So. That has been the year that was. Anecdotally, I can’t say it’s been a good one for anybody who isn’t a despot. Despite having such a futuristic-sounding enumerator, it has been a time of regression, retrenchment and (justifiable) fatalism. Even the movie nerds, those definitive solipsists, have found occasion to gnash their teeth and rend their garments, either because they didn’t have enough motivation to go to the theater or because one corporate absorption of another might result in fewer opportunities to complain.
2025 didn’t produce a Barbenheimer (anomalous as that was) or a unified cinematic movement to lead anybody to a brighter/darker/just different age. It’s been a year of metaphoric sheltering in place, of waiting for the impending cataclysm — bang, whimper, whatever. But, speaking only for myself, the end times haven’t really dulled the appetite for entertainment.
In the post-COVID redrawing of the boundaries in the ongoing conflict between streaming and theatrical, we’ve had less access to some of the more esoteric offerings than we did in the halcyon plague years. As a corollary, the Hollywood old guard seems to have precious little idea how to adapt to the landscape they have done so much to create. Despite this awkward adolescence, this between-time of access, people are still out there making stuff; some of it even manages to get through.
In considering the year in screens, I find myself looking back fondly on the moments given to me. Pedigree and pretense seem to mean even less to me now than ever. I’m hanging on to the lingering sense memories, the echoes of the visceral charge that movies (and what we used to call television) can deliver.
To get it out of the way early, I’ll admit I’m a Taylor Sheridan junkie. His work has needlessly become a sort of political football, at least in some quarters, but I admire the wherewithal and ambition of a writer — a WRITER— who has used imagination and words to build an empire. I’ve been paying attention since his (maybe not perfect) performance on Sons of Anarchy, to the devastating revelation of Wind River (2017) to, now, waiting each week for new episodes of Landman and Mayor of Kingstown; I’m basic. That done, we can move on to a barely elevated list of the movies that meant something to me in 2025.
Presence has become something of a critical punching bag, which seems misdirected and pointless. It’s a humble little exercise in genre and perspective, from not only one of the great working directors (Steven Soderbergh), but also one of the few living name-brand screenwriters (David Koepp). It dares to be a modern ghost story that still feels tied to its lineage and incorporates an actual sense of risk.
The Monkeyand Keeper, almost as embattled as Presence, still stand as a testament of Osgood Perkins’ seizing of a moment. More importantly, they both contain images and mood that linger in the memory and are charged with a joyfully sick melange of humor and dread that feels appropriate for our moment.
Freaky Tales dropped off the radar just about as soon as it blipped but is prominent among my memories of feeling transported by movies in 2025. Decidedly not for all audiences — the high-minded probably foremost among them — it’s a paean to a place and time that, for its flaws, is indelible and unlike anything else.
Warfare wasn’t plot-driven (read: artificial) enough for some, too truthful for others and broadly misread as something it certainly is not. I found it evocative and honest in its brutality, possibly the truest American war story we’ve seen on screen since 2008’s Generation Kill.
Friendship. You’re either with Tim Robinson or against. This is for us.
Mountainhead, a queasy satiric parable very much about the present day, doesn’t yield as satisfying a conclusion as most probably want, but that seems appropriate, given its themes and tone. I still find myself laughing darkly at the cast chanting “Khashoggi, Khashoggi!” on their way to attempt to murder one of their friends, a fellow billionaire.
F1: The Movie remains one of the few Big Movies of the year to have penetrated, and even its impact seems a little ephemeral. But for fans of old-fashioned Hollywood mythmaking, this was sugar on the tongue.
Train Dreams. Another throwback, or at least an artwork removed from its time, this lingers in the memory with exquisite, elegiac quietude. Mishandled, it would seem pretentious; it does not.
Perhaps due to the (not unjustified) vilification of Netflix, it seems like Kathryn Bigelow’s A House of Dynamite, a disconcerting alternate-present nuclear catastrophe picture has been relegated to some dim-lit corner, but I continue to consider it.
Roofmanand The Smashing Machine, because they are both artful examples of fictionalized biography and were unfairly pilloried as box-office failures, will share a mention here. Also because each centers on an against-type performance from two of our previous (my current) favorite stars.
One of One is a niche documentary that succeeds more because of its subject than its execution. I think this could prove satisfying both to car people and admirers of craft, diligence and dedication.
Bugonia shows Yorgos Lanthimos doing prescient satire as only he can. Chilling, hilarious and absolutely unbounded.
One Battle After Another. C’mon. It’s on everybody’s list.
Splitsville, to me, was the most pleasant surprise of the year. A biting relationship comedy with a drum-tight script, gorgeous photography and some of the best fight choreography in contemporary American cinema.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
NOW PLAYING
ANACONDA. Buddies (Paul Rudd, Jack Black) on a DIY movie remake mission are pursued by the title character. PG13. 100M. BROADWAY.
AVATAR: FIRE AND ASH. Na’vi-on-Na’vi violence in the latest installment of James Cameron’s sci-fi action franchise. PG13. 195M. BROADWAY (3D), MINOR.
DAVID. Animated Old Testament tale about a shepherd who beans a giant with a rock. PG. 115M. BROADWAY.
ELLA MCCAY. Comedy-drama about a newly elected governor (Emma Mackey) with a complicated family. PG13. 115M. BROADWAY.
FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S 2. Sequel to the Chuck E. Cheese-esque animatronic horror. PG13. 104M. BROADWAY.
KIDZ BOP LIVE: THE CONCERT MOVIE. Heads up: They do not let you drink in the lobby. 81M. BROADWAY.
THE HOUSEMAID. Amanda Seyfried and Sydney Sweeney in a thriller about weird dynamics with the help. R. 131M. BROADWAY.
LABYRINTH (1986). Celebrate the 40th anniversary of Bowie snatching babies and revisit the youth and wild potential time has stolen from you. PG. 106M. BROADWAY.
MARTY SUPREME. Timothée Chalamet plays a ping pong champ in the 1950s, when that kind of thing apparently got you laid. R. 150M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
SONG SUNG BLUE. Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson play singers who find love in a Neil Diamond cover band. PG13. 133M. BROADWAY.
THE SPONGEBOB MOVIE: SEARCH FOR SQUAREPANTS. Your favorite boxy hero takes on the Flying Dutchman’s ghost. PG. 96M. BROADWAY (3D).
WICKED: FOR GOOD. Elphaba and Glinda reunite from opposite sides of the yellow brick tracks to save Oz in the sequel. PG. 137M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
ZOOTOPIA 2. Ginnifer Goodwin and Jason Bateman return to voice the rabbit and fox crimefighting duo in the animated comedy adventure. PG. 108M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
For showtimes, visit catheaters.com and minortheatre.com.
This article appears in Top 10 Stories of 2025.