1. Anora

Pretty Woman but make it indie. A sex worker gets swept off her feet by the happy-go-lucky son of a Russian oligarch. Briefly, we allow ourselves to get carried away by their silly and sexy romance. Then the parents intervene, a group of (only semi-competent) Russian gangsters enter the scene, the Russian Prince Charming turns out to be a bit of a dud, and we find out just how feisty our heroine really is. Directed by Sean Baker, the Shakespeare of sex workers, reprobates, and loveable losers, and featuring a star-making turn by Mikey Madison in the title role.

2. Conclave

Director Edward Berger brings us the most audaciously entertaining film of the year. The pope dies and the cardinals are placed in seclusion—a conclave—to select their new leader. Egos run amok, battle lines are drawn, and everyone’s ambition rises to the surface. Ralph Fiennes is impeccable, as usual, as the cardinal in charge of the whole thing—trying to separate the righteous from the power-hungry. The twist at the end is satisfying, if a bit ridiculous. Pay close attention to the nuns.

3. Thelma

When 93-year-old Thelma (June Squibb, perfection) gets tricked by scammers, she takes matters into her own hands, inspired by her restless spirit and her love of Mission Impossible films. Her reluctant partner in crime is Ben (the late Richard Roundtree, wonderful), who tags along and tries to quell her more dangerous impulses. Meanwhile, her frantic family—including her slightly dim and doting grandson, Daniel (Fred Hechinger)—chases after her. But she doesn’t want to be rescued, she’s having the time of her life. And so are we.

4. A Real Pain

Ostensibly a film about a pair of cousins (Jesse Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin) traveling to Poland to see the hometown of their grandmother who survived the Holocaust, Eisenberg’s film is actually about how we manage to live in a world full of suffering. Most of us compartmentalize, adapt, deny. But what if someone feels everything a little too deeply? That’s Culkin’s Benji. His outsized emotions manage to be the perfect foil to Eisenberg’s well-tempered repression. We watch the cousins fumble toward a mutual understanding and see Benji interact with the world—in turns annoying, delighting, and unsettling everyone he encounters.

5. A Different Man

Edward (Sebastian Stan) has Proteus syndrome, aka Elephant Man’s disease, and lives a quiet life of desperation. His beautiful new neighbor (Renate Reinsve) shows him kindness and he briefly misunderstands her intentions. Her rejection sends him spiraling—eventually to a doctor who claims to have a cure. He emerges a new man, a handsome one, who actually begins a tentative romance with the neighbor. But his world—and worldview—are disrupted when another man (Adam Pearson) with the exact same affliction arrives on the scene. This man has a joie de vivre—he charms the world with his friendliness and openness; he’s a lesson about embracing life in the form of a doppelganger. This quirky, smart, and slightly off-kilter film from Aaron Schmiberg is reminiscent of the early collaborations between Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman.

6. Emilia Pérez

Like nothing you’ve ever seen. A Mexican drug lord (enthralling Karla Sofia Gascon, in a dual role) recruits an overworked and underpaid lawyer (Zoe Saldana, never better) to arrange for him to get a sex change and start a new life. Once she has the surgery, she becomes a formidable but nurturing philanthropist who helps people find loved ones who died in the drug wars. But she pines for her two children so arranges to have them come live with her, along with her “widowed” wife (Selena Gomez), under the pretense that she’s the drug kingpin’s long lost sister. How long can she keep this charade up? Did I mention that Jacques Audiard’s film is a rock opera? I loved every cockamamie second of it.

7. The Beast

A sci-fi love story, of sorts, with three distinct chapters. In the framing device, set in the future, a woman named Gabrielle (Lea Seydoux, mesmerizing as ever) fears undergoing a process that “purifies” her DNA by conjuring and then eradicating memory of her past lives. She meets and is instantly drawn to a man named Louis (George MacKay) who shares her reservations about the process.

In a flashback to the turn of the 20th century, she’s a pianist and dollmaker who meets Louis at a party, where she confides in him that she has a dark cloud of dread hanging over her. In the middle memory, set in contemporary times, Louis is, shockingly, a deadly incel, modeled after Elliot Rodger. (Here, director Bertrand Bonello seems to be making a statement about the isolation and difficulty of real intimacy in modern society.) In the final chapter, we wait to see if she and Louis will undergo the treatment, thus losing their past-life connection. What does it all mean Honestly, I’m not sure, but I was absolutely riveted.

7. Will & Harper

Sure, it was jokey and gimmicky, not the kind of serious documentary that will win awards, but no film this year moved me more than this one, in which Will Ferrell takes a cross country trip to get reacquainted with his old best friend who has transitioned and become a woman. The film is generous, open-hearted, curious, and incredibly funny, much like Ferrell himself. It felt like the exact right film at the exact right time.

9. Challengers

Why aren’t there more films about tennis? Not only is the sport itself cinematic—all that thwacking and sweating and skidding across the court—it’s a showdown between two people, the ultimate war of wills. Ingeniously, Luca Guadagnino made his tennis film about two best friends (Mike Faist and Josh O’Connor) turned rivals who are both in love with the same woman, Tashi Donaldson (Zendaya). A threesome of sorts plays out off the court—it’s possible the young men are a little in love with each other, too. But on the court, they’re playing for nothing less than Tashi’s heart.

10. The Apprentice

Films are empathy machines, as Roger Ebert famously said. Which is why I was afraid to watch Ali Abbasi’s film about Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong) and his Svengali-like mentorship of Donald Trump (Sebastian Stan). It’s true, young Trump seems a little sheepish here, a little too eager to get out from under his father’s shadow, and almost something resembling sweet. But as Cohn teaches him the three rules of business combat: attack, attack, attack; admit nothing and deny everything; and claim victory no matter the outcome—he creates a monster in his own image.

Trump’s star surpasses his own and suddenly, the rapacious narcissist we all know emerges, treating the man who invented him like a mere rung on the ladder to success. Both performances are excellent—we watch Stan slowly become Trump, mannerisms and all, and Strong actually makes us pity one of the worst humans who ever lived.

Runners up (in alphabetical order): Ex Husbands, Good One, Hit Man, Janet Planet, Love Lies Bleeding, Messy, My Old Ass

*As of writing this, I had not yet seen a few highly praised films, including The Brutalist, Nickel Boys, and Hard Truths.

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But what if I told you that Edward Berger’s Conclave was one of the most exciting and best films of the year—a tense and beautifully shot procedural filled with intrigue, surprise twists, double-crosses, and almost incalculably high stakes.

Early in the film, the stage is set. The pope has died and while many high-ranking clergymen fuss over his death bed, only one seems to truly be in mourning. That’s the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), whom we find out later had recently tried to resign his post—without success. Maybe the pope knew he was going to die, Lawrence speculates, and he wanted someone he trusted running the conclave.

A conclave, for the uninitiated, is a special election of a new pope by the Cardinals. That deal with the smoke billowing out of the Vatican until we get a new pope? That’s the conclave.

And if you think it’s a peaceful and stress free process, may I direct your attention to HBO’s Succession?

Four candidates emerge early on. There’s Stanley Tucci’s Bellini, the self-described liberal of the group, who wants the Catholic church to continue its progress on social issues. There’s Adeyemi (Lucien Msamati), who would be the first Black pope, but has some skeletons in his closet. There’s the entertainingly loathsome Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), who vapes like he’s in some South Beach nightclub and believes that the Catholic Church should regress to its traditional ways—Latin liturgy, no women in the church, no gay marriage. (Tedesco makes the mistake of assuming Lawrence shares his values. When he casually mentions what a disaster it would be if Adeyemi becomes pope, Lawrence radiates with visible disgust.) Finally, there’s the seemingly mild-mannered Tremblay (John Lithgow), the moderate choice—but what to make of the rumors that the pope asked for his resignation shortly before he died?

As Dean, it falls on Lawrence to oversee the conclave, but there is a complicating factor—the cardinals are in lockdown, and therefore he has no access to outside information that might help him get to the bottom of the various rumors.

The first of many votes comes in and there are a few surprises: For one, Lawrence gets a few votes, even though he made it clear he wasn’t interested. Adeyemi is in the lead, with the other three main contenders fairly far behind. And there’s an even a more surprising vote bringing up the rear—for the humble Benitez (Carlos Biehz), a newcomer to the Vatican who had been serving a dangerous Catholic ministry in Afghanistan and had been secretly made a Cardinal by the pope.

The similarities to American politics, to all politics for that matter, are strictly intentional. Tucci’s Bellini pretends to be a reluctant candidate, but secretly craves the job. Tremblay is so blinded by ambition, he’s lost his moral compass. And as for Tedesco, his motto may as well be, “Make the Vatican Great Again.”

All the cardinals are so grasping they can hardly believe that Lawrence means it when he says he doesn’t want to be pope. They accuse him of secret ambition and sabotage, when he’s actually only seeking someone worthy of the job. (That said, he does have a papal name picked out: John. It’s that old aphorism about American politics: “Something happens to a man when he looks in the mirror and sees a president.”)

Although I was a fan of Edward Berger’s All Quiet on the Western Front, I found its score a little jarring (intentionally so, but still…). Here, the jangly and stuttering sounds of a string quartet perfectly enhance the tension. The film is shot beautifully in a recreated Vatican—all long halls, secret chambers, and light-filled sanctuaries. (The film’s recreation of Sistine Chapel is impeccable.) But there’s a sense of claustrophobia, too. The cardinals are perfectly cloistered. It might as well be the 17^th century up in there.

All the acting is top notch—Castellitto in particular is a riot—but Ralph Fiennes is nothing short of masterful as Lawrence, a good man caught in the maelstrom of these red-robed men and their outsized ambition, all while grieving the pope and suffering his own crisis of faith. And look for a quietly powerful Isabella Rossellini as the all-seeing and all-knowing Sister Agnes.

Conclave is gripping from beginning to end. It’s one of those movies that reminds you why you love movies.

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His heroes, which include Rushmore’s teacher’s-pet-from-hell Max Fischer, the Ahab-like titular character of The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou, and the preternaturally precocious Sam of Moonrise Kingdom have a few things in common: They tend to be obsessive and stubborn and fastidious. Often they, much like Anderson himself, are drawn to the formality, gentility, and artifacts of a bygone age. And they are convinced, unwaveringly, of their own moral and intellectual superiority.

And now we can add Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes) of The Grand Budapest Hotel to that group. He might very well be the most explicitly heroic of the bunch.

He’s the concierge of the hotel, still a place to see and be seen just before the outbreak of World War II, but already a symbol of fading Old World glamour. He’s as conscientious and perfectionist as you would want a concierge to be: Pleasing his customers is his number one priority—even if that means having sex with the aging doyennes who check in. Because he’s such an aesthete, because he squirts himself generously with expensive French cologne, and because he calls everyone “sport” and “darling”, everyone assumes he’s gay, but he’s not. He’s also no coward. His integrity is unassailable—he will fight to the death for his own good name and the good name of his friends. (He’ll also positively kill for a good glass of champagne, darling.)

We meet Gustave through the wide eyes of Zero (Tony Revolori), another one of Andersons’ wonderful filmic sidekicks. (For each eccentric, there is almost always an adoring and trusty sidekick, more resourceful than he looks.) Zero is a lobby boy and Gustave’s stoic and observant pupil, whose painted on pencil mustache suggests that perhaps he shares some of his mentor’s rarefied tastes.

F. Murray Abraham plays the mysterious Mr. Moustafa, who tells the story of Gustave, Zero, and the Grand Budapest Hotel to a keenly interested writer (Jude Law) some 40 years later. The hotel is now in disrepair, sparsely occupied; indeed, it should have been razed along with similar hotels decades ago.

The action, as Moustafa tells it, kicks into high gear when Gustave’s favorite octogenarian benefactor (Tilda Swinton, still unmistakable beneath pounds of makeup) dies and bequeaths Gustave a priceless painting. The family, especially her scoundrel son Dmitri (Adrien Brody), are enraged and have Gustave arrested for her murder. Also on hand: Dmitri’s creepy muscle (Willem Dafoe), an aging tough Gustave meets in prison (Harvey Keitel), and a perpetually one-step-behind police inspector (Edward Norton).

There is also a love story, between Zero and a young pastry maker named Agatha, a pretty girl, save for a birthmark on her face that looks like a map of Italy. The pastries she makes—decadently swirled with whipped cream and nestled fussily in pink boxes—are a character unto themselves.

Wes Anderson’s films are often described as twee or whimsical, but there’s tons of action here—albeit heavily stylized action. There are fights on trains and chases in the alps and even prison escapes, all brought off with Anderson’s characteristic droll wit and imagination. But in the end, The Grand Budapest Hotel is all about the singular creation that is Gustave. Ralph Fiennes has given us a hero for the ages, a sort of Tim Gunn as action hero. It’s a long way from next year’s Oscar time, but here’s hoping he’s not forgotten.

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