence. Supported by the always impressive Kathy Bates and a refreshingly buoyant turn from Rachel McAdams, along with the buzz of a Best Supporting Actress nomination at the forthcoming Academy Awards, this adaptation is simply enchanting.
It has a lot to say about inter-faith marriages and the complexities of how relationships can grow and wither based on faith, but Craig never shies away from putting them on screen. In fact, it has frank conversations about them, and the result is resplendently and openly human.
Hon. mention: Flora and Son
Whether it’s the heartbreaking Once or the irresistible fun that is Sing Street, John Carney’s ability to write stories about people learning to grow is uplifting and wholly relatable, and this trend continues with Flora and Son.
Carney’s latest is set in his hometown of Dublin, in which a struggling single mother (Eve Hewson) is trying to connect with her rebellious son (played rapturously by newcomer Orén Kinlan) and discovers a throwaway guitar in the trash in which her life is forever changed. Also starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who shares a dynamite of an on-screen chemistry with Hewson, the film’s lightness and unravelling creativity blossoms to full, poetic effect.
I could never quite put into words the magic of watching a John Carney film, but I’ll try. It’s that very special brand of warmth that whisks you away into almost another world, filled with a bouquet of feel-good energy that you just can’t get anywhere else. I need more of this, please.
Hon. mention: Evil Does Not Exist
Hamaguchi doesn’t miss. Evil Does Not Exist is his first feature since his magical run with Drive My Car at the Academy Awards in 2022, and his quality of filmmaking continues to shine brighter than ever. The film revolves around a small idyllic village that is soon upended by a talent agency looking to kickstart a glamping (a portmanteau of “glamorous” and “camping”) project. This news begins to wear heavily on its community.
Whether it’s the beautiful natural backdrop or its profound dialogue-driven dilemmas, Hamaguchi always brings a sense of calmness to the way his films operate. Its narrative of nature vs nurture is deeply embedded in the conversations that occur throughout the film, and DP Yoshio Kitagawa’s framing almost feels like we’re intruding on the secrets and lies that formulate with each spoken line.
Its an evocative piece of art that transpires with a naturalistic enigma, shining a light on who we really are when we’re faced to make the hardest decisions. Do we flee? Do we keep our secrets, no matter how brutal they may be, to protect who we love? What would you do to save your own community? And will you do whatever it takes?
Hon. mention: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
Let’s be real: comic book adaptations are in the mud in 2023. And truthfully, they’re not alone. We’re talking about juggernaut sequels, IPs with decorated decades of history, tentpole films that are supposed to be box office guarantees, all of which are crashing and burning right before our very eyes. But there was one success story buried deep within the lot: the Phil Lord and Chris Miller produced Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse.
The first of a two-parter, Across the Spider-Verse contains the same effusive charm and effervescent wonder of the first, building on top of its coming-of-age story with higher stakes and the same kinetic, visceral punch. It’s a stunningly moving film that proves Sony Pictures Animation is the leading animation studio in the West at the moment, besting even the likes of Disney and Pixar. Now that’s an achievement.
What really strikes me most is how Across the Spider-Verse is as much Miles’s story as it is Gwen Stacey’s, who really comes into her own and leads with her challenges and struggles on her quest to save universes while fixing her relationships. It also helps that Hailee Steinfeld portrays her with sentimentality and strength in brimming measure too. I’m excited for how this canon story will end, whether it’s in tears or belly-laughs, so bring on Beyond the Spider-Verse.
Now that all of the honourable mentions are out of the way, let’s get my top 10 list underway.
10. Killers of the Flower Moon
3.5 hours long is usually the lead-in when we talk about Martin Scorsese’s epic, Killers of the Flower Moon. And the truth of it is: yes, the runtime is hefty, but what Scorsese has constructed here manages that runtime with a precise conundrum that rewards your attention with a stirring and heartbreaking love story.
Love is at the heart of this painstakingly accurate portrayal of the Osage Nation murders, but it’s also a breathtakingly absorbing film about trust and betrayal, and how brutal acts of murder are all happening in plain sight. Scorsese casts a spell that draws us close to the truth, wrapped up in a timeless love story between Mollie, played brilliantly by Lily Gladstone, and DiCaprio’s Ernest Burkhart. Battling between greed, authority, and a golden crown, screenwriter Eric Roth and Scorsese slowly tugs on the drawstrings of horror as De Niro’s William Hale lurks behind wooden walls and in the shadows, drenching every frame with brooding disgust.
Rodrigo Prieto’s shots turn the backdrop of 1920s Oklahoma into a realm of emergence and vibrancy, but trembling beneath it a sense of innocence that is slowly robbed of its power and its beauty. Robbie Robertson’s score too empowers the film, deftly weaving percussing pensiveness into the acts of savage cruelty that will never be forgotten by the history books.
At 81 years-old, Scorsese reminds us that age is no factor when it comes to telling good stories. And this was storytelling at its damn finest.
9. Oppenheimer
I think it’s safe to say that after watching Tenet, most us thought the same thing: has Christopher Nolan… lost it? Turns out it wasn’t because that sci-fi puzzle box was merely a small blip in a refined filmography that consists of tentpole features and his quintessential mind-bending trips. Nolan’s latest, a biopic on J. Robert Oppenheimer, sans visual effects (but not fully) and conventional storytelling structures, is quite possibly an exhaustive technical achievement unlike anything I’ve seen in 2023.
Cillian Murphy portrays J. Robert Oppenheimer with a hauntingly sombre grace, drawing from mankind’s textured history on senseless wars as he dwells between guilt and damnation. His performance will likely earn him an Academy Award nod or win it outright, but let’s not forget the equally impressive supporting cast of Robert Downey Jr. as Lewis Strauss and Emily Blunt’s lightning bolt of a performance as Katherine Oppenheimer, among a slew of many, many others. There’s just too many to count, and in a film this meaty and weighty, there are no small roles.
Oppenheimer wouldn’t be a technical achievement without three important parts too. Firstly, DP Hoyte van Hoytema, who is no stranger to scale and scope, creates Los Alamos with grand portentousness and recreates the atomic bomb detonation in gorgeous 70mm IMAX print. Speaking of portentousness, Ludwig Göransson’s propulsive score haunts you long after the credit rolls, a white-knuckling agony that sinks right into the pits of your stomach and never lets go. Finally, this 3-hour IMAX presentation would not be possible without editor Jennifer Lame, who weaves the twin timelines of subjectivity and objectivity into one cohesive balance of precision in storytelling.
I could go on and on and on, but I’ll just leave you with this: Oppenheimer might just be Nolan’s best since Inception, and it’s not even close.
8. Barbie
How the hell did we get here? No, like, seriously, how did we get here? How did a film about the iconic Mattel doll, in which is both made fun of and re-contextualised for a whole new generation, and in which Will Ferrel plays a Mattel executive running around like a headless chicken, become one of my favourite films of the year? Trust me, life in plastic is really fantastic.
It all starts from one individual’s vision: director Greta Gerwig, who together with her husband and co-writer Noah Baumbach, lace Barbie with a sizzling energy and sharp satire that zips right out of the gate, all powered by its astronomical pink heart. It’s got oodles of fun and an infectious charm, further sparked into imaginative life by Jacqueline Durran and Sarah Greenwood’s immaculate costumes and set design of Barbieland (that we all want to live in) respectively. I call dibs on beach.
It also wouldn’t have been half as good if not for Margot Robbie’s Stereotypical Barbie and Ryan Gosling’s whimsical performance as Ken, who morphs into something richly bolder, challenging his comedic chops one Ken fashion style at a time. Subversive, meta, and multifaceted in its narrative, Robbie holds steadfast in her role as she blends existentialism, womanhood, and gender roles into an unapologetically engaging adventure. Yet somehow amongst all of its varied nuances and themes, Barbie is also a love letter to childhood and nostalgia, about dreams and ambitions, and about the struggle for independence and autonomy.
Gerwig has done the near-impossible: crafted a film that creatively challenges the status quo, defies studio processes, broke new grounds in cinema, and all the while delivering an open-heart discussion on the dangers of growing up in the face of unattainable beauty. It’s one of the best cinematic experiences I’ve ever had since I’ve started watching film in the stone ages.
7. The Boy and the Heron
10 years ago, director Hayao Miyazaki waved goodbye to the filmmaking world by announcing that he would retire after the release of his (at the time) final film, The Wind Rises. Poetic in nature, the film explores life after death, the chilling actions of consequences, and more importantly than most, about finding peace in the world. If Miyazaki left his legacy at that, it would be a fine legacy worth remembering.
But alas, Miyazaki has returned with quite possibly one of the most stunning achievements of his career. With The Boy and the Heron, and possibly a step away from closing his chapter on filmmaking, Miyazaki places grief, legacy, and identity above all else in a personal and emotionally-attuned narrative. Set in and around World War II, the film follows Mahito, a young boy traumatised by the death of his mother, who has relocated to a rural estate and is in search of answers to his grieving. What follows is a transportation methodically crafted by one of the world’s most formidable auteurs, blending fantasy with heartache, but sparing none of the magic and whimsical charm we’ve come to know from the head of Studio Ghibli.
It’s an impressive, oftentimes breathtaking romp that sears colours into life in the form of beautiful hand-drawn animation. Miyazaki’s films all have the same distinct flare, and his ability to guide you into another world that’s completely radiant and wholly compelling is the most understated quality of his legend as a filmmaker. He takes “show, don’t tell” into new, never before seen directions, and what’s even more impressive is doing it all at an age in which most directors, animated or not, would have considered calling it quits. And yet, until now, we haven’t even mentioned Joe Hisaishi’s score, who turns this rich adventure into something out of this world, beautifully embracing the story’s weirdness with a rhythm of serene sensibility.
Whether Miyazaki is considering retirement or trying to set up a potential change of leadership at Studio Ghibli, I think we can all agree on one thing: in a year where there’s a Miyazaki film releasing in theatres, it will always be in contention for the best animated film of that year, possibly even being the best. In 2023, no other animated film has looked this stunning, spoke so personally to me, and conjured a brighter, candescent glow of brilliance like The Boy and the Heron.
6. May December
So much of storytelling is captured in quiet little nuances. About who we are in the smallest of details under the light, about the things we say when everyone is not around, and about what we choose to be when all else is done. Todd Haynes’s latest, released under the banner of Netflix, carefully and precisely carves a hole into tabloid romanticism that tackles weighty turmoil and fleeting humanity, burning underneath it a tale that is so much more devastating and disturbing than it first seems.
The performances across the board are stellar, whether it’s Natalie Portman’s dynamism as an actress looking to get clued in on this notorious relationship, or Julianne Moore’s rancid portrayal of a woman coming to terms with her own resentment and age, there’s one unequivocal standout here: Charles Melton. From quiet heartbreak to emotional rug pulls, Melton delivers one of the best supporting performances from an actor I’ve seen in 2023. So much of the film hinges on the way Joey and Gracie’s relationship, their ideals, their present, and most importantly, their guilt-ridden past, all of it represents stolen innocence far beyond provincial comprehension for any outsider. Melton brings a profound wither to his role that as soon as his walls begin to crack, the true extent of pain and hurt is finally ushered into the spotlight, and it is riveting to watch.
May December also largely places emphasis on the dualism between Portman and Moore, that as one begins to dive deeper into the other’s life, begins to open room for DP Christopher Blauvelt to shift power in glancing exchanges. Frame blocking, excellent use of tilts, and camera focus all pull together a sense of reality distorting and authority shifting, of the bluntness of Moore’s Gracie, of Portman’s exploitative intentions, and of Melton’s disarmingly powerful convictions.
There was an interview that Haynes gave that revealed how he thought a critic’s review on May December was “camp” and their critique on tabloid romanticism was focusing on the wrong parts that matter about the film. He’s right. The film is a lot more than just leveraging the soapy sensation of its story, it’s also a deeply haunting allegory for abuse, about power in relationships, and about how love changes who we really are as people.
5. Monster
In 2023, the one key word that really sticks out to me is “human”. And I think nothing shines quite as bright as a beacon of humanity than Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Monster, which in many cases, is aptly named; who is the monster in this story? Why are they a monster? Is it because of who they are, or is it something that they’ve done? Or is there perhaps not even a single monster at all?
Through the lenses of three different characters, Kore-eda uses a sense of shifting perspectives to show us how different scenarios can have different meanings for different people. Co-writer Yuji Sakamoto and Kore-eda peels back the layers of darkness through its story on childhood and innocence, revealing the optimism that lies beneath its at once hard-to-reach exterior.
As it unfolds, film’s young stars — Soya Kurokawa and Hinata Hiiragi—steal the spotlight with their captivating performances. Their central dynamic is almost ethereal-like, fostering a true friendship that challenges societal expectations while avoiding melodrama through its mature storytelling. In fact, all of its cast is great too, whether it’s Sakura Ando who plays the mother languishing in the whirlpool of lies, Yuko Tanaka’s disillusionment at life and trying to begin again, or Eita Nagayama who plays the teacher caught up in a battle or pride and punishment.
We also have to talk about Ryuichi Sakomoto’s final film composing credit, a profoundly perfect score that further elevates the narrative’s youthful narrative to unparalleled heights. It’s both tender and evocative, capturing the freedom that is set loose from the judgemental gazes of society, encapsulating with it a brimming childlike wonder. In many ways, it’s its own tribute to one of cinema’s finest composers and adds a masterful layer of emotional depth to the film.
It’s a shame that in a year teeming with cinematic offerings from Japan, in which prolific directors (Hamaguchi, Miyazaki) and austere filmmakers (Wim Wenders) have made equally poignant films, this little film might go unnoticed. Monster is a delicate, human triumph, and there is no other director in the world with a voice quite like Kore-eda’s.
4. The Holdovers
Let’s begin this section with a quiz: how many times have you heard someone comment that “they just don’t make films like that anymore”? Let me take a guess. It’s usually a lot. What people meant to say was that the films that they’re watching today resembles, sounds, and feels nothing like what they used to appreciate back in their seminal years. I mean, how can you beat nostalgia? Well, Alexander Payne took a stab at it, and I can safely say that he just made it look so easy.
The Holdovers is a sweet, charismatic film about an instructor, not a professor, played superbly by Paul Giamatti as he babysits students who are unable to return home at the campus. In comes Dominic Sessa’s Angus Tully, a troublemaker who spells better than he fights, who is forced to stay on the grounds and starts to form a bond with Giamatti’s cynical Paul Hunham, and the film is their greatest test. This all would’ve been a fun watch either way as the duo battle to command respect for the other, but Da’Vine Joy Randolph who plays Mary Lamb with profound loss shows that without her sincere performance, this film would’ve had its heart, soul, and humanly charm extinguished in its first act.
David Hemingson’s screenplay constantly provides avenues for every actor onscreen to step into the spotlight and disarm the audience through their likability and growth. The writing constantly puts the characters in situations that challenge them, from meshing and jostling to heartily make-up dinners right next to a giant Christmas tree. At the centre of it all, its a story about forging bonds and striking connections, and it slowly revels in the graceful depths as it ushers its characters towards a looming collision course.
For what it’s worth, and it’s worth a whole damn lot, The Holdovers is Payne’s answer to everyone begging for films just like yesteryears. It’s a festive film that is drenched in Christmas colours, and it has life lessons galore that speaks universally to every age bracket (sans teens below 12, of course). It’s not cloying nor is it safe, and it rewards your attention with passion and significance, and for many who’ve already seen it, it’s already destined to be a new Christmas classic.
3. Riceboy Sleeps
Every year I make my list, I’ve realised that I’ve always included a personal pick. One that falls out of line with what the critics are saying, almost semi-adjacent, and yet, is never really talked about. In 2023, it’s no different. Anthony Shim’s sophomore feature, Riceboy Sleeps, originally premiered at TIFF last year. Earlier in the year, the film expanded to more theatres in Canada before it’s direct-to-video release. And then it received rave reviews from critics and audiences alike across the web, with many praising it to be one of the year's highlights back in June.
And after watching it, I think I agree with the general consensus. This was an astute piece of filmmaking, a moving narrative that shows the struggles and rewards that many single immigrant mothers go through to raise their child in new, foreign lands. Shot on gorgeous-looking 16mm film, which looks pristinely placed and almost doesn’t feel like it truly belongs to any single time period, creates a sense of respite and nostalgia that almost feels personal. And it is, Shim partly based the story on his own upbringing as a child of an immigrant mother, and it shows. There is an aura of tenderness that washes over every frame when it sets on Choi Seung-yoon, who plays the restless Korean mother as she toils everyday so that she can give her son a better life than the one that she had. She gives a performance that weaves grace, exasperation, and a symphonic range of love and segregation in a new world where she knows very little. Easily one of the best debut performances I’ve seen in a long time.
All of it is put together by Christopher Lew, who shoots with a sense of lingering loneliness that pierces the lens. It boxes the characters in, trapping them as they wantonly wish to break free of their struggles, all while balancing stillness and warmth in harsh conditions of life. Andrew Yong’s score also amplifies the heartfelt narrative with simmering exhalation, deploying a whimsical ambitiousness to the dreams, hopes, and wishes the characters are all pining for.
It’s films like these that remind me of the authentic nature and profound heartache of the beauty of living, of truly and really feeling. Riceboy Sleeps burns with a cathartic release without sacrificing its genteel honesty. We need more movies that speak to the soul. We need more movies like this.
2. Anatomy of a Fall
How does it feel to know that the entirety of your marriage, the odds and ends, the petty little secrets, the fulfilling little balms, the bruises from every physical argument, is now being trotted out in full display for the public to witness? I’m not quite sure, but after watching Anatomy of a Fall, it definitely feels sickening.
What is at first seemingly an open-and-shut-case on a suicide soon becomes tabloid news and a whirlwind for Sandra Voyter, played magnificently by Sandra Hüller, as she steps into a French courtroom and begins addressing everything about her life, about her privacy, about her intimacy with her husband, just so that the public can assess if she’s actually done it. The result of it is sensational and riveting, placing you on the edge of your seat as you scan the recesses of every frame just to see if there was a damning piece of evidence that finally frames Voyter as the murderer. It’s thrillingly juicy that Triet uses the courtroom as a way to get deeper and dig deeper into the life of a character, in this case Sandra, with questions painting her as a villain, as a cheater, as anything but a loving and committed spouse to her now-very-dead husband.
This wouldn’t have worked if not for one terrific focal point: Sandra Hüller, who shifts from scene-to-scene just to answer questions on her husband’s drug use, who uses three languages to full effect, who has to relive trauma and torment in front of the public that was all meant to be private. And all the while you’re asking: “Did she actually do it?” as the question continues to linger over its perfectly-paced 152 minutes. Hüller is not the only grand performer here, Milo Machado-Graner who plays the son of Sandra and Samuel, who has his own moment to shine, and he does so with an assured portrayal of a child caught in a marriage on the rocks. Even Messi the Palm Dog 2023 winner should be credited.
It’s Hitchcock-ian in all of the ways that it’s familiar, an exemplary thriller that continues to pull at different directions as you’re left wondering which side of the fence you stand on. It’s a tour de force of a film, a drama that sneaks up on you with just how mesmerising and addicting its story is as it unfolds, paired up with performances that are all equally dynamite. Scintillating stuff all around.
1. Past Lives
At the start of 2023, right after Sundance Film Festival had ended, reviews were pouring in for Celine Song’s writer-directorial debut, Past Lives. But the reviews weren’t just positive, they were overwhelmingly positive, so much so that it reminded me of when Damien Chazelle’s La La Land had dropped back in 2016. When I finally got to see the film in August, I finally understood its acclaim. This might just be one of the best debuts for any filmmaker that I’ve ever seen in the last twenty years. It’s confident, it’s assured, and it’s a gentle, exquisite masterpiece.
I’m doing a bad job burying the lede, but a film like this just doesn’t get made unless there’s a significant backing or talent onscreen or a studio has decided to promote it for their official awards campaign. This felt like a combination of luck, timing, and above all else, talent. A director that spent a chapter in her life in theatre, only to make that seamless transition into the big screen without trepidation. That’s called having a gift.
Past Lives is largely inspired by Song’s own past, her own move to Canada, and reconnecting with an old flame that she didn’t know was waiting for her. The story feels timeless and peerless, a navigation of the heart on who we are a twelve years later, and realising that we never lose we were even after we’ve moved on. Greta Lee and Teo Yoo is enchanting to watch, and they fill the characters of Nora and Hae Sung with such lived-in essence that they feel immensely believable and relatable. As raw as emotions go and as honest as their performances are, Lee and Yoo play their roles with the heft of weighty history on their shoulders, one looking back with distant memory, and the other with clear conviction, but always inter-changeable. John Magaro’s supporting turn also aids into this whirlpool of a romantic drama, one that empowers the film by providing a second function for audiences as the outsider peering into the relationship, yet wholeheartedly behind Lee’s Nora and firm in his love.
Shot on 35mm lenses, DP Shabier Kirchner also leans heavily into the whole timelessness part of it. He creates the space between the shots, whether it’s Nora and Hae Sung reconnecting over dodgy reception on the Internet across the globe, or when they finally meet-up and embrace, space is liminal—it almost feels like we’re watching the barrier break before our eyes. Song has also stated that she wanted the score to be used as a way to fill in the scene, and let its central narrative on love take centre stage, but what composers Christopher Bear and Daniel Rossen has done is bring a certain sense of yearning that fills up behind its characters. That score transcends beyond the screen, gently nudging Nora and Hae Sung in small notes before its final crescendo.
I’ve not left the cinema thinking this much about a film in a long time. Song shows that when a story is this personal, this intimate, this touching, it too has the power to move others in beautifully poignant ways. It’s a perfect film by every judgement, and I loved every second of it.
And that’s it! Thanks for making it all the way down here. It was a fantastic year for film, and there’s plenty to discover if you haven’t yet.
What’s your favourite film from 2023? I’d love to know.
