The 100 Best Films of the 2000s: 75 – 51

After you’ve read this part, check out num­bers 100 – 76, 50 – 26 and 25 – 1.

Aard­man Ani­ma­tions are one of the UK’s great­est con­tri­bu­tions to the world of tele­vi­sion and film, a tru­ly pio­neer­ing stu­dio who did for clay­ma­tion what Walt Dis­ney did for anthro­po­mor­phic mice. While Wal­lace and Gromit made their name on home shores, Chick­en Run cat­a­pult­ed the com­pa­ny to inter­na­tion­al fame when they pitched ​“The Great Escape with chick­ens” to Steven Spiel­berg and Dream­Works. This sto­ry of cama­raderie, hero­ism and romance star­ring a band of plucky hens has stood the test of time. A wit­ty, slap­stick clas­sic which also makes some salient points on the pow­er of union­i­sa­tion. Han­nah Woodhead

Hav­ing already spent months with the Amer­i­can Bal­let The­atre for his 1995 film Bal­let, Fred­er­ick Wise­man made a rare return to a sub­ject he’s already cov­ered. While the ear­li­er film offered more by way of the insti­tu­tion­al inves­ti­ga­tion we’ve come to expect from the great Amer­i­can doc­u­men­tar­i­an, La Danse hews clos­er to the per­for­ma­tive rigours of the dance itself. Wiseman’s pas­sion for the art form is evinced by the extend­ed bal­let sequences, his obser­va­tion­al style work­ing its mag­ic by sim­ply let­ting them speak for them­selves. Matt Thrift

If the phrase ​“less is more” is some­thing that floats your boat when it comes to movies, then you’d do well to dive into the play­ful­ly philo­soph­i­cal work of Argen­tinean direc­tor Lisan­dro Alon­so. He hasn’t made any­thing since 2014’s stu­pen­dous Jau­ja, but you’d do well to catch this bleak­ly fun­ny 2008 film which fol­lows a sailor dis­em­bark­ing a ship and head­ing on a jour­ney to… some­where. The film patient­ly fol­lows his large­ly unevent­ful slog until he reach­es his des­ti­na­tion and… that’s where the mag­ic hap­pens, and you find out why the film is called what it is. David Jenk­ins

Oskar, a vul­ner­a­ble, bul­lied, pale child finds both love and an aveng­ing angel in Eli, a hun­dred-year-old vam­pire in the body of a girl. The snow-white Swedish land­scape real­ly shows up each blood-spill. Tomas Alfredson’s pac­ing is what makes the film. It’s slow and poised, build­ing to sud­den flur­ries of dra­ma, with Oskar’s fate as the emo­tion­al stakes. Sophie Monks Kaufman

The eccen­tric French film­mak­er Eugene Green had found some­thing of a muse in lead actor Adrien Michaux, who not only bears uncan­ny phys­i­cal resem­blance to Jean-Pierre Léaud, but also sounds and acts like him too. The film is set in the 1970s, though anachro­nisms remain in the fore­ground as an obses­sive and emo­tion­al­ly frag­ile phi­los­o­phy stu­dent Michaux finds a will to live in a clas­si­cal record­ing of a famous opera chanteuse. It’s a ref­er­ence-filled, light­ly mock­ing jour­ney through high-cul­ture and its preen­ing pur­vey­ors, and remains one of the most unique and unher­ald­ed Euro­pean films of the decade. DJ

If its hor­ror exports are any­thing to go by, Japan was in techno­pho­bic melt­down as the new mil­len­ni­um dawned, with any­thing from VHS play­ers to cell­phones ripe for super­nat­ur­al exploita­tion. It’s the inter­net that’s the source of futur­ist and tran­shu­man­ist night­mares in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse, a film that dish­es out supreme­ly atmos­pher­ic chills with lit­tle recourse to shock tac­tics. As far as the J‑horror cycle goes, this one’s top tier, which is more than can be said for the wretched US remake that came a few years lat­er. MT

In the 1995 episode of The Simp­sons ​‘A Star is Burns’, Homer delights in a short film called ​‘Man Get­ting Hit by Foot­ball’. Five years lat­er, MTV com­mis­sioned a tele­vi­sion show from John­ny Knoxville, Jeff Tremaine and Spike Jonze along sim­i­lar lines. After end­ing its run on the small screen, a big­ger, lewder, crud­er beast was born, show­cas­ing all the stars from the series in pranks and pain endurance tests. Is it a doc­u­men­tary? Per­for­mance art? Who cares – Jack­ass: The Movie holds up as a fas­ci­nat­ing insight into the rit­u­als of male bond­ing in mod­ern Amer­i­ca, dis­gust­ing and com­pelling in equal mea­sure. HW

Con­nect­ing pri­vate trau­ma to wide-scale social ills such as tox­ic mas­culin­i­ty, child abuse and homo­pho­bia, Mys­te­ri­ous Skin sees writer/​director Gregg Ara­ki aban­don the irrev­er­ent style of his ear­li­er work in favour of some­thing more caus­tic and raw. The film stars Joseph Gor­don-Levitt and Brady Cor­bet as two teenage friends from small­town Kansas who reunite and grad­u­al­ly come to terms with a haunt­ing event from their child­hood: their molesta­tion at the hands of their Lit­tle League base­ball coach. Fear­less indie film­mak­ing from one of America’s most vital voic­es. Adam Wood­ward

This inge­nious and right­eous­ly angry film by the great Mau­ri­tan­ian direc­tor Abder­rah­mane Sis­sako offers a dis­qui­si­tion on Africa as a hub for glob­al exploita­tion through the ages. It is, in a vague­ly sur­re­al way, a ram­shackle court­room dra­ma in which an out­door yard in the Malian cap­i­tal is kit­ted out for a tri­al and var­i­ous locals attempt to deter­mine whether their con­ti­nent has been exploit­ed by the World Bank and the IMF. As in the real-world sit­u­a­tion, the argu­ments stut­ter and amble, and ulti­mate­ly prove them­selves to be part of a much broad­er set of ques­tions. On paper it sounds like a slog, but in real­i­ty it is com­plete­ly engross­ing and the work of a mas­ter film­mak­er. DJ

Once seen, nev­er for­got­ten is the sight of Vig­go Mortensen nude, wrestling for his life, after gang­sters ambush him as he unwinds in a sauna. (Rude.) Even if the rest of the film doesn’t make quite as big an impres­sion on you, that scene is ample rec­om­pense for one’s time. David Cro­nen­berg is a freaky king who rarely lets the side down. SMK

I’ve wres­tled for years over whether or not Synec­doche, New York is delib­er­ate­ly off putting. It’s not a pret­ty film – the per­va­sive browns and greys of the colour palette are dis­tinct­ly unpleas­ant – but I sup­pose it makes sense that a film about an ail­ing and alien­at­ed the­atre direc­tor would wrong foot the view­er. The late, great Philip Sey­mour Hoff­man is on top form as Caden Cotard, while a sup­port­ing cast packed full of incred­i­ble act­ing tal­ent in the form of Cather­ine Keen­er, Michelle Williams, Saman­tha Mor­ton, Jen­nifer Jason Leigh and Emi­ly Wat­son proves there are indeed no small parts. It’s sad, strange, and sur­re­al, but that’s kind of Char­lie Kaufman’s whole schtick. HW

Dead Man’s Shoes, already one of the most har­row­ing British films of the decade, gained fur­ther poignan­cy in 2019 with the rev­e­la­tion of writer/​director Shane Mead­ows’ own trau­mat­ic child­hood. Set up as a vio­lent, rough-hewn revenge thriller cen­tred around an ex-para­troop­er who returns home hell­bent on exact­ing ret­ri­bu­tion, the film is a ten­der ode to broth­er­hood and, above all, a mov­ing lament for lost inno­cence. Pow­ered by Pad­dy Considine’s terse per­for­mance as the wronged man-turned-aveng­ing angel, it remains Mead­ows’ most affect­ing film. AW

Death-obsessed sis­ters Gin­ger and Brid­get Fitzger­ald (Kather­ine Isabelle and Emi­ly Perkins) are super close and fair­ly com­fort­able in their sta­tus as out­siders, until Gin­ger gets bit­ten by a were­wolf. Grad­u­al­ly, she under­goes a trans­for­ma­tion from angsty teen to full-blown were-crea­ture with a blood­lust. Com­ing well over a decade before the so-called renais­sance of female hor­ror, Gin­ger Snaps is a grue­some and earnest explo­ration of young women try­ing to oper­ate in a world where they’re set up to fail. Anna Bogut­skaya

All hail Roger Deakins, whose every frame is a paint­ing in Andrew Dominik’s epic and melan­cholic take on the clas­si­cal west­ern. Casey Affleck is all sad-eyed, silent-movie-star facial expres­sive­ness as Robert Ford, while Brad Pitt’s Jesse James is full-bod­ied suave charis­ma. Deakins’ com­po­si­tion of gold­en wheat-fields, and train head­lights at night lend majesty through­out. SMK

Pri­or to film­ing her sopho­more fea­ture, Sofia Cop­po­la spent a year pur­su­ing Bill Mur­ray for the lead role, leav­ing him voice­mails, send­ing let­ters, and even ask­ing Mitch Glaz­er to pass mes­sages along to him. Even­tu­al­ly she locked him down, and thank heav­ens she did, because what would Lost in Trans­la­tion be with­out him? The melan­choly almost-romance between fad­ing movie star Bob Har­ris and young col­lege grad­u­ate Char­lotte (Scar­lett Johans­son, who was just 17 when they shot the film) is the film’s beat­ing heart, as they explore Tokyo togeth­er and reflect on their per­son­al frus­tra­tions. HW

Christo­pher Nolan’s films are designed to feel like a mag­ic trick, puz­zles to be repeat­ed­ly mulled over. So of course he would make The Pres­tige, which both delib­er­ate­ly obfus­cates the truth behind the protagonist’s actions and hides it in plain sight. Per­haps its best qual­i­ty is that, amongst Nolan’s fair­ly self-seri­ous oeu­vre, it’s a sur­pris­ing­ly loopy film; David Bowie as Niko­la Tes­la only being the begin­ning of its delight­ful strange­ness. Kam­bole Campbell

Syl­vain Chomet’s ani­mat­ed lark spins a crack­er­jack adven­ture from far-flung pock­ets of pop cul­ture: ​’60s Tour de France mania, Tati-esque wide-scale visu­al gags, the ​’20s music hall cul­ture presided over by Djan­go Rein­hardt and Josephine Bak­er. In this unlike­ly milieu of car­i­ca­tured homage, a clever crone, her cyclist grand­son, their loy­al hound, and a trio of found-object musi­cians bust up a gangster’s kid­nap­ping scheme with max­i­mum whim­sy. The toe-tap­ping sound­track is just the icing on this exquis­ite French con­fec­tion. Charles Bramesco

Agnès Var­da was, unequiv­o­cal­ly, one of the most impor­tant film­mak­ers that ever lived. In what was sup­posed to be her part­ing gift to cin­e­ma (she’d make Faces Places a decade lat­er), she revis­its the places and peo­ple that influ­enced her. Shift­ing effort­less­ly through tech­niques and mem­o­ries, The Beach­es of Agnès is an exquis­ite meld of an artists’ sketch­book, auto-biog­ra­phy, doc­u­men­tary and a love let­ter to the small, every­day won­ders that had inspired, and con­tin­ued to, Varda’s work. AB

Since mak­ing Night and Day in 2008, the South Kore­an direc­tor Hong Sang-soo has aver­aged about two films a year. Occa­sion­al­ly, such as in 2013 and 2017, he even man­aged three. This rel­a­tive­ly ear­ly mis­sive remains one of his finest because it’s a lit­tle less oblique than some of his lat­er work, as it sees var­i­ous expat Kore­an artists sim­ply tool­ing around in Paris and try­ing to find some kind of clue as to the next chap­ter of their lives. It’s one of Hong’s fun­ni­est films, par­tic­u­lar­ly in the way it spi­rals off into a strange dream­state by the time of its peer­less final reel. DJ

Ever the cham­pi­on of cob­webbed cor­ners of cin­e­mat­ic his­to­ry, it was only a mat­ter of time before Quentin Taran­ti­no entered a feed­back loop of his own design, fash­ion­ing – along­side Robert Rodriguez’s Plan­et Ter­ror – a dou­ble-fea­ture pas­tiche that harked back to the gory days of the 42^nd Street exploita­tion cir­cuit. With its dig­i­tal­ly-added scratch­es and ​‘miss­ing reels’ – in the Grind­house cut, at least – Death Proof roars onto the screen as a fetish object from Amer­i­can cinema’s fore­most fetishist, a fit­ting mar­riage of form and con­tent giv­en the kicks Kurt Russell’s vil­lain gets from his mod­i­fied vehic­u­lar via­gra. With rich­es to be found in its seem­ing struc­tur­al straight­for­ward­ness and pos­sess­ing a strik­ing female agency in the face of male vio­lence, it’s – whis­per it – prob­a­bly QT’s best. MT

We already knew from his 1997 Palme d’Or-winner The Taste of Cher­ry that Iran­ian film­mak­er Abbas Kiarosta­mi saw dra­mat­ic rich­es in the con­cept of film­ing peo­ple dri­ving cars and inter­act­ing with peo­ple from behind the wheel. His 2002 film, Ten, com­pris­es of 10 vignettes in which an unnamed female dri­ver becomes becomes a ther­a­peu­tic coun­cil for her var­i­ous pas­sen­gers – some want­i­ng to dis­cuss domes­tic issues, oth­ers reveal­ing their stren­u­ous spir­i­tu­al lives, and no less than three times its her feisty young son Amin rid­ing shot­gun and giv­ing the dri­ver a piece of his mind. DJ

The mix­ture of whim­sy and dark­ness of Wes Anderson’s films has nev­er been more ide­al­ly bal­anced than in Fan­tas­tic Mr Fox, his almost car­toon­ish dead­pan and for­mal pre­ci­sion trans­lates all-too-well to stop motion, as do the voic­es of his star stud­ded cast. The for­ay into ani­ma­tion feels inevitable, an ide­al out­let for the very par­tic­u­lar con­trol that the direc­tor holds over his live action films, but one that retains empa­thy and heart. KC

If you’ve seen Hu Bo’s mag­nif­i­cent 2018 film An Ele­phant Sit­ting Still, set in the eco­nom­ic waste­land of Jingx­ing, you could turn to this mon­u­men­tal study of indus­tri­al dec­i­ma­tion for con­text. Ever the doc­u­men­tary max­i­mal­ist, Wang Bing’s rig­or­ous­ly struc­tured West of the Tracks runs to nine hours, afford­ing him the lux­u­ry of a panoram­ic view of a work­force oblit­er­at­ed by the clos­ing of cable and smelt­ing fac­to­ries in Shenyang. If a broad overview attests to sys­temic polit­i­cal fail­ure in the pur­suit of pro­duc­tiv­i­ty, Wang’s essen­tial human­ism insis­tent­ly returns to the per­son­al costs at ground lev­el, find­ing hope and a seem­ing­ly impos­si­ble resilience in the eyes of a eco­nom­i­cal­ly aban­doned peo­ple. MT

A name­less man steps off a train in Helsin­ki. He falls asleep on a park bench where he’s set upon by a group of mug­gers. He awak­ens, col­laps­es in a toi­let, then reawak­ens in hos­pi­tal, ban­daged from head to toe, with no mem­o­ry of who he is or where he is from. The man has lost every­thing, but some­how resolves to start a new life in an emp­ty ship­ping con­tain­er, where he seems hap­pi­er than ever. Wel­come to the dark­ly com­ic world of Aki Kau­ris­mä­ki. One of the finest dead­pan come­dies ever made, The Man With­out a Past also con­tains a sly social cri­tique, lay­ing scorn on the bureau­cra­cy and eco­nom­ic pow­ers that keep peo­ple below the pover­ty line. AW

Pedro Almod­ó­var had been mak­ing films for over 25 years before he cor­ralled his patient­ly-accrued mas­tery, a love of 1950s melo­dra­ma and a con­cert­ed leap towards matu­ri­ty into this 2002 opus about two men tend­ing for the comatose women they love. One is a care­giv­er who gives him­self over to his job in a way that verges on the unhealthy, while the oth­er is a man whose lover (a bull­fight­er) was about to tell him some­thing impor­tant pri­or to being gored. This film is the whole pack­age: a beau­ti­ful­ly writ­ten, light­ly eccen­tric, juici­ly tabloid tale of obses­sion and impos­si­ble love. DJ