Many of us found refuge and solace in film this year. Whether it was because social isolation left us in the grips of boredom more than ever before or because the confounding and often frightening reality of a global pandemic left us shaken and in need of consoling, film was there. I personally watched more films this year than in any year previous, and while much of this viewing was me finally chipping away at the sizeable watchlist I’ve been compiling over the years, I also tried to keep up with the many fantastic new releases that managed to breach our troubled waters and see the light of day.

In 2020, any of us could attest to having been struck by that utterly bizarre notion that “we are living through history right now.” “This will probably be depicted in a movie one day,” we also may have thought. Some of us may have even been so personally affected by the pandemic that we felt we were living in a movie. This year saw record lows in box office earnings, record lows in theatre attendance, and record lows in films released as well as put into production, and yet, this is a year during which some of us probably felt some of our most powerful, personal, and vital connections to our favourite medium.

So enough about the reality of this year – we all know how this year went. Here are my top 10 most revelatory experiences with the non-fiction of this year (and the fiction not related to that virus I’d really like to have to stop naming).

Taylor’s Top Ten Films of 2020

#10 | Tenet (2020) dir. Christopher Nolan

For better or for worse, Christopher Nolan’s latest delivered to us the big, loud, flashy spectacle of a blockbuster that we needed this year (even if many of us were not able to catch it in theatres where it is probably best suited). That said, this is a new breed of blockbuster. Think 2004’s Primer if it had a 200 million dollar budget. A real Einstein-Rosen Bridge of a movie. Call it “metaphysical maximalism,” if you will. The opposed characters highlighted in this picture are essentially the concepts of time and space themselves; humans are just the pawns that get shuffled around in the fray. It’s disorienting and, sure, often utterly incomprehensible at times, but it is also an elating, physically affecting experience that is not to be missed. I often couldn’t tell whether it was my heart rate going bonkers or whether it was Ludwig Göransson’s score. If you are only able to watch this at home, please turn it up.

#9 | Sound of Metal (2019) dir. Darius Marder

The only new release this year to get tears out of me (I promise I’m not some blank, unfeeling bastard). I think this is because Darius Marder’s 2019 TIFF sensation speaks to a trauma we have all experienced during this tumultuous year shaped by a pandemic – the trauma of adjusting to a frightening new world, being ripped from the life we imagined for ourselves and having to come to terms with a strange new timeline. Riz Ahmed deserves award recognition as the recovering addict Ruben, a heavy metal drummer whose reality is shattered when he starts to lose his hearing and his career and personal trajectory is rerouted. His performance is compounded by the film’s sound design, which frequently immerses you in Ruben’s muted world and asks you to engage with the film in ways you may not be accustomed to. To hang – really hang on every gesture, for example, or to recognize the texture of a sound, as opposed to the tone.

#8 | Possessor (2020) dir. Brandon Cronenberg

This is Brandon Cronenberg’s Scanners (1981). By this I mean it is a psychological-cum-body horror flick with sci-fi themes that pits two parties against each other in a cat-and-mouse-style game of wits. Sound a little too intimidating and dense? It’s actually quite stripped-down and immediate. Cronenberg does away with the twinkly “techiness,” the world building, and the heady explanations that usually bog down the sci-fi film, instead delivering cold, visceral, pulpy thrills by the bundle. The violence, on the other hand, is far from stripped-down. It explodes in orgiastic symphonies of blood and makes for some truly jarring and unforgettable imagery. #KeepCanadaWeird

#7 | Palm Springs (2020) dir. Max Barbakow

It is comforting knowing that whatever is going on in your life, Max Barbakow’s world of perpetual sun and cheap poolside beers will always exist as an oasis to escape to. Films like this are therapeutic. This debut feature for the young director is a breezy 90 minutes of concentrated paradise fuel that wisely capitalizes on the chemistry between amicable leads Andy Samberg and Christin Milioti to carry its humour and charm. This is another entry into what feels like the “Groundhog Day genre,” so the basic paradigm at play here is not unexpected, but Palm Springs also offers up enough satisfying twists on the premise to keep everything feeling fresh. It also understands why we return to the premise: because the feeling of being in a “loop”—a rut, a funk, a crossroads (whatever you want to call it)—is a part of our existence, and a vital nexus point for self-actualization and fulfillment.

#6 | Never Rarely Sometimes Always (2020) dir. Eliza Hittman

A deliberately paced, sobering little glimpse of realism that speaks volumes about the mountains being climbed by the people we pass on the streets every day. I would consider myself pretty uninformed on what an abortion in America actually entails these days, and so I’m glad a film like this exists. This is eye opening. The word I’m searching for is “urgent.” Eliza Hittman follows two young girls turned inwards to shield themselves from their opposing world, and so her film is one of subtlety, her astute, sensitive direction and Hélène Louvart’s gently probing camera revealing small wonder in every sheepish glance and shift in posture. The sum of these parts will leave you absolutely floored.

#5 | Time (2020) dir. Garrett Bradley

Sibil “Fox” Richardson’s fight to get her husband released from Louisiana State Penitentiary is a struggle marred down by bureaucracy, protocol, and the general apathy of the customer service associates involved. In Bradley’s debut documentary, we see on several occasions Fox—normally a strong-willed and ego-driven woman—forced to wait on hold on the phone and temper herself. For these brief moments, we wait along with her. The film’s balletic piano score fades and the dynamic editing calms and time becomes material. You begin to feel time. You begin to consider with greater urgency the time that flits by, especially in the case of the subject and her six sons, who have to go a large portion of their lives without a husband and father. Time captures both these arduous, liminal moments, as well as the grand mosaic of multiple decades’ worth of experiences past. There is also a larger commentary here on how the U.S. justice system robs black people of their time and, by extension, their lives, every day. This is a towering work that drills right down to the minutiae of what makes every minute worth fighting for.

#4 | Another Round (2020) dir. Thomas Vinterberg

Going into Thomas Vinterberg’s Another Round (Druk), I didn’t know whether to grab a beer and drink along or grab a glass of water and wait for a sobering lesson to be espoused... I guess I still don’t know how to approach this work. Our relationship with alcohol is never fully resolved, and that’s exactly what this film reveals. The highs and lows. The lives ignited and the lives destroyed. That constant flux and fine line between “I’m never drinking again” and “maybe I’ll just drink all day.” This is a surprisingly grounded depiction of imbibing to excess, though, with a lot of heart at its centre and little obnoxiousness. This is due in large part to the relationship between the four mains being the most pure I’ve seen in recent memory. Call this a hangout film and drink whatever you’re most comfortable with, be it alcoholic or non. Skol!

#3 | Soul (2020) dir. Pete Docter

Following Inside Out (2015) and Coco (2017), Pixar continues to push into the galaxy brain stage of its filmography with Soul, another animated dissertation on the weightier existential questions that go beyond the usual moralizing found in children’s films. Pete Docter’s fourth outing as director is an examination of purpose—oft referred to as one’s “spark” in the film—a topic that might not even occur to your toddler, but is nonetheless elaborated on with eloquence, inventiveness, and humour that any age should gravitate towards. As if it needs to be said, the animation from the California studio again feels like it has made leaps and bounds, and Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross, and John Batiste turn in some very exhilarating work for the score. This film is more pared-back when compared to the elaborately colourful Coco and the explosively imaginative Inside Out, but it is all the better for it, turning its main character Joe’s story into the most grounded and warmly comforting the studio has produced – maybe ever.

#2 | i’m thinking of ending things (2020) dir. Charlie Kaufman

Charlie Kaufman broke into directing with the immense treatise on mortality and artistry with Synecdoche, New York (2008), and he continues to plumb the depths of existential dread in his latest – albeit on a smaller, more humble scale. i’m thinking of ending things implodes a psychological battle of the sexes, taking young couple Jessie Buckley and Jesse Plemons down a dark, frigid highway and into darker, cerebral passages of the mind that snake and split like cracks in the ice. It can be easy to get lost along the way, but thanks to some meticulous tinkering with subtle clues and editing tricks, gorgeous production design, and nifty camerawork, there is plenty to sink into your teeth into on your repeat viewings (trust me, you’ll be craving them). I know we’re all obsessed with our binge-worthy shows, but I posit that having quick access to rewatching original films is what Netflix was made for.

#1 | My Mexican Bretzel (2019) dir. Nuria Giménez

An engrossing experience in every sense of the word, accomplished with the sparest elements: image, text, and the occasional sound, used to maximal effect. My Mexican Bretzel is a wholly unique and often disquieting experiment with found footage from Nuria Giménez, investigating the truths and lies within storytelling by pairing a fictional account from one Vivian Barrett with old vacation footage culled from Giménez’s grandparents. Faded, sun-drenched clips of smiling faces and fanfare in France, Cuba, and Italy take on inverted qualities as Vivian’s existential dread seeps into and poisons the film’s fabric, her thoughts of infidelity, purpose, and mortality making us ache for her life and for our own. Silence hugs you like a dark cloak throughout the film’s runtime, breaking for the odd field recording or wafts of Throbbing Gristle-style drone music. It is as if you are alone in some space vessel suspended out light years from humanity and this film is some phantom signal that has reached your screen. What you’re left with is a confounding new perspective on the stories you tell yourself in your head and the relationship these stories forge with the person you are (or think you are, anyway). And after that, well, maybe it’s time for a lie down. There’s been a lot to process this year.

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Taylor's Top Ten In 2020