Compared to most other years, 2025 has been personally tough for me. For much of the time, I’ve felt like a boxer with their gloves up, responding to various events, whether self-inflicted or sheer dumb luck. But that has not diminished my love of cinema and what it has offered through the course of the year. Rather than just post pictures and quotes in a straightforward top ten list, I thought I’d discuss some of my favourite films of the year and the themes that have appealed to me.

The first and most pressing is the existential crisis that cinema has faced. Since its inception, the medium has faced challenges that were presumed to spell death, whether it’s the advent of sound or the ability to watch films at home (via physical media). However, between the pandemic, a sharp change in people’s viewing habits and the looming Netflix acquisition of Warner Bros, the cinematic experience has truly felt under threat.

In many instances, this has not felt true when attending certain movies this year. Revival screenings, such as Revenge of the Sith, felt like pre-pandemic cinematic experiences, when you never feared a movie would play to an empty crowd. My sold-out IMAX screening of Sinners somewhat restored my faith in the medium’s future. Given the nature of the film, it felt like a concert, with its musical sequences having the audience enraptured. On my first viewing, I read it as an interesting metaphor for cultural appropriation (through the lens of a vampire story). However, on subsequent viewings (aided by unique perspectives on the film), Sinners has really felt like a future classic to me, with its engaging mix of heartfelt drama and genre trappings that paint a remarkable portrait of what it is like to be an artist.

Despite being obviously high on Sinners, it’s not my favourite horror movie of the year. That honour goes to Weapons (along with my favourite film of the year). I’ve not felt that I was on the wavelength of a 2025 movie more than this sophomore effort from Zach Cregger. It really appealed to me because of its deft ability to be comedic and horrific. It also has themes that powerfully resonate, namely, in how we are all so caught up in our own torments that we can’t hope to engage with community tragedy. Instead, we only rage blindly and blame the wrong person because that’s all we can do. It’s also a film that’s yielded the most fascinating perspectives, given what it’s about. And like Sinners, it speaks to the power of the cinematic experience, as Cregger knows how to play with the audience through effective tension and humorous scenes.

Weapons and Sinners were actually good harbingers for a robust year for the horror genre. From 28 Years Later to The Monkey, the often-dismissed genre really came out to bat for the cinematic experience. The other horror picture that impressed me this year was Robert Eggers’ remake of Nosferatu. Herzog’s 1970s remake features in my top ten favourite films, so naturally, I was curious about Eggers’ interpretation. The result was an engrossing and much more dramatic version of the story that explored how a young woman’s sexuality is dismissed by men and society at large. It surprisingly moved me and made the best case for Eggers’ penchant for period authenticity. And like Weapons, it had a sublime dreamlike sequence that spoke to how the medium is still bursting with a creative, surreal spirit.

Horror also has an indelible presence in Rian Johnson’s latest Knives Out film- Wake Up Dead Man. There’s an ambitious flashback sequence that feels like a cross between Mario Bava’s and Dario Argento’s Italian sensibility (in terms of the use of colour and tone). The sequence depicts the breakdown of Jefferson Wicks’ (Josh Brolin) mother, Grace, who smashes up the church to look for her inheritance. Throughout the film, she’s labelled as the “harlot whore.” As much as the film is a microcosm for radicalisation in Trump’s America, Dead Man is equally about the killer coming to terms with Grace’s plight (a sort of wrestling with how the American conscience has contended with the MeToo movement). In this regard, it pairs well with Eggers’ Nosferatu remake because it’s about how Willem Dafoe’s character comes to understand and empathise with Lily Rose Depp’s Ellen.

Two other films that had surprising thematic ties were Avatar: Fire and Ash and Hedda. The former, insofar as Jake Sully’s (Sam Worthington) persistent appeal to Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang) to gain a new perspective in his Avatar body. To paraphrase Jake- “You got new eyes, colonel, learn to open them.” In Nia Dacosta’s bold new interpretation of Henrik Ibsen’s famous play, Hedda (Tessa Thompson) is now a black, bisexual socialite who still harbours complicated feelings for her former flame, Eileen Lovborg (Nina Hoss). Like Jake, Lovborg equally appeals to Hedda to make something of her life other than continuing her persistent cycle of toying and torture of people. In today’s divided age, the empathetic reaching across from people whom we seemingly hold in contempt is as beautiful as it is stark.

Equally as striking was the earnest depiction of goodness in James Gunn’s Superman. On my first viewing of Superman, I was critical of the picture for its seemingly erratic nature. However, on subsequent viewings, I’ve found it to be a comforting and exciting new interpretation of the Man of Steel. Whilst Gunn’s irreverence is evident here, I never felt he was demeaning Superman; instead, he proudly displayed his humanity and ability to see the good in everyone. As he says to Lois in my favourite scene- “Maybe that’s the real punk rock.”

But as ever, no year is ever plain sailing for cinema and 2025 was no exception. If I were to bundle my assessment of the films that disappointed me, then it would come from directors I hold in high regard. By far, my least favourite film of the year is Ari Aster’s Eddington. It’s an indulgent, miscalculated and ultimately shallow experience. Aster’s exploration of how the pandemic changed us never fails to feel surface. I would give it credit if it were at least funny (from a satirical point of view), but it can barely be called a comedy. Instead, it sleepwalks from one social trend to another with a lazy shrug at what it’s saying. Beau is Afraid still remains Aster’s most divisive film, but for me, that effort had a clearer sense of what it was about. Eddington makes one point and keeps hitting it: the pandemic turns us all into human silos who fail to engage rationally with one another. I got that from moment one and still got it as credits rolled.

In the same vein, but not nearly as ruinous, was Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another. Whilst there’s a lot about the film that I appreciate, it felt like a lesser effort from the great American director. This comes down to how shallow it is in addressing its politics and the struggle between motherhood and being a rebellious soul. As such, Battle felt like a film I could admire more then fully embrace.

The final movie I would put in the mixed-to-bad category is Thunderbolts.* Like Battle, it has some admirable parts. This mostly comes in the form of the third act, which depicts depression with a touching sense of empathy, and, like the best comics, uses it as fuel to power its storytelling. However, for much of the time, I found the typical MCU humour undercut moments of sincerity. Coupled with an abrupt ending that had the quality of winging it, and you have an average if not great MCU movie.

To tie everything together, this year’s Netflix movies have proven that there are still filmmakers who create work meant for the big screen. Guillermo del Toro’s resplendent Gothic imagery in Frankenstein was made for the cinema, often combining a sweeping and lush romantic quality that feels in keeping with the time period. And the set design of the central location in Wake Up Dead Man has a grandness that only a big screen can project. In my more pessimistic moments, I’ve thought about the next generation of filmmakers who are not beholden to the cinematic experience and instead have relied on TikTok and YouTube for their stories.

This year marked the release of two big films by big YouTubers. The first was Bring Her Back by Michael Philippou and Danny Philippou (of RackaRacka fame). Whilst I was mainly lukewarm on it, it was still an earnest and, at times, quite disturbing effort (although not as good as their first feature, Talk to Me). The second was Shelby Oaks by Chris Stuckmann. Oaks has had a compelling development. Initially, it was funded by backers on Kickstarter, picked up by Neon and eventually brought to the attention of Mike Flanagan. The film surprised me in its quality and subtext. It’s a film that comments on YouTube and its culture whilst depicting how tragedy can make us fall into the cycle of documenting our lives. Perhaps more than in his reviews, I found Stuckmann’s love of cinema in every frame, and his fondness for Spielberg and Shyamalan, clearly on display.

It’s honestly great to see folks of my generation who grew up on YouTube and made it part of their identity be able to transition into making movies. It may be “Just a fool’s hope”, as Gandalf says, but it’s the one trend in 2025 that has made me hopeful about the future of cinematic storytelling.