Directors Pick Favorite Films of 2024: Christopher Nolan Praises ‘Gladiator 2,’ Barry Jenkins on ‘Nickel Boys’ and More

By Ritesh Batra

The biggest achievement of Payal Kapadia’s film “All We Imagine as Light” is that it stays with you long after you have left the theater. It’s one of those movies that seeps into your skin, and becomes part of you. Payal is a true artist and has a deft hand with her characters. It’s not like she is taking us through a plot or a story as much as she is exploring this world together with us. There’s a sense of play in the film, and an awe and beauty about the splendor of life. The splendor of people carving out their very own singular existence out of cards they are dealt, or the corners they are put in. All the seemingly heavy things are treated not as obstacles but things of wonder; it’s like the baggage of life is a thing of beauty.

And if you don’t realize that, this movie will tell you in the most patient and beautiful way. No one overcomes anything in this movie — it is much too sophisticated for that — and yet it is so full of wonder.

I loved the gentle pacing and the turns in the story, each one well-earned and totally unexpected, and the truth in every scene that is priceless. The movie has a strong sense of place and a grounding, but it is also ethereal. The atmosphere is absolutely intoxicating, both the city and the rural landscapes. And the whole time, Payal is not documenting these places, as much as she is showing us the inner lives of these characters through them. They are not living in the city as much as living through it. Every image takes us deeper into the characters. The wides, especially so. And every choice, even the way text exchanges are shown on screen, or bigger choices like taking the characters into a rural landscape just when we thought this is a story of a city. Lest critics start saying the city is a character, it’s not; the city is a tool, a probe, there is a whole universe inside every one of these characters. It’s hard to describe this movie; calling it poetic would be a cliche. Truly, the work is unflinching and it elevates itself because it relies on not one trick. It’s an exploration. We truly don’t know where she is taking us next, and it’s hard to refuse an invitation from this gifted storyteller. She has formed a compact with us in that opening sequence that carries through the end — I will never lie to you, I will always take you somewhere deeper, there is something extraordinary in these seemingly ordinary lives. And you know it’s true; how could it not be?

When I tell you this movie has all the splendor and awe of deep space exploration, believe me. It has a feeling of being up there in outer space, and yet we are on the Earth the whole time in the city or in the village, but always inside these characters.

Ritesh Batra’s films include “The Lunchbox” and “Photograph.”

By Andrew Haigh

Steve McQueen’s “Blitz” is a revelation. As ever, McQueen’s direction is a bravura display of the epic and intimate, from the thrilling opening as firefighters struggle to control unruly firehoses in a burning, war-torn London to his tender and authentic depiction of family life. It is clear from every frame that McQueen and his collaborators have taken meticulous care re-creating London during the Blitz, from the realism of Adam Stockhausen’s stunning sets and Jacqueline Durran’s exquisite costumes, to the inquisitive cinematography from Yorick Le Saux, finding transcendent beauty amidst the desperate chaos. While borne out of factual research, McQueen deftly brings us an entirely fresh perspective by focusing on lives seldom seen in a film within this genre. In doing so, he finds a searing honesty that is reflected in the graceful performances, notably the love, bond and playfulness between Saoirse Ronan’s Rita, a young single mother, and her bi-racial son George, played so naturally by outstanding newcomer Elliott Heffernan. We see women given center stage, the true backbone of society in Britain during WWII as men went to fight and women held together their families and worked in munitions factories. McQueen also delights in working with music, choreography and movement, from the opulent before and after shots of Café de Paris to the more intimate yet equally vibrant club scene, highlighting both the cosmopolitan London of the time and the disparity between working class and affluent Londoners. In many ways, McQueen defines what it means to be British, and all within a heartfelt epic for everyone.

Andrew Haigh has directed such films as “All of Us Strangers,” Lean on Pete,” “45 Years” and TV series “Looking.”

By Alexander Payne

Recently I’d been watching a bunch of artsy-fartsy stuff when I saw “Conclave” — yes, projected — and within the first five minutes I thought, oh good, a movie. A real, old-fashioned movie-movie like Grandma used to make. Classy too. We don’t get enough of those anymore, and when we do, I’m excited.

Sure, I’d admired “All Quiet on the Western Front” plenty, even if it didn’t exactly have a whole lot of laughs. But it was also a good movie, and it had made me think, who is this Edward Berger guy?

How does he know how to do all this fancy stuff, plus cast so many great actors and direct them so well? I make movies myself occasionally, but I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to blow people up or the guts to ask the art department to dig all those trenches and make all those big puddles.

Then he makes “Conclave” and takes the same imagination and meticulousness that he put into the big war movie and focuses it like a surgeon on a contained story about the intrigues and schemes behind the scenes when a pope dies. You just can’t believe how riveting it is — funny and suspenseful and so well-cast and well- acted. Berger has the miraculous quality of making something you never forget is a movie, but at the same time, it’s as though you’re actually there.

They’re very different movies, but they share a consistent theme. They’re both about unmasking powerful institutions and revealing the massive egos calling the shots for the masses — egos alternately noble and ignoble, mostly the latter.

What joy that Edward Berger walks among us. I miss the movies we used to have — healthy-budgeted human dramas and comedies with great movie stars and visual scope, movies like we used to get from Pollack, Forman, Minghella and Pakula — you know, good movies.

If this Berger mug plays his cards right, he’s well on his way to standing right beside them.

Director Alexander Payne has made eight feature films including “Election,” “Sideways,” “The Descendants,” “About Schmidt,” “Nebraska” and “The Holdovers,” and has been nominated for seven Academy Awards, including two wins for adapted screenplay.

By Taylor Hackford

When I introduced Jacques Audiard and his cast at the Hollywood premiere of “Emilia Pérez” back in October at the American French Film Festival, I began my list of superlatives with: “This film could never have been made by AI.” The spontaneous applause that followed attested to the audience’s understanding that this film is a consummate explosion of A Brilliant Director’s original Vision. Audiard utilizes every tool in his cinematic arsenal to illustrate this tale of one human being’s amazing journey of self-discovery. Incorporating elements of film noir and melodrama, expressed operatically through passionate color, music and dance, “Emilia Pérez” defies categorization.

Audiard’s leading lady, Karla Sofía Gascón, creates one of the most indelible heroines I’ve ever seen on screen. And his other two female stars, Zoe Saldaña and Selena Gomez, pulsate with their own riotous ambitions and desires. Their ultimate tribute came last May when the Cannes Festival Jury awarded them all the best actress award.

Although his powerful vision is palpable, Audiard is an ultimate collaborator — challenging every member of his creative team to work at the height of their powers in service to this daring film. What a privilege it must have been to work with a director who inspires such a level of ingenuity and brilliance.

“Emilia Pérez” is a revelation!!!

Taylor Hackford has directed such features as “Ray,” “Dolores Claiborne,” “Against All Odds” and “An Officer and a Gentleman.”

By Rick Famuyiwa

I met Rachel Morrison on the set of my film “Dope,” which she DP’ed. She is a fearless artist and a tenacious filmmaker with a discerning eye for honesty in whomever or whatever she shoots, whether as one of the preeminent cinematographers in Hollywood or now in her feature directorial debut.

It’s fitting that Rachel is at the helm of a film about a fighter and barrier breaker because that is exactly who she is. The story of Olympic boxer Claressa Shields is one Rachel has been burning to tell for several years. I watched as she fought to bring her vision for this movie to life through the challenging crosswinds of an evolving business and a global pandemic. My friend got knocked down and resiliently got back up.

Rachel ensures the film confronts hard truths, addressing the socioeconomic challenges of life in Flint and the biases that undermine female athletes. By combating familiar tropes, she crafts a layered narrative that is full of heart, humanity, passion and inspiration.

Her direction is visionary, and you can understand her empathy and collaboration in every frame of this film. She doesn’t just want you to watch; she wants you to feel — and she does that in the most stunning way. This debut is a bold statement on breaking barriers and reimagining the stories we tell.

“The Fire Inside” grabbed me from its opening frame. I knew I was in the hands of a confident and inspired filmmaker and the comfortable embrace of my friend.

Rick Famuyiwa helmed “Dope,” episodes of “The Mandalorian” “Ahsoka” and “They Call Me Magic.”

By Christopher Nolan

In Ridley Scott’s first “Gladiator,” Maximus asks us, “Are you not entertained?” and we’re confronted with the truth of why we’d visit the Colosseum through a movie. Scott knows we’re not there for insights into Roman culture; we’re there to see our own dark desires at a comfortable remove. But he’s far too experienced a director to get caught making parallels with our time. He lets the world of “Gladiator II” speak for itself, once again showing us who we are simply by inviting us to enjoy the crazy inflationary ride. Why are there sharks in the coliseum? Because we demand them, and Scott masterfully gives them to us. As he reveals how the games are used to manipulate public opinion, we can’t help but see shadows of our own public arena projected onto the sand.

Like the best long-awaited sequels, “Gladiator II” must be a remake and sequel in one, and it’s testament to Scott’s brilliance that he manages to balance the individual pathos of the original with the expansionist demands of the sequel’s central theme, bringing a lifetime of experience in controlling tone. Scott raises the game with the staging of his action — his incredible, hyper-observant, multi-camera mise-en-scène (so different to the original) masterfully wrestles the action into clear and jaw-dropping sequence after sequence. The effect is not just to entertain, but to drive us towards awareness of the movie’s themes. Few filmmakers have ever worked so invisibly on multiple levels. In films from “Blade Runner” to “Thelma and Louise” to “Gladiator II,” the visual density of Scott’s art serves as foil for his underlying thematic clarity.

Despite all his success, Scott’s contribution to the evolution of cinematic storytelling has never been properly acknowledged. Visual innovations he and fellow directors from the British adland of the 1970s brought to cinema were often dismissed as superficial, but critics of the time missed the point — the lavish photography and meticulous design brought new depth to the visual language of movies, mise-en-scène that could tell us what the worlds they portrayed might feel like. This has never been as clear as in the masterful opening shot of “Gladiator II,” where Paul Mescal’s hand gently cradles the grain harvested from the original movie’s swaying wheat.

Oscar-winner Christopher Nolan has directed such features as “Oppenheimer,” “Interstellar,” “Inception,” “The Prestige,” “Memento” and the Batman trilogy: “Batman Begins,” “The Dark Knight” and “The Dark Knight Rises.”

By Alfonso Cuaron

Rio de Janeiro, 1971. Eunice Pavia blissfully floats in the warm waters of the Atlantic Ocean when her peace is disrupted by the rotors of a military helicopter that, like an ominous cloud, flies across the Rio de Janeiro bay.

On the beach, a stray dog invades the court, where her teen daughter, Veroca, plays volleyball. Marcelo, her 11-year-old son, takes the dog and rushes home across the street, where we meet his other siblings. There, he asks his father, Rubens Paiva, if they can adopt the scruffy stray.

And as we are guided through the spaces where the family lives, we are invited to share their intimacy and their dreams with an immediacy that is almost palpable. Through their story, we witness the shattering of harmony when Rubens is taken from his home by armed forces, and we follow Eunice’s determined struggle to bring him back.

Watching a Walter Salles film is to be embraced in generosity, is like experiencing a gravitational pull, both lifting and grounding us at the same time with an invisible yet undeniable force.

With “I’m Still Here,” this effect is even more compelling. Walter, who was close to the Pavia family, not only chronicles a real-life story of terror, resilience and acceptance, but also delivers a personal and collective memory — a cautionary tale that is an eerie mirror of fraught political times past and present. Above all, Walter envelops us in a meditation on the passage of time and our own impermanence, leaving love as the only force that endures.

Oscar-winner Alfonso Cuarón’s latest project is Apple TV+’s “Disclaimer.”

By Fede Alvarez

I’ve always believed that there is no greater accomplishment for a film than to impact us with such strength that it forever changes how we experience our lives. The first “Inside Out” taught us the importance of sometimes allowing sadness into our kids’ hearts, as well as our own, in a way that stays with me till this day.

So when I sat down to watch “Inside Out 2,” these thoughts and expectations were surely on my mind. But as I waited for a powerful new life lesson, I quickly surrendered to the mesmerizing story. I was lost in the sound of my kids’ laughter, the result of the pitch-perfect work of director Kelsey Mann, who masterfully takes us through the misadventures of the main character Riley during her first days as a teenager, as well as the witty inner workings of her newfound emotions. Every single story beat is effortless and inevitable.

While witnessing Riley’s inner journey, I was inevitably revisiting my own struggles as a teenager, and how hopelessly lost I was at that time. Soon enough, sadness was asking to come in. And I welcomed her. Maybe because this time I knew tears were going to be followed by a warm embrace. One that comes with learning that all those teen experiences we might think were so unique to our existence, are actually shared by so many of us.

“Inside Out 2” reminded me of the true power of a great film. It’s funny, engaging, moving and Pixar at its best.

Fede Álvarez’s credits include “The Evil Dead,” “Don’t Breathe” and “Alien: Romulus.”

By Chris Columbus

I was walking out of the theater, through the lobby, when I first saw the poster. My eye caught the line, “What would you ask your older self?” Hmm. Intriguing. Then I saw the title. “My Old Ass.” My hope deflated. I thought, “Here we go again. Another cheesy R-Rated coming of age comedy.” But a few weeks later, I reluctantly went to see the film. And boy, was I wrong. The picture was a total delight, completely original and unexpected, the work of a true visionary filmmaker. Megan Park has created a razor sharp, emotionally complex film that features stunning performances from Maisy Stella, Aubrey Plaza, Percy Hynes White and a cast of brilliant supporting actors. Throughout its 89-minute running time, the movie briskly builds to one of the most heart wrenching climaxes I’ve ever seen. I was moved to tears. Not phony Old Yeller tears, but honest, hard earned tears. “My Old Ass” is an instant classic, this generation’s “It’s A Wonderful Life.” Over the past decade, I’ve witnessed a handful of young filmmakers with this kind of extraordinary promise. Megan, along with directors like Ryan Coogler and Robert Eggers, is a crucial component of our cinematic future. Yet she expertly acknowledges the inspiration of our celluloid past, proudly walking in the footsteps of Billy Wilder, Elaine May and John Hughes.

Chris Columbus is known for “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,” “Home Alone” and many other films and TV projects.

By Barry Jenkins

In his wonderful book “In the Blink of an Eye,” Walter Murch states that in cinema, the eyes are the window into the soul, that in granting the audience access to the actors’ unblinking eyes through fewer edits, the soul he speaks of creates an unshakable link between audience and character. What then when the audience inhabits the very eyes of those characters?

In his revolutionary adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s “The Nickel Boys,” RaMell Ross takes up Murch’s thesis and carries it to the stratosphere, actualizing the old saying of walking a mile in another person’s shoes. In the case of Elwood and Turner, the dual leads of RaMell’s remarkable first narrative feature, those shoes don’t travel very far, trapped as they are in a stultifying home for wayward boys. And yet for this director and his bold POV gaze, the journey we accompany these Nickel boys on is monumental.

The images this director conjures consistently astound: an altar cross sparking asphalt on a cold back road, a boy’s image reflected back at himself in his mother’s clothing iron, mesmeric halos of light and … all those eyes. Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor’s deep, yearning and shattering eyes; eyes brightening and dimming, the soul coming and going and, despite it all, coming back again in this beautifully weighted procession of eyes; Elwood and Turner staring at one another and, in a powerful wielding of form, all those boys staring at us.

This is medium-defining work — aesthetically, spiritually — a rich and overwhelming cinema where the camera is always curious and what it finds is always arresting. In a time where there are more ways to make a film than ever (and yet less variation in the look, the feel, the shape of those films than in any other point in the medium’s history) RaMell has given us a new way of seeing. It is a thing to make one both humbled… and filled with gratitude.

Barry Jenkins is an Oscar nominee for “Moonlight,” and his films include “If Beale Street Could Talk,” “The Underground Railroad” and “Mufasa: The Lion King.”

By David Lowery

When I was 8 years old, I read a review of “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” in which the critic suggested he could practically hear Steven Spielberg laughing, just off-camera. Naif that I was, I went to the cinema expecting to actually hear this laughter. I didn’t, of course, but in the years since, when I go to the movies, I listen for it. That implicit authorial glee has become something of a barometer for me, and reader, I heard it loud and clear when I watched Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu.” Now, make no mistake, the film he’s made is macabre and dreadful, and what smiles we see on screen are, at their happiest, pained and wan. But Robert has been dreaming of this movie for the better part of his life, and while it may seem that what he’s wrought from those dreams is cold and grim, I found that the film runs hot with a very particular strain of delight: the sort that comes from inviting audiences to peer deeper into the shadows; from promising something awful and delivering something far worse; from orchestrating gouts of blood, gore and Jungian subtext; from capturing the perfectly calibrated gleam in Willem Dafoe’s eyes as he declares that Count Orlok must be vanquished before “the crow of the cock”; from actually writing lines like “the crow of the cock” and knowing that Dafoe is going to be the one delivering them! Robert has made a vampire film steeped in woe, but I can only imagine how utterly overjoyed he was to be making it. Who knows if he was actually laughing behind the camera, but it’s pretty hard not to hear him all the same ­— and this joy, imagined or not, is vicarious.

David Lowery directed “An Almost Christmas Story,” “The Green Knight,” “The Old Man & the Gun” and “Ain’t Them Bodies Saints,” among other projects.

By Kahlil Joseph

Cinema, at its best, is an inheritance — a transference of memory, of voice, of soul. Malcolm Washington’s “The Piano Lesson” is such a work, built on the weight of what is passed down: sorrows and desires, dreams and pain, a history etched into flesh and blood. The titular piano is not a mere prop; it is a threshold, a link between the living and the dead, a reminder that inheritance is both a gift and a burden.

Washington’s film carries the spirit of August Wilson’s play like a pianist interprets a composer — a fidelity to form, yes, but also enough improvisation, nuance and personal inflection to call it his own. His voice is unmistakably present, even as the weight of Wilson and his own lineage looms large. Danielle Deadwyler delivers a performance so luminous, so textured, that it feels as though she inhabits not just her character but the history the piano itself holds. She embodies the film’s heartbeat, reminding us that cinema, like the piano, must be felt, not simply observed.

To set a story in 1936 is to honor what came before, and Washington does so with care and precision. Yet cinema is also the art of the possible, and this adaptation feels like the beginning of a larger conversation. If inheritance connects us to the past, then what might it look like to break free, to create something unbound by its origins? Malcolm Washington, the latest heir to a dynasty fit for Hollywood royalty, isn’t making grand pronouncements about the future of cinema here — and perhaps that’s why the film resonates. It hums with the quiet assurance of something well-crafted, something lived-in. Like an old song played on a family heirloom, it knows exactly where it comes from — and that knowledge is its charm, its strength and its soul.

Kahlil Joseph is an artist, writer and filmmaker best-known for his large-scale video installations. His work includes “Flying Lotus: Until the Quiet Comes,” “The Reflektor Tapes” and “Lemonade.”

By Seth Rogen

Being funny in a movie is hard, but PORTRAYING people being funny in a movie might be one of the hardest things there is. Because … as the audience, you know they’re TRYING to be funny — and nothing makes something less funny than that. In “Saturday Night” you KNOW you’re watching a movie about funny people. Not just any funny people — some of the most iconic funny people in history. What Jason Reitman pulls off in “Saturday Night” is nothing short of miraculous — not only did he find a way to portray comedy and the people who perform it, he found a way to revel in it. To have it be stressful, emotional, insightful and, above all, hilarious.

It’s a film that reveres comedy and those who bring it to life — a film that asserts comedy as not only something relevant, it’s something that prevails. The same ideology that brought this film to life is the one that brought “SNL” to life 50 years ago — comedy IS important — it is worth fighting for and worth bending over backwards to achieve — and if you do, it could create something that lasts forever.

There’s a moment in the film when all seems lost — the suits don’t believe in the show, they don’t understand the point of it all, they don’t understand why introducing a new generation of comedic talents is important — the show might not air, or EVER air … But then, Andy Kaufman takes the stage with his small record player, puts the needle on the record cuing the theme to Mighty Mouse. If you’re a comedy fan like myself, you know exactly what’s coming, as you’ve probably seen it countless times studying Kaufman’s every move … And, in the film, as Andy lip syncs along with the song — everyone starts to laugh. Even the suits. Suddenly all the questions of the validity of a comedic showcase go out the window. All the attempts to explain WHY a show like this matters, what a show like this IS… they go out the window too. Because when you see something funny and new and original… none of that matters. It just works. The fact that Jason narratively pulled off a brilliant comedic moment ACTUALLY saving the day while Kaufman is literally singing “HERE I COME TO SAVE THE DAYYYYY!!!” is a cinematic accomplishment that impresses and delights me to no end. Comedy saves the day, and Jason makes us all see how much that matters.

Seth Rogen’s credits include “This Is the End” and “The Interview,” among other films.

By Kevin Macdonald

When I first saw “September 5,” what struck me was its absolute sense of authenticity — in costumes, behavior, ’70s broadcasting equipment, everything. It’s a film made with an attention to veracity which is rarely attempted and even more rarely achieved.

A quarter of a century ago I spent almost two years looking at every available piece of archive footage and photograph of the Munich Olympic massacre when I made my documentary “One Day in September.” So this is material that I know really well. And yet there were moments in Tim Fehlbaum’s film where I couldn’t tell if I was watching archive footage or a meticulous re-enactment.

But let’s go back to that ’70s broadcasting equipment. You don’t have to be an analogue tech geek to get a thrill out of seeing how they made on-screen captions in those days — they filmed white plastic letters clipped to a black board?! — or to watch a cameraman run in to the lab with his recently shot 16mm rushes and watching as it is developed. This is a film which luxuriates in this stuff — and I loved it.

On a second viewing, my admiration for the craft of the film was heightened — particularly its outstandingly moody, sculpted cinematography by Markus Förderer — but I was also more aware of the subtlety of the human drama. Yes, it’s about the national sense of guilt felt by Germans, and the trauma of Jews coming to Germany for the first time since the war — but it is also one of the best films I have seen about the moral ambiguity at the heart of the journalistic profession. When is it OK, the movie asks, to use people’s painful real-life experiences, to create “the news,” which can be such a queasy combination of fact and entertainment?

At a time when most “news” seems to exist way outside of any journalistic regulation, it’s painful to be reminded of a time when journalistic integrity and moral choices in the newsroom were such weighty affairs.

Kevin Macdonald’s latest film is “One to One: John & Yoko,” and he won an Oscar for “One Day in September.”

By Michael Gracey

There’s the old adage, “write what you know,” and then there is the effortlessly cool directing that comes from a filmmaker with an intuitive understanding of the nuances of animation. Josh Cooley’s “Transformers One” delivers a masterclass in animation storytelling, balancing respect for a beloved franchise with bold creative innovation. With a background honed at Pixar, Cooley proves his fluency in animation’s specific demands.

There are limitations in live action that both inhibit and protect the filmmaker. In animation, the limitless potential can lead to chaos, and yet, Cooley directs with expert economy — every action sequence is epically choreographed without ever becoming extraneous.

With all the temptation to fill the frame with swarms of machinery, Cooley instead offers space for the emotional core to shine. He elevates an ensemble of iconic characters, blending breathtaking action with introspective drama. By focusing on the relationship between Optimus Prime and Megatron, Cooley crafts a narrative that humanizes the inhuman. Their ideological clash becomes the beating heart of the story, grounding high-stakes conflict in deeply personal struggles. Cooley avoids simplistic good-versus-evil dichotomies, instead presenting both leaders as flawed beings shaped by circumstance and ideology.

This is what stands out most: his ability to balance the demands of franchise storytelling with his own unique cinematic sensibilities, offering us a new installment to the universe that not only transforms but transcends.

“The Greatest Showman” helmer Michael Gracey’s latest film is “A Better Man.”

By Michael Mann

From the first scene Billy Goldenberg ever cut for me in 1995’s “Heat,” as the junior editor behind Dov Hoenig and Tom Rolf, I knew that Billy could transform his emotional understanding of what a scene should be into a captivating, internalizing flow that brought you into the beating heart of the scene’s intention. I sensed from the promise of that first scene what his future work might be, and I was right.

Stepping behind the camera in his directorial debut, Billy’s film “Unstoppable” evokes the heart of Anthony Robles (portrayed beautifully by Jharrel Jerome), as a powerful and authentic evocation of a life. At cursory glance, “Unstoppable” appears as an often-told story: the indomitable spirit of an athlete with a disability. What’s strikingly different and original in “Unstoppable” is the authority of so many moments of true life accumulating throughout to create a quiet monumentality. It’s that which generates our unique empathy with the human struggles, desires and Anthony’s search for his place in this world. Through simplicity and honed nuance, the edges of these real lives soar into sharp focus. It’s human experience unfolding captivatingly in front of us. From Jharrel’s amazingly personal and physically demanding performance to the excellent work of Jennifer Lopez as his harried mother, Judy Robles, Bobby Cannavale and power-through-understating presence of Don Cheadle as coach Shawn Charles.

In classical theory, montage is the convergence and collision of pieces into story. Billy Goldenberg’s editorial work in my films, “Heat,” “Ali,” “Miami Vice” and “The Insider” is unique. It’s emotional storytelling as flow we’re subsumed within, whether key parts of “Heat” or the Rumble in the Jungle in “Ali.” Billy is a born filmmaker. He builds in imagination a scene’s emotional gestalt before he cuts. And, now, it’s before he shoots. That’s evident in the quiet majesty of “Unstoppable.” His direction brings lives into contact with us genuinely and movingly. The story of this extraordinary athlete stays with you long after the end of “Unstoppable.” It’s a life you will not forget. It’s real human experience unfolding in front of you.

Oscar-nominee Michael Mann’s credits include “Ferarri,” “Heat,” “The Last of the Mohicans” and many more.

By Dean DeBlois

I’ve known Chris Sanders since 1994. He was the head of the story department on Disney Animation’s “Mulan” when I joined the team as a rookie storyboard artist. Since then, we’ve grown as collaborators in a shared love of story, memorable characters, quirky humor and earned emotion. There is no creative opinion I value more. Even as we have embarked on solo projects, we continue to share a rare simpatico when it comes to the movies we love and those we aspire to make.

Watching Chris take on “The Wild Robot” and infuse it with his unique sensibilities has been such a gratifying experience. Peter Brown’s emotional novel and Chris’ intuitive grasp of character and world building made for the perfect marriage. Chris and his team brought so much wonder to the screen, with dazzling and inventive style. I knew from the start that Chris would be the perfect director for this production because several of his own stories feature elements and themes akin to those at play in “The Wild Robot” — namely his original story for “Lilo & Stitch,” which in its first incarnation told the story of a marooned creature of unknown origin, lost in a great northern forest among animals that has shunned it for being an outsider. A perfect marriage indeed.

“The Wild Robot” is remarkable in its ability to evoke emotion with the poetry of pantomime, jaw-dropping production design, and beautifully crafted dialogue that never overstays its welcome — but instead makes room for Kris Bowers’ stirring score. It’s nothing short of a masterwork and I continue to learn from Chris’ shining example. He’s a filmmaker at the height of his immense ability and I’m glad that I am around to witness it.

Dean DeBlois directed the “How to Train Your Dragon” trilogy and has the live action “How to Train Your Dragon” on deck.

By J.J. Abrams

What strikes me most about “Young Woman and the Sea,” beyond its incredible true story and its wonderful humor and heart, is just how utterly unlikely a film it is. In today’s cinematic landscape, getting any movie made is something of a miracle — especially by a major studio with a theatrical release. But a period biopic, even with a story as powerful and moving as Trudy Ederle’s, is something of an endangered species.

This is why it’s so heartening to see a passion project like this — one that filmmakers spent nearly a decade trying to bring to life — finally grace the big screen. The film’s director and champion, Joachim Rønning, skillfully navigates the challenges of this genre, beautifully balancing intimate, personal moments with the broader, inspiring context of Ederle’s achievements. Trudy is not presented as a distant historical figure but as a deeply human individual, flawed and determined, someone you root for because you see yourself in her.

Of course, it helps to have a lead actress as wildly talented and committed as Daisy Ridley. In her remarkable turn here, Ederle is brought to life as a fully realized character, one imbued with thoughtfulness, strength, and imperfections. Ridley’s performance, under Rønning’s direction, places you squarely in Ederle’s shoes, making her triumphs and struggles feel personal and immediate.

Rønning’s deft directorial touch enhances the film’s sweeping, sometimes thrilling narrative without overshadowing its emotional core — and all this on a limited budget. The result is a biopic that avoids the traps of overly sentimentalizing or excessive mythologizing. Instead, it’s a film that celebrates not just what Ederle accomplished but who she was. In a world where stories like this are so rarely told, “Young Woman and the Sea” stands as both a tribute to an extraordinary woman and a testament to the enduring power of good old-fashioned storytelling.

J.J. Abrams directed “Lost,” “Super 8,” “Star Trek,” “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” and “Star Wars: the Rise of Skywalker” among others.