The 50 Greatest Films 2000-2009

50. 21 Grams (Dir: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarittu, 2003, USA)

21 Grams follows much the same pattern as Inarittu’s debut feature, Amores Perros; three unrelated narrative strands converge around one event, in both cases a tragic car crash. This film is much more focused on character though, as screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga really scratches beneath the surface of the three flawed leads, played wonderfully by Sean Penn, Benicio Del Toro and Naomi Watts.
Inarittu used a fractured narrative to feed the viewer information, willing us to come to conclusions about the characters and events, before the whole story becomes clear. While an effective device, in that it allows the viewer to relate to each character at vital periods in the narrative, there is a sense at times that this strategy is just being used, albeit fairly successfully, to hide the film’s flaws, mainly the implausibility of certain plot developments. Nonetheless, this is a finely crafted piece of work which really attempts to make a statement about what it means to live, and die.

49. Y Tu Mama Tambien (Dir: Alfonso Cuaron, 2001, Mexico)

Picking up where Amores Perros left off, this often funny and surprisingly poignant Mexican drama sees two young friends set out on a road-trip with an alluring older woman. Charged with sexual tension between the three attractive leads, Tambien, as many films before it, uses the road-trip as a metaphor for self-discovery, and is frank in its depiction of sex, friendship and jealousy.
Cuaron’s direction is immediate, his shaky camera and brisk editing technique giving an urgency to the proceedings which becomes all the more effective when the three travellers reach their destination, a legendary beach, and Cuaron allows the natural beauty of the scenery to speak for itself. The epilogue is a slight misstep, and there are moments in the second act which the tone loses its way, but the performances never fail hold interest, and the style abides.

48. Milk (Dir: Gus van Sant, 2008, USA)

Sean Penn won the Oscar for his portrayal of gay civil rights leader, Harvey Milk, and it’s a performance of typical nuance, capturing both the bravura of the man, as well as his failures, without ever stepping over into caricature. Penn is matched by a fine supporting cast, notably James Brolin and Emile Hersch and, for his part, director van Sant brings a vivacity to the proceedings which raises the film above typical biopic fare. The script is wonderful, capturing all the key moments in Milk’s rise to political office, and the tight editing keeps things moving at a good pace, seamlessly moving between the larger scenes and the more intimate.

47. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (Dir: Peter Weir, 2003, USA)

A criminally underrated modern epic, Weir grounds his high seas adventure in a touching friendship between Russell Crowe’s ship captain, and the excellent Paul Bettany’s doctor and naturalist, on the cusp of new discoveries. It is in depicting the latter’s sense of wonder at the natural world that the film proves most successful, but when the big set pieces come, they deliver both in visual style and intensity.
Set-up as a chase movie, Weir’s adept interior staging gives this more the feel of a weighty drama, as we delve below the deck of the ship, privy to the camaraderie and tensions amongst the crew. There is even room for some contemplations on war, life, and what it is to be a leader, as Crowe‘s Captain Aubrey is called upon to make some tough decisions, often with dire consequences. Above all though, this is a simple tale of the friendship between two men. Crowe and Bettany’s chemistry shines through, Aubrey’s good-natured prodding of the doctor over the dinner table proving a particular highlight.

46. The Wrestler (Dir: Darren Aronofsky, 2008, USA)

Mickey Rourke gives an excellent and authentic performance as Randy Robinson, an aging wrestling star hanging on to his faded glory, and trying to make it back to the big time as at the same time he tries to make connections in his personal life. Aronofsky foregoes the visual flair which he has come to be known by, taking a more realistic approach, but he retains his eye for detail, and in a series of scenes captures what it is to be a wrestler. We see Robinson tan, buy weapons to use in matches, buy drugs, entertain customers in the grocery store where he works to subsidise his wrestling wage- all things that paint a picture of his life, and what it means to do what he does.
There are flaws to the film; the father-daughter scenes are underplayed, an implausibility to certain elements of the wrestling; but as a character study this is really astute and surprisingly thoughtful. What might be most impressive about The Wrestler though is how Aronofsky managed to take a story about a niche, often ridiculed, segment of society, and make it into something universal.

45. Syriana (Dir: Stephen Gaghan, 2005, USA)

The other film about oil from this decade, Syriana weaves together several complex and challenging stories focused on the value, both monetary and in human sacrifice, of the black gold, and the wide-ranging consequences of the desire to own it. This is a film of wide scope, the story taking us from profiteering American corporations to the Persian Gulf, via Spain and Switzerland. It also expands from the central idea to include story strands involving arms dealership and terrorist cells.
Writer/director Gaghan also wrote Traffic, and while he doesn’t match Steven Soderbergh’s directorial flair, it’s clear he is highly skilled at juggling multiple narratives, while keeping the film together as a satisfying whole. George Clooney is perhaps the stand-out in an impressive cast, whereas a story focusing on two disillusioned young Muslims turning to terrorism after losing their jobs might be the most effecting. This isn’t Saturday night popcorn fodder, but is a highly rewarding experience, crafted with great intelligence and poise.

44. Good Night, and Good Luck. (Dir: George Clooney, 2005, USA)

Clooney has crafted a fine drama of high intelligence and impressive performances, with an aesthetic which works with the material, rather than in spite of it. David Strathairn excels as Edward Murrow, the CBS newsman who used his position to challenge Senator Joseph McCarthy at the height of the Communist witch-hunts. Using luscious black and white photography, Clooney and his director of photography delight in celebrating in the medium which the film portrays, using careful framing to place Strathairn and his fellow cast members always within range of the cameras, monitors, and other equipment which make up the newsroom. The film is further immersed in the time period by Clooney’s fetishism of the cigarette, smoke forever billowing above the conference rooms and bars in which Murrow and his team make their important decisions, and use of jazz music.
But despite the smart visual style, this is an actor’s film, and Strathairn is ably supported by Clooney himself, amongst others. Perhaps the most important screen presence though is that of McCarthy, seen throughout in actual archive news footage, adding to the weight of the material.

43. Finding Nemo (Dir: Andrew Stanton, 2003, USA)

Meshing a universally relatable story- a parent’s concern for their offspring- and Disney animation staples (comedy sidekicks, redemptive villains), Pixar has created a film of stunning beauty, warmth and humour, which still stands up as the finest example of what is possible with CGI animation. Generally moving at a more languid pace than other films of the genre, the onus here is largely on characterisation and relationships, with much of the film playing as a buddy road movie. That Marlin ultimately finds Nemo is inevitable, that he finds himself is not unexpected, and watching the film, it’s impossible to think that anybody would not to find something to like.

42. United 93 (Dir: Paul Greengrass, 2006, USA)

A courageous film which attempts to tell the story of what happened aboard United Flight 93 on September 11th 2001 without resorting to rhetoric or emotiveness. That it succeeds on every level is testament largely to Greengrass, his background in documentary-making obviously standing him in good stead, as he gives an admirably even-handed account of the events as we know them to be true, allowing the actions of everybody involved to speak for themselves.
Aside from being the stand-out film in the post-9/11 cinema, and a must-see for anybody looking for a deeper understanding of the events of that day, United 93 works as a straight-up thriller, even as we already know the tragic conclusion. The matter-of-fact storytelling builds tension as we cross between the airplane and the control tower, and the sense of dread is made palpable by Greengrass‘s invasive camera-work.

41. Spirited Away (Dir: Hayao Miyazaki, 2001, Japan)

Stunningly inventive, both in concept and execution, Spirited Away tells the story of a young girl who is taken from her unhappy life and transported into a world inhabited by strange Gods, dragons and demons, from where she must try to reclaim her identity and return home. The sublime animation is really the selling point of the film, and each frame is packed with beautifully-realised imagery, from the landscape to the characters.
This film offers more than just eye candy though. The story carries emotional weight, (particularly in the friendship between heroine, Chihiro, and Haku, a boy who shares a similar predicament), there is humour to be found throughout and, touching on themes of identity and loyalty, Miyazaki conveys a thoughtfulness not usually strived for in the genre.

40. Letters From Iwo Jima (Dir: Clint Eastwood, 2006, USA)
This World War Two epic is unique in looking at the American forces’ attempts to take the island of Iwo Jima from the point of view of the defending Japanese. Focusing specifically on Ken Watanabe’s compassionate commander and Kazunari Ninomaya’s young soldier, the film uses the men’s letters home to their loved ones to offer snapshots of life pre-war, and also to explore the motivations and loyalties of both.
The film begins at a languid pace, the rich cinematography, bathed in greyish hues, showing the beauty and tranquillity of the island, pre-invasion. When the Americans do arrive, some 45 minutes in, Eastwood moves the action almost entirely into the caves that the Japanese have created, creating a sense of claustrophobia and helplessness. The battle scenes are unflinching in their brutality, including the graphic depiction of several Japanese soldiers committing suicide by clutching to live grenades, but there are still opportunities for tenderness, as a Japanese captain bonds with a captured American, and a soldier recalls the bakery shop he owned back home. A war film of rare compassion and gentleness.

39. Half Nelson (Dir: Ryan Fleck, 2006, USA)

Working from the clichéd and rightly-maligned ‘inspirational teacher’ template, Half Nelson side-steps all the usual trappings of the genre to create a compelling character study of a man struggling to reconcile his position as a role-model with his own life’s choices. The driving force behind the film is Ryan Gosling’s incredible performance as Dan Dunne, whose passion in the classroom and on the basketball court is matched equally by his burgeoning drug habit. Gosling’s sincerity shines through, his sense of pride, failure and resentment all etched onto his face.
More than just a showcase for Gosling though, the direction is up to the task, shooting the inner-city locale with verve and panache, foregoing condescension, and never allowing the viewer to wallow too long in Dan’s mistakes, nor enjoy too long his successes. Strong dialogue and the well-judged soundtrack also stand out.

38. Requiem For A Dream (Dir: Darren Aronofsky, 2000, USA)

A bleak tale of the dead-end that is drug addiction, Aronofsky’s technique and visual flair shines through here to create a film of great impact, with imagery that will long play on the conscience. Three central characters, played by Jared Leto, Ellen Burstyn and Jennifer Connolly, all have their own issues with addiction, with Burstyn’s tale of an older lady who becomes addicted to diet pills maybe being the most surprising, and the most daring. Aronofsky constantly repeats segments put together through the use of quick-cutting montage, going through the process involved in drug use, to hammer home the idea of the patterns which form in addiction. It isn’t a subtle technique, but it is highly effective and visually invigorating.
Unlike a film like Drugstore Cowboy, this film really offers no hope for its characters, and the final sequence really is soul-crushing. This is heavy stuff, for a serious subject matter, but it is bold in its execution and compelling to the last, instigating serious thought once the experience is over.

37. Hero (Dir: Zhang Yimou, 2002, China)

Yimou, whose reputation was built in the 90s on sumptuously shot political allegories, reinvented himself somewhat with this artistic martial arts film, taking its central idea of the power of storytelling, and objectivity, from Rashomon. The narrative is tighter than in his previous work- a prefect gains an audience with a king after killing three famed assassins, only for the king to surmise that he is an assassin himself- but serves mainly as a vehicle for the lush action sequences, and philosophical subtext, almost all of which is judged to perfection.
Although this is a change of pace for the director, he brings to the genre many of the hallmarks of his previous work, including his passion for honouring routine (here, it’s the art of calligraphy), and his use of bright, dynamic colouring, utilising Wong Kar-Wai’s cinematographer, Christopher Doyle, to give each fight scene a distinctive colour coding. As wonderful as the film looks, the visuals are matched by the work of the sound department- each drop of water flying through the air during the fight on the river, each breeze blowing through a warrior’s hair, is impeccably captured. There is a slight tendency towards the self-conscious during some of the battles, but the elegance of style ultimately prevails.

36. Where the Wild Things Are (Dir: Spike Jonze, 2009, USA)

Wild Things is a fantasy seen through the eyes of a child, but is far from childlike in its tone and execution.
Criticised as being too bleak for a children’s film, what Wild Things actually does is sidestep the sentimentality which usually bogs down the genre, building believably flawed characters (human and monster alike), while enriching the film with a sense of wonder, playfulness and awe. The costume design on the monsters is magnificent, and their realistic acting makes them the deserved focus of much of the films praise. The young lead, Max Records, is also wonderful, as is the score, provided by Karen O of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. This is really Jonze’s film though- he creates a magical world grounded by a low-key, indie sensibility, and allows his characters to develop organically, without forcing any kind of message onto the viewer.

35. Trilogy One: On The Run (Dir: Lucas Belvaux, 2002, Belgium)

Belvaux’s thriller, the first part in a trilogy of films, all focusing on a different genre, is a clinic in plotting and narrative structure, the tension building from the very first scene when central protagonist, Bruno turns up at the house of a middle-class couple after breaking out of jail. We don’t know who he is, or how the couple knows him, but the director layers the information on scene by scene, until we have a clear picture of the events we are seeing.
While working within the conventions of the thriller genre, Belvaux’s film still finds a unique voice, deep in characterisation, misleadingly good to look at, and with a statement to make about middle-class politics. Still more satisfaction can be gained from watching in conjunction with the other two parts, as fringe characters come to the fore, and subplots are revealed, and wrapped up.

34. The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (Dir: Tommy Lee Jones, 2005, USA)

Jones’s directorial debut is a beautifully elegiac modern western focusing on the friendship between an aging cowboy and an illegal Mexican immigrant. The storytelling is simple, but handled with such care and delicacy that you really feel as though you are watching something timeless, while the rich landscapes harken back to the work of John Ford.
Jones gives a typically strong performance in the lead role as a man who has vowed to bury his Mexican friend in his home village, his understated determination proving a fitting testament to the friendship which the film set up so effectively, with nothing more than a series of vignettes. Barry Pepper also gives a commanding performance as the conflicted border guard responsible for Estrada’s death. The friendship, and Jones’s quest, are a well-crafted device for a study on racism, and the ever-pertinent issue of immigration in the United States.

33. Memento (Dir: Christopher Nolan, 2000, USA)

While visually showy, and structurally flashy, Memento manages to rise above similar tricksy releases by getting the basics right, and never allowing the gimmick to overwhelm its function. The narrative structure, which sees the film progress from end to beginning , is a visual representation of the short-term memory loss suffered by Guy Pierce’s central character, Leonard, since witnessing the murder of his wife. As well as effectively challenging the conventions of storytelling, this technique forces us to share in Leonard’s confusion and frustration as events unfold.
The execution is spot-on, and Nolan employs other stylistic devices to augment the conceit, but it is the performances and writing that give the film emotional resonance. Pierce shines as a man who is desperately looking for the truth, but who can’t even trust his own memory, imbuing Leonard with sadness, vulnerability, and blinkered determination. It would be easy for the dialogue for such a film to feel clunky and exposition-heavy, but Nolan, also the screenwriter, judges it perfectly, even with a voice-over narration, trusting the viewer to draw the right conclusions. A rare film that succeeds at being as emotionally impactful as it is stylistically unique.

32. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (Dir: Peter Jackson, 2002, USA/New Zealand)

The second part of Peter Jackson’s epic trilogy suffers from being just that- the middle part of a series of three. While the prologue does an excellent job of summarising part one, without a real beginning or end, this feels incomplete. It is also overlong, with the filmmakers obviously finding it difficult to cut out material considered sacred by fans of the book. Those flaws aside, this is a cinematic triumph on the largest scale, showcasing incredible visual effects, and mind-blowing action sequences.
The centrepiece of the film is undoubtedly the battle of Helm’s Deep. Jackson frames the action wonderfully, giving it scope with astonishing wide-shots of the battlefield, but also taking the camera inside the battle, capturing the devastation on a personal level. That he manages to give such levity to the action in a fantasy setting is quite an accomplishment. The performances sometimes seem secondary to the action and effects, but are always good, including that of the CGI Gollum..

31. No Country For Old Men (Dir: Joel Coen, 2007, USA)

Javier Bardem gives a scintillating performance as one of the more truly frightening villains in recent cinema history. Playing the hunter to Josh Brolin, and in turn being hunted himself by Tommy Lee Jones’ world-weary sheriff, Bardem’s deep expressive gaze, cold, composed manner, and, of course, his hair-style, make his Anton Chigurh a character of pure relentless evil.
The film itself is more serious than typical Coen fare, though bears all the trademarks of the director’s best work, and at times plays like a darker, Southern version of Fargo; the half mocking, half endearing characterisation, the off-beat asides and inscrutability, and the bursts of shocking violence. The dark cinematography and abundance of night scenes compliment the tone perfectly, and the chase elements deliver the requisite tension, but No Country works best as a portrait of a changing landscape, and the men caught up in that change, bringing to mind some of the seminal work of the American New Wave.

30. Sin Nombre (Dir: Cary Fukunaga, 2009, Mexico)

Another fine cinematic achievement from the Latin New Wave, Sin Nombre appears more sincere than its peers, allowing the emotional depth of the story to draw in the viewer. That isn’t to say that the film is low on style, with Fukunaga’s use of grainy photography and dull colouring matching the bleak prospects of the film’s protagonists, and adding to the authenticity of the piece. A good companion piece to the other great gang film of the movement, City of God, Nombre eschews that film’s violent aggrandisement, instead portraying the gang lifestyle as a pseudo-religious experience, with purgatorial consequences for straying off the path.

29. Mystic River (Dir: Clint Eastwood, 2003, USA)

Eastwood’s dramatic thriller is anchored by three incredible lead performances by three men at the top of their game: Sean Penn, Tim Robbins, and Kevin Bacon. As three childhood friends whose lives took different paths but are brought back together by the murder of Penn’s daughter, each actor brings something unique to the character they play. The intensity of Penn’s performance makes it the most conspicuous of the three, but Robbins and an understated Bacon are perhaps equally good, as are Laura Linney and Marcia Gay Harden in underdeveloped supporting roles.
The film’s dark subject matter is matched by its look, Eastwood using shadow and darkness to great effect. The pacing is what is most impressive about Eastwood’s filmmaking though, with each scene and new development being allowed to unfold at its own pace. Structurally perfect, this is a piece of intensely brilliant storytelling in which nothing feels superfluous.

28. Innocence (Dir: Lucile Hadzihalilovic, 2004, France)

Hadzihalilovic, taking her cue from feminist cinema, managed to create a beautifully dreamlike filmic experience, without ever forcing any kind of message or point-of-view on the viewer. Set in a strange, almost fantastical, all-girl boarding school, the story is slight, practically none-existent, as we observe the rituals which the girls are put through, and put each other through. The opening scene, featuring a new student at the school lying inside a coffin as part of her initiation sets the tone for the evocative imagery Hadzihalilovic uses throughout, and at times it is hard to distinguish between what is fantasy and what is reality.
The sinister undertone of the film provides tension and mystery, and there are several periods where as a viewer, you feel uncomfortable for watching these young girls learn, play, and discover themselves. This is certainly a deliberate ploy to make the viewer question their relationship to the images. The film is less effective when taking the action out of the boarding school in the final act, but until then, the haunting imagery and scenery make this a sublime experience.

27. Dogville (Dir: Lars von Trier, 2003, USA)

If Lars von Trier is anything, it’s gutsy, and this film is another example of the type of challenging cinema he fights to make. Filmed entirely on a large sound stage used to represent the titular town, with the locations drawn out schematically on the ground with chalk, Dogville is an exercise in cinematic austerity, and a test of the power of storytelling. At first the technique proves distracting, but in time the performances and ideas win you over, and von Trier begins to explore the potential of his setting. Wide birdseye shots of the stage reveal the action taking place in each house, and central character, Grace, stands outside a house as the townspeople discuss her fate inside, unable to see through the invisible walls.
Criticisms of pretension may be somewhat well-founded, but there is also an element of the tongue-in-cheek to the concept. What’s really important is that there is substance beyond the gimmick. Nicole Kidman is excellent as Grace, a young woman on the run from ruthless gangsters. She is ably supported by Paul Bettany, Lauren Bacall and Patricia Clarkson. John Hurt narrates. When Grace finds herself in the small town of Dogville, Bettany urges the townspeople to help her, as part of a social experiment. What follows is an exploration of the concept of charity, and human nature, the effects an outsider can have on a close community and, the central idea of the film, an indictment of American culture.

26. Amores Perros (Dir: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarittu, 2000, Mexico)

The film that launched the Latin New Wave, Amores Perros mixes expressive filmmaking, action, and drama with social commentary, creating an expansive portrait of life in Mexico City. The film is split into three parts, each focusing on a story of love and commitment, and each with a distinct style. The first story takes the form of a past-paced crime drama, Inarritu using a brisk editing style and a series of montages to create an energetic, bustling tone, in keeping with the lower-class setting. He also makes good use of contemporary Mexican music to keep the focus on youth. Gael Garcia Bernal stars in his break-through role as a young man who turns to dog-fighting in order to make money so he can run away with his sister-in-law. The visceral dog-fighting scenes, and the portrayal of small-time crooks give the film a gritty authenticity, while grounding it very much in the working-class milieu.
The action slows down for part two, more classical in style, which uses the story of a model seriously injured in a car accident to frame a commentary on Mexico’s class system. The use of longer shots, and the move into a bourgeois setting, derails the film somewhat, and it never quite regains the heights of the first story despite a well-judged final segment. Nonetheless, this is a must-see film that offers fascinating insight into life in Mexico City, shot with real verve from a fantastic script by Guillermo Arriaga.

25. I’m Not There (Dir: Todd Haynes, 2007, USA)

Todd Haynes’ Bob Dylan biopic takes a series of creative chances which immediately distinguishes it from what is often a tired genre, and at the same time does justice to the enigmatic career of the legendary folk singer. The boldest decision was to cast a series of different actors to portray Dylan at different periods of his life and career, amongst them a young black boy, Marcus Carl Franklin, and Oscar-winning actress, Cate Blanchett. What could have easily come off as pretension proves to be a masterstroke, as each actor brings something of Dylan to life, and as a whole Haynes manages to capture the many faces of the musician, from the naiveté of the Freewheelin’ era, to the paranoid drug addict of his later career, the impressionable young troubadour, to the angry experimentalist. But these aren’t mere impersonations (although Blanchett in particular is scarily authentic), rather a series of unique interpretations which are each used to complement the story.
As well as having a different actor portray each era of Dylan’s life, Haynes also uses different styles to bookmark his film. The early life of Dylan is shot as a depression-era road movie, with Franklin travelling across the South, peddling his talent. A later segment, dressed as a Western, shows the late-era Dylan played by Richard Gere, and plays into the myth surrounding Dylan’s work. The Fellini-esque Blanchett segment, depicting Dylan as he began to rebel against his own fame, is a stand-out. The great soundtrack adds to the inventive filmmaking and great performances.

24. Sideways (Dir: Alexander Payne, 2004, USA)

Payne delivered his most impressive film to date with this polished comedy about two very different best friends embarking on a wine-tasting weekend as they struggle with their middle-age. The film gets the first thing right, in that it’s funny, both in the writing and the performances. Paul Giamatti has cornered the market on curmudgeonly, intellectual types, and Thomas Hayden Church delivers the best performance of the film as his shallow, womanising sidekick. The chemistry between the two is perfect, and the friendship believable despite the differences in the characters. Virginia Madsen and Sandra Oh are also excellent, giving real life to what could have become throwaway roles as a pair of love interests.
Payne spices up the visuals with some creative editing techniques, such as his use of split-screens, but succeeds in never over-egging the omelette, for the most part letting the performances take the lead. The film maintains a brisk pace, managing to be both funny and intelligent, as well as finding a poignancy which is often reached for, but seldom achieved.

23. Pan’s Labyrinth (Dir: Guillermo Del Toro, 2006, Spain)

Set shortly after the Spanish Cival War, Del Toro’s fantasy film is rich in visual creativity and emotional depth., as we follow a young girl, living under the power of her despotic stepfather, who escapes into a fantastical world of fauns and monsters. Like Where The Wild Things Are, this is a children’s film with dark undertones, and here Del Toro shrouds his film in atmospheric blackness. He is a master at creating mood and tone through his cinematography, and this is equally on show both in the real world scenes, and within the labyrinth.
The creature design is also splendid, with each creature having a uniquely creative look, from Pan the faun, to the terrifying Childkiller. Young Ivana Bacquera is terrific as Ofelia, a character whose fear, curiosity, and imagination is key to the film.

22. Red Road (Dir: Andrea Arnold, 2006, United Kingdom)

Set in a working class suburb of Glasgow, Arnold’s debut is a brilliantly-crafted thriller which makes good use of the milieu, and puts the emphasis on creating believable, multi-faceted characters. The thought-provoking story centres around a female CCTV operator, Jackie, who sees a man on one of her monitors, with whom she has obviously had a past acquaintance. We don’t initially know the nature of that acquaintance, except that Jackie has been scarred by the experience, and is compelled to confront the past.
The performances are full of subtlety and nuance, but it is Arnold’s touch which allows for empathy, even when dealing with some fairly reprehensible acts. Her technique of showing, not telling, allows us to make up our own minds about the motives of the characters, and question whether we would act differently in the same situation. We see Jackie at home and at work, each time learning something about her state of mind, her past, and as a consequence, her future. As much as characterisation, the depiction of the locale is pivotal to the success of the film, and Arnold breathes life into the buildings, particularly the block of flats from which the title is taken. The film slowly builds to an ending of true emotion and surprise, and stays with you long after it has finished.

21. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (Dir: Andrew Dominick, 2007, USA)

Dominick’s thoughtful Western can also be read as a study of fame and the cult of celebrity, and in that respect it is perhaps fitting that the role of James, a man who is idolised out of proportion, and eventually rejected, by Ford, is played by Brad Pitt, arguably the biggest film star of his era. The show-stealing performance though belongs to Casey Affleck as Ford, playing him as insecure, hopeful, and ultimately tragic. He allows us to see James through his own hero-worshipping eyes, even as we see him for what he really is, and the final scenes in which Ford is harangued and haunted by his deeds should serve as a warning to anybody with ambitions of notoriety.
The period and setting are recreated with great care, while the detailed, matter-of-fact narration brings to mind a Ken Burns documentary. The cinematography is lush, and Dominick really captures the scope of the setting, giving the story an epic feel which combines well with the intimacy of the characterisation.

20. Broken Flowers (Dir: Jim Jarmusch, 2005, USA)

Indie stalwart, Jim Jarmusch, made his most complete film to date with this deadpan comic drama-cum-road movie about a man who goes in search of the son he never knew he had. Bill Murray gives a characteristically laconic performance in the lead role of Don, and he is given excellent support by a series of actresses, playing former love interests, including Sharon Stone and Jessica Lange, as well as Jeffrey Wright, who gives a lively performance as Don’s best friend.
This is perhaps the most story-driven of Jarmusch’s films but, as is typical of the director, the main focus is on the characters, with the narrative being an excuse for Jarmusch to explore a man who has yet to come to terms with his middle-age. Don is ill-equipped to deal with the prospect of fatherhood, but with each encounter with his past, he learns something new about his present. Jarmusch tells his story with his customary eye for the odd-ball, delighting in showing sides of America which exist on the fringe. This sensibility combines with a leisurely pace to create a film of maturity, humour and depth.

19. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Dir: Michel Gondry, 2006, USA)

Working from a script by the endlessly creative Philip Kaufman, music video director Gondry made his film debut with this touching, funny and creative romance which meditates on the theme of memory and the human psyche. Carrey’s performance in the lead role is revelatory, but Kate Winslet created one of the most interesting characters of the decade in Clementine, a girl as magnetic as she is hard to handle. Winslet is tremendous at capturing the contradictory nature of Clementine, and this is a character who won’t soon be forgotten.
The film uses a fractured narrative to tell the story of a man, Joel, undergoing a procedure to have the difficult Clementine removed from his memory. This technique works well to convey the scattered nature of Joel’s memories, and each scene, each remembrance, paints a beautiful picture of the highs and lows of love. Gondry’s visual flair more than does justice to the excellent script, in a film that comes closer than most to capturing what it means to be in love.

18. Talk To Her (Dir: Pedro Almodovar, 2002, Spain)

Almodovar might never be called subtle, but with this film he crafted a poignant and touching low-key drama meditating on love and friendship, obsession and desire. The director’s customary visual style is toned down to match the sombre tone of the story, which focuses on the friendship struck up by two men as they tend to their comatose loved ones. That said, the artistic framing gives the film a classical look, and the scenes centred around a female matador, in particular, allow Almodovar to indulge his flamboyant side.
This is all about character and tone though, and both are of the highest order here. Javier Camara gives an amazingly empathetic performance as Benigno, the young nurse who falls in love with his dancer charge without her ever knowing it, and the friendship depicted between he and Dario Grandinetti’s Marco is genuinely touching. The story moves along at a leisurely pace, allowing for all the details of the characterisation, and mise-en-scene to sink in, until we reach a heart-wrenching conclusion. Well-rounded and thought-provoking, this may well be Almodovar’s finest work.

17. Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner (Dir: Zacharias Kunuk, 2000, Canada)

The first film ever produced in the Inuit language, Atanarjuat is a dramatisation of an old Inuit legend, and gives epic scope to a simple story. Set some time before Southerners made it to the Arctic (although possessing a timeless quality) the story focuses on a curse which has befallen a prominent family in the town of Igloolik. The titular character, Atanarjuat, is caught up in that curse when he marries a girl promised to one of the stricken family. Filmed entirely on location under Arctic conditions, and using digital video, the film looks stunning, and unlike anything before it, panoramic snow-covered vistas contrasting with Kunuk’s eye for the unconventional (unsettling close-ups, point-of-view shots). The technology, which can’t always keep up with the action, together with the soundtrack of indigenous Inuit tribal song, also combine to give the film an oddly hallucinogenic quality.
More than the technique, and the beauty of the scenery on display though, this is film which pays reverent attention to the way of life of the Inuit people. Scenes of the men crafting an igloo, and the women preparing meat fascinate, as well as inspire admiration, and Kunuk is happy to linger on these everyday, menial events, as he is the rituals of the tribe (such as a contest between Atanarjuat and his rival, in which they must take turns to punch each other in the head). But, like Atanarjuat himself, this is far from slow-moving. The film is punctuated by action, often violent, and the narrative progresses as all the while we become enraptured by the visuals.

16. Lost in Translation (Dir: Sofia Coppola, 2003, USA)

Coppola’s second feature fits perfectly into her oeuvre of films exploring the theme of female entrapment, as Lost In Translation sees Scarlett Johansson’s Charlotte struggling along in an unhappy marriage, and a foreign country. Johansson captures Charlotte’s ennui well, as does Bill Murray in an excellent performance as Bob, a middle-aged actor with whom Charlotte passes her time. Coppola brings these two seemingly-disparate characters together with such subtlety and believability, that it’s easy to dismiss their differences, and the friendship that they form feels genuine, sweet and built with the strongest foundation. Coppola is also excellent at offering a sense of the inner-emotions of her characters, while knowing exactly when to draw back.
The third star of this film is undoubtedly the Tokyo nightlife, which is shot with real verve and panache, and a scene in a karaoke bar perfectly sums up both the bizarre and the fashionable sides of the city. An obviously very personal project, Coppola also wrote the screenplay, and it is as touching and poignant as it is funny.

15. Dancer in the Dark (Dir: Lars von Trier, 2000, USA)

A stunning performance in her acting debut from Icelandic pop star Bjork steals the show in this highly emotional and bleak melodrama, in which Lars von Trier begins his hate affair with America. Bjork is Selma, a Czech immigrant whose pursuit of the American dream is curtailed by her deteriorating eye-sight, and the fact that her illness is hereditary, and thus will eventually inflict her young son. Bjork captures the self-sacrificing strength of her character with a typical freeness of spirit in what is an off-kilter portrayal. The gravity of her helpless situation is evident only beneath the brave face she puts on, and the ever-pervading enjoyment she derives from Hollywood musicals.
Von Trier shoots the film with a realistic approach, his shaky camera getting into the faces of his protagonists, giving it a documentary feel. That makes it even more jarring when, thirty minutes in, Selma breaks into a song and dance routine, supported by co-workers at the factory where she works. This wouldn’t be a von Trier film without a gimmick, but this stylistic twist works wonderfully to convey the sense of imagination which is Selma’s only way of continuing towards her goal of making enough money for her son’s operation. Bjork’s vocals, of course, hit the mark, and there is an unpolished style to the choreography which serves as a reminder of the far from perfect world the film inhabits. It’s easy to argue that the film is emotionally manipulative, but the power of the central performance overrides any such criticism, and the unique approach to the musical genre provides exultant highs.

14. Tony Takitani (Dir: Jun Ichikawa, 2004, Japan)

Ichikawa’s quietly affecting drama perfectly transposes the artfulness of Haruki Murikami’s (on whose short story the film is based) writing to the screen using a series of creative techniques. The first of which is the use of a spoken narration, present throughout the film, which takes large passages of text straight from the short story. More interesting is when the director expands on this idea by having the characters interject parts of the narration themselves, including referring to themselves in the third person. More visually striking is Ichikawa’s employment of long panning shots, which mark the transition from one scene to the next, and suggest the turning of the pages of a book.
With the ubiquity of the narration, actual dialogue is used sparingly, a decision which also accentuates the thoughtful nature of Tony’s character. This is largely a character study, and Tony is every bit as interesting, enigmatic and fully-realised as you would expect from the writer, with Issei Ogata’s performance capturing every detail to perfection. The themes are big- love, grief, loneliness- but there is an intimacy which shines through in this film, thanks to superb attention to detail from all involved.

13. City of God (Dir: Fernando Meirelles, 2002, Brazil)

Life in a tough Brazilian favela is brought to the screen in this ultra-stylish, ultra-violent gangster movie, which attempts to show that a coffin isn’t the only way out of the slums. Focusing on the rise of brutal criminal, Lil Ze, as well as the coming-of-age of aspiring photographer, Rocket, Meirelles’s film offers up a series of impressive visual and narrative tricks, including breaking the story up into chapters showcasing the various characters etched into lore in the City of God. This keeps the film moving at a whippet pace, as our story crosses decades, and all the while we learn of the events which led Ze and Rocket down their separate paths. A string of stunning set-pieces permeate the film like bullet wounds, and Meirelles frames the action with the skill of a genre veteran. Most impressive might be the disco scene, in which loveable criminal Bene is killed.
Equally impressive is the fact that the cast is made up of amateurs, real children from the Brazilian slums. This adds plausibility to the proceedings, and several of the actors turn in performances of astonishing skill. This added sense of reality perfectly counteracts the vibrancy of Meirelles direction, making for a film which packs a punch in both style and substance.

12. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (Dir: Peter Jackson, 2001, USA/New Zealand)

The first part of the epic trilogy is also the best part, perfectly setting the stage for what is to come but, crucially, working as a stand-alone film in a way that the following two parts don’t quite manage. One of the major successes of the film is Jackson realisation of Hobbiton. In order for the film to have the required impact, it is vital that we understand what is at stake, and in the charming Hobbiton, Jackson perfectly conveys that sense of peace and tranquillity, and simple way of living, which is soon to come under threat. Indeed, every location in the film is a triumph, from the ethereal beauty of Lothlorian, to the dark menace of Moria.
Of the three films, this is probably the one that is the most character-driven, and least action-heavy. This, and the fact that we aren’t cutting from story to story like in the next two parts, makes the pacing much more consistent. The action still takes centre-stage of course, with the escape from Moria being a highlight along with Boromir’s death, but it is here that we get to know the characters, and many of the actors do their best work of the series. It would have been easy, even acceptable, for this to have been heavy on the exposition, charged, as it is, with setting up two further films to come, but it is to Jackson’s credit that everything feels vital, perfectly-judged and exciting.

11. The New World (Dir: Terrence Malick, 2006, USA)

Nobody conveys a sense of poetry in his films better than Terrence Malick, and the subject of John Smith’s arrival in America and subsequent romance with Pocahontas is perfect for his brand of filmmaking. Malick gives an appropriately mythical feel to the film and, with liberal use of landscape shots, as well as detailed shots of wildlife and nature, manages to capture the wondrous quality of a land being visited for the first time. He also does a wonderful job of capturing the lifestyle of the native Americans, and the way that it was impacted by the arrival of the settlers, including a touching and humorous scene in which Smith is cornered in a field by a group of native Americans, who circle and sniff him like curious animals. This is typical of a film in which discovery is a key recurring theme.
That sense of wonder is captured beautifully in the performances, particularly that of Q’orianka Kilcher in the role of Pocahontas, who quietly convinces us that she is experiencing love and loss for the first time. Meanwhile, the poetic and thoughtful narration adds to the ethereal quality of the film, and brings to mind somebody recounting a dream.

10. The Royal Tenenbaums (Dir: Wes Anderson, 2001, USA)

The idiosyncrasies of Anderson’s cinematic approach bear full fruit here to one of the funniest, smartest and most likeable American films of the decade. Centring on the dysfunctional Tenenbaum family, New York elite who have gone off the rails, Anderson affectionately creates a host of characters whose eccentricities come to the fore as the family gathers for the return of their dying patriarch. Criticisms that Anderson deals more in caricatures than characters, style than substance, are ill-founded; beneath the oddball façade and ironic design, Tenenbaums is a film rich in drama and emotion, and each character is a fully-realised inhabitant of its curious world.
It doesn’t hurt that the performances are excellent, from Gene Hackman as the scurrilous Royal Tenenbaum, to Luke Wilson as the melancholy Richie, and including the family hangers-on played by the likes of Danny Glover and Owen Wilson; this has the feel of a real ensemble piece, with each performer happy to share the screen. The set design is also exemplary, creating an upper-class milieu which feels like a throwback to the days of the Algonquin round table. Completing the effect is Anderson’s choice of music, always key to his films, which works alternately to enhance and counteract the tone of the piece.

9. Into The Wild (Dir: Sean Penn, 2007, USA)

Based on the true story of a brilliant young college graduate who rejected his affluent upbringing, and society as a whole, to journey to Alaska, Into The Wild is as touching and resonant as it is well-crafted. The heart of the film’s success is a remarkable performance by Emile Hirsch as Chris McCandless, a young man searching for substance in what he sees as a hollow and false world. There isn’t an ounce of pretence to Hirsch’s portrayal, and he imbues the character with such a mix of wisdom and wonderment that makes him impossible not to root for. The support is universally excellent, particularly the wonderful Hal Holbrook, who is featured in the most poignant section of the film.
The tale unfolds in what are basically a series of vignettes, as Chris moves from town to town in search of the great beyond. This gives a great freewheeling feel to the film, a tone which is anchored by the perfectly-played dramatic elements, centred on the fall-out from Chris’s disappearance back home. Penn also employs a voice-over narration from Chris, taken largely from his real-life journal as he travelled north. This adds weight to the story, while also giving insight into the mindset of the man. Beautifully shot, Into The Wild fully captures a traveller’s soul, and leaves a mark both on the head and the heart.

8. Amelie (Dir: Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 2001, France)

Jeunet’s delightfully light-hearted romance is both beautiful to look at, and engaging in its storytelling, making it one of the true easy-going pleasures of modern cinema. Audrey Tautou’s adorable performance as the title character, a girl bent on making everybody happy but herself, easily matches Jeunet’s artistic visuals, no mean feat given the beauty of the director’s aesthetic. Working from a colour palette which contrasts dazzling reds with rich greens, his recreation of Montmartre borders on the fantastical, matching the overall tone of the film.
Amelie fits in well with the classic romantic comedies of the Hollywood studio system, sharing a common sentimentality, generally well-judged, and easiness of spirit. Even when Amelie is making mischief- driving a bullying market owner to the brink of a nervous breakdown- she is never less than loveable, and any diversions into seediness, such as the porn shop where Amelie’s love interest works, are overwhelmed by a quirkiness of mood.

7. Donnie Darko (Dir: Richard Kelly, 2001, USA)

Kelly’s audacious debut feature has more than enough dramatic substance to support the huge themes it explores, and succeeds on multiple levels, as it weaves an intriguing and dazzling science-fiction story around a simple tale of teen angst. Criticisms that the film is too elliptical, and maybe too ambitious, are certainly understandable, but smack of failing to see the forest for the trees, as this is essentially a film about a troubled young man struggling to make sense of the world. That Kelly chooses to tell his story in such an innovative way is to his credit, and he nails the important stuff- characterisation, tone- whilst garnishing the drama with the sci-fi narrative and unique visuals, all of which have a part to play in the telling of the story (Kelly speeds up footage and uses slow-motion, playing with the idea of time which is so pivotal to the plot).
The film is maybe at its most successful when examining the home life of Donnie, and the chemistry between Jake Gyllenhaal, in the lead role, and each of the family members is utterly believable. The relationship between Donnie and his mother, played by the amazing Mary McConnell, is especially touching, and their scenes together may be the best of the film. As well as the Darko family, strong support comes from the likes of Drew Barrymore and Patrick Swayze (boldly cast as a paedophile), but it is Gyllenhaal who is most impressive, perfectly capturing every emotion that Donnie feels, and conveying themes such as the meaning of life and the existence of God with a touching believability. The decision to set the film in the 1980’s was another shrewd one, not least because of the period soundtrack which further enhances the storytelling.

6. The Son’s Room (Dir: Nanni Moretti, 2001, Italy)

The simple story of a family coming to terms with the death of a son would have been so easy to over-dramatise, or make heavy-handed, but with this film Moretti sidestepped all the potential pitfalls to create a touching, elegant and genuine portrait of grief, with barely a false note throughout. Moretti uses the first 30 minutes or so to explore the dynamic of the central family, in which each member takes their happiness somewhat for granted. Patriarch, Giovanni (played by Moretti himself), is a psychoanalyst, who is talked out of interfering in the relationship between his daughter and her boyfriend by his nourishing wife. Son, Andrea, meanwhile, gets in trouble at school, accused of stealing a valuable rock from the science lab. These are the trifles which occupy the family until tragedy strikes, and Andrea is killed in a snorkling accident.
From there, the three remaining family members struggle to contain their grief; Giovanni searches for answers as to how this could happen, and is haunted by the feeling that he is in some way responsible, and his daughter’s sadness manifests itself in violence, as she attacks an opposing player on the basketball court. These scenes are handled with such a light touch, almost completely eschewing sentimentality, that you barely notice that the family is drifting apart from one another. The third act sees the introduction of a girlfriend that nobody knew Andrea had, and the family finally sees a way out of the darkness. The delicacy of the storytelling is matched by that of the acting; there are no overwrought histrionics, just very simple, very real sorrow; and Moretti brings all elements together to convey honestly the most pure of human emotions.

5. Hidden (Dir: Michael Haneke, 2006, Austria)

A chilly exploration of the guilt of the bourgeoisie, framed within an intense thriller, Hidden is the kind of film that burrows into the subconscious, and leaves you contemplating its imagery and themes for days on end. Daniel Auteuil and Julliette Binoche are excellent as a complacently content couple who are suddenly targeted by a series of Peeping Tom-style videos, showing them under the watch of an unknown surveyor. The thrills initially come from the idea of unwarranted home intrusion, and the threat of the unknown, before Haneke begins to peel back the surface of his characters, Auteuil in particular, and introduces the element of revenge, and long-dead family secrets.
Haneke creates a sense of dread from the outset of the film, setting up his protagonists as victims, but hinting that there could be something more meaningful afoot. There is a cold precision to the way he frames his scenes, which always suggests something important happening just out of shot, and perfectly lends itself to the thriller genre. The director also raises questions about viewer complicity, and the ever-pertinent theme of voyeurism, by layering showing the surveillance video shots in such a way that we are unsure if we are watching the film, or the video within the film.

4. 2046 (Dir: Wong Kar-Wai, 2004, Hong Kong)

This loose follow up to In The Mood For Love allows the director to fully indulge his visual eye, as he tells a story which crosses space and time in a series of artistic and contemplative vignettes. 2046 is the room number of the apartment in which Chow (the ever-excellent Tony Leung) and Chan (Maggie Cheung) wrote their samurai books and played at being lovers in Mood, but here it is the year in which Chow’s new sci-fi novel is set- the year to which lonely people travel to find their love. The train to 2046 is brilliantly realised with neon bright colours, working as a counterpoint to the sombre mood of the storytelling. Whilst on the train, Chow falls in love with a robot who is doomed to constantly repeat herself- a characteristically off-beat story strand from a director whose visual flair is matched by his skill at weaving simple tales of urban isolation with charismatic asides.
As well as narrating his imaginary journeys to the future, Chow also recalls doomed romances from the past, and Cheung (reprising her earlier role), Gong Li and others provide attractive foils for his melancholia. What story there is is just a framing device for Wong to explore his favourite themes of loneliness, and the cost of love, but he has never done it in such style- director of photography, Chris Doyle’s visuals are his best yet, and set the tone for the elegance of the drama.

3. Brokeback Mountain (Dir: Ang Lee, 2005, USA)

An epic love story with a twist- the two protagonists are men- which is dealt with in such and honest and human way, that it never feels like a gimmick. Classical in nature, the film employs simple methods to tell its story, with traditionally beautiful photography contributing to the narrative, and unfussy direction allowing the actors to shine. Stunning vistas dominate the mise-en-scene, showcasing a changing west, and the titular mountain in particular is shot with real care, becoming a symbol in the same way as the Empire State Building in King Kong, or the mountain-top monastery in Black Narcissus. It is when on the mountain that Jack and Ennis, the two lovers, find the happiness that the outside world cannot offer them. For Jack, he is free to become the person that he wants to be, whereas Ennis allows himself to forget the person he feels he should be.
The strength of the two lead performances is paramount to the success of the film, with Heath Ledger capturing the moodiness and inner-turmoil of the tacit Ennis, and Jake Gyllenhaal imbuing Jack with the sense of childlike wonder that only true love can bring. Watching them interact as the film goes on tells you everything you need to know about their characters, where they have been, and where they are heading, and this is both heart-warming and tragic. Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway also turn in expert performances as Ennis and Jack’s respective wives. In addition to the other qualities on display, Brokeback features one of the finest scores of the decade, if not the finest. There is such heart to this tale, conveyed with an often understated elegance of expression, that, though it may be a ‘weepie’ (if that is a criticism), Brokeback endures as a classic in the truest sense of the world.

2. There Will Be Blood (Dir: Paul Thomas Anderson, 2007, USA)

From the very first shot of Daniel Day-Lewis’s Daniel Plainview single-mindedly scrabbling for oil in the American south, it is clear that There Will Be Blood is going to be the type of film that you don’t so much watch, as experience. Day-Lewis’s performance is billed as the main event here, and it is a powerhouse display, showing a man who becomes beguiled by his own greed, a man who is defined by his bravura, and his success, until there is really nothing else there. Plainview isn’t only an ‘oil man’, he is a showman, and there is great enjoyment to be had in working out where the show ends, and the man begins.
As a portrait of a man slowly going out of his mind, the film hits all the right notes, but this isn’t just about one man. There Will Be Blood is also a damning indictment of what could be considered the twin evils of modern America- corporation and religion. The religious aspect is represented by Paul Dano’s conniving preacher, and the battle of wills that plays out between these two men, consumed by greed, provides thrilling drama. Anderson’s shot-making is incredible, from that tour-de-force opening sequence, to the fire scene and beyond. Long-shots of the oilmen at work visualise the ideas of the film, with even the score offering a dissonant reminder that this is a film in which industry plays a key role.

1. In The Mood For Love (Dir: Wong Kar-Wai, 2000, Hong Kong)

Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung are sublime in Wong’s masterpiece, as Mr Chow and Mrs Chan, two lonely married Hong Kong Chinese who discover that their spouses are having an affair with one another, and form a touching relationship based on the desire not to follow suit. The theme of restraint that runs throughout brings to mind Brief Encounter, but while the lovers in that film are held back by social conventions, Wong’s protagonists inflict on themselves a dignified self-sacrifice, borne out of their own sense of morality. Both leads cut attractive figures, and while Cheung’s performance highlights Chan’s resignation to the fact that happiness will elude her, Leung’s Chan is all inward yearning. The chemistry between the two is great, and it is a testament to the actors, and the director, that so much emotion is conveyed with so few words. There are no Hollywood-style kisses, or grand proclamations of love; instead we see Chow and Chan work on a samurai novel, and use role-play to simulate their reactions to their spouses coming clean.
Wong’s trademark visual style is in full effect here; the recreation of 60’s Hong Kong is moodily beautiful, with an attention to detail in the set and costume design giving the film a richness of look to go along with the simplicity of the storytelling. His signature use of slow-motion and repeated shots is also put to good use, as we see Chan glide down the staircase of her apartment building time and again, fetishizing her, as well as reminding us that she is to be looked at and not touched. A scene where rain beats down on the night-time streets provides a sumptuous visual, and the use of blues music works well for the time period, and to create mood, something which nobody does as well as Wong. Chow and Chan are two ships that pass in the night, and Mood has the grace, style, charm, and the necessary restraint, to make their story as beautiful and tragic a love story as there has ever been in cinema.