Over the last week, The New York Times presented a list they called “Top 100 Movies of the 21st Century.” They’re by no means the first. Groups like Sight & Sound have conducted more elaborate countdowns, which have led them to explore the greater reaches of world cinema. Even then, the spectacle got me thinking about a truth that has long been evident. To know me is to know how much I crave a good list. I anticipate David Ehrlich’s Top 25 countdown videos solely for new titles I otherwise would've overlooked. There’s a morbid curiosity about what John Waters’ Top 10 says about his off-kilter tastes. I enjoy Letterboxd’s annual breakdown of what their audiences were watching. To me, something is thrilling about data, and it was especially true when breaking down what NYT had to say.
An element that I found especially novel was their own attempt at a viral trend. Given that it was a list compiled by 500 respected artists voting with their own Top 10, the chance to submit your own in a very spiffy and downloadable graphic excited me even as I quickly realized… I had no conceivable way to highlight that few over the span of a quarter century. Objectively, one would think that choosing the Top 4 from every year would be the way to go, but art is personal, and some years are better than others. I’m not sure those younger or older than me would recognize why 2012 was the best year for universal cinema in my adult lifetime. A lot of it has to do with being there and, as a result, my list is biased to the highs of my own life and thus (quite accidentally) ignores the past decade of masterpieces.
At its core, I love lists because of what they say about the individual. Everyone has their own personal take, and it gets intriguing to blender effect these into a conceivable outcome that confirms what the collective holds up. What will future decades believe to be our iconic cinema and, more importantly, what were we doing to recognize the artists who mattered most? This is a chance to create discussion and, ideally, expand our horizons with some offbeat picks. The conversation is about as much asking if Parasite (2019) is really that good (I’d give a hesitant yes, though Top 10 definitely) as it is understanding what it says culturally about the people who voted that way. There’s even a fun twist to the “snubbed” arguments because that adds even more to discover as well as attempt to right something that could never be perfect.
In theory, this particular list excited me more than most because it has arguably been the one I’m most cognizant of. I was 11 in the year 2000 and came of age as a cinephile around 2009. Once I signed up for Twitter and subscribed to podcasts, I was connected to commentators who would shape the next 15 years of my life. It meant getting odd opinions and driving to smaller chain theaters to see these great works of art. It still makes me laugh to think that I was at Sundance 2014 and, of the entire line-up, I didn’t see the opening night movie Whiplash (2014) or the breakout hit Boyhood (2014). I went to a different theater in Salt Lake City and saw Her (2014) on my own dime. The irony doesn’t escape me. Even more than my ability to recall a lot of the marketing, however, I think it was special because I had seen 93% already, with 51% being titles I purchased tickets for. The same couldn’t be said for any other period in history.
To start breaking down any list is to reflect your own biases. My initial reaction was shock at how few documentaries were on the list in favor of many repeat directors. Even if I consider Paul Thomas Anderson to be possibly California’s greatest chronicler, it is strange to see him appear four times. Even then, I couldn’t tell you what I’d cut because There Will Be Blood (2007) IS that good. The Master (2012) changed my life. Punch-Drunk Love (2002) is partially responsible for introducing me to arthouse cinema. I’d guess I’d say cut Phantom Thread (2017), but even that is difficult because Daniel Day-Lewis is undeniably charismatic in his unraveling misophonia. I’m sure I could go down the list for every filmmaker (Christopher Nolan leads with five entries), but that’s to ignore why we love film. Some artists speak to the human condition better than others. I am surprised that Alfonso Cuaron appeared four times as well, but again… he’s a masterful technician who mixes humanity with spectacle so effortlessly. Say what you will about Gravity (2013), but I paid to see that a second time in 3D IMAX. In general, I don’t think there’s that much that I would personally say is *bad* on this list, more than it just clogs the arteries of a more diverse output.
For example, why does Anderson and Cuaron get so many, and every female director tops out at one? While Greta Gerwig appears twice – once solely for screening – the idea that 25 years of cinema hasn’t produced a talent we recognize as having a substantial body of work is concerning. Why is there only one Agnes Varda? Kathryn Bigelow shows up for The Hurt Locker (2009) but not Zero Dark Thirty (2012)? Sure, what is on here tends to be amazing contemporary works like Anatomy of a Fall (2023) and Aftersun (2022), but it’s one of many questions that I feel are deserving of consideration when asking for the validity of a list. Again, if anything, it posits whether there is a need to change how we address the canon.
I am esteemed that The New York Times’ voting body recognizes world cinema with ease, but are we seeing enough great achievements to combat the more repetitious corners of this list? Another example is how the only major animation studios to be recognized are Studio Ghibli (with 1) and Pixar (with 3). Both are deservedly fine, but given that the entire list ignores works made in 2024 and 2025, why don’t they recognize other innovative feats? For Studio Ghibli, why not recognize The Wind Rises (2013) or The Boy and the Heron (2023)? Why not recognize Persepolis (2007), Flee (2021), Anomalisa (2015), Paprika (2006), Wolfwalkers (2020), Chicken Run (2000), either Spider-Verse, or honestly anything that Laika Studios has put out since Coraline (2009)? Why is animation so limited and to two heavyweights in the industry?
The issue with obsessing over lists is not dissimilar from being a conspiracy theorist. There could be a deeper meaning applied to what is and isn’t there. Did Mulholland Drive (2001) get runner-up solely because of David Lynch’s passing? I doubt it, but retrospectives have been on high alert as of late, and I personally went out and bought the Criterion in tribute. With all that said, these lists are sensitive to when they were created and apply to tastes evident in us at the time of submission. I’d argue the past two years were heavily overlooked because of this, as there hasn’t been enough time for something like Sinners (2025) to establish its place in the canon alongside Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther (2016). People may love it now, but whatever influence it has on the larger culture is not yet established. The most contemporary picks, Oppenheimer (2023) and Past Lives (2023), at least have a full year for introspection to seep in. Even if they end up being seen as short-lived achievements, there’s still the fact that they’re the ones that broke through and said something meaningful to the voters. For all we know, Celine Song’s career will fizzle out in the next few years and make Past Lives harder to appreciate. It’s unlikely, but that is why the more fleeting picks are often more telling.
Another endlessly fascinating thing is the odd pairing and structure. While I firmly believe there are numerical values to how everything was ordered, there are still some odd patterns to be had. Why are the only two Wes Anderson and Ang Lee films next to each other in the Top 25? How come Adam Sandler’s two are one title removed from each other? WHY is Bridesmaids (2011) rated so highly? Some of them make sense. The Social Network (2010) has been lobbed as a Millennial essential since those commercials with that obnoxious Peter Travers review. Of what’s there, the most pleasant shock was The Zone of Interest (2023) being already seen so favorably at 12. I’ve always felt like the titles immediately outside a Top 10 are often more interesting just because they’re the sacrificial lambs who were great but not universally respected enough to break the seal. They reveal what people are passionate about beyond accepted values of greatness. I guess I am also shocked that Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) is at 11, but that’s because I hold the next 15 spots to (mostly) higher esteem. George Miller went all out with that one, but you can’t tell me its impact is greater than Y Tu Mama Tambien (2001). I accept they’re going for different emotions, but that’s the joy of subjectivity and lists.
To return from the realm of nitpicking, I will say that ultimately this list excites me not just because it gives me seven movies to finally get around to, but because it speaks to what I’ve long envisioned the westernized view of the cinematic canon to be. While Sight & Sound or Indiewire may shoot for more interesting picks, the decision to highlight what is here provides glimpses into what art is truly resonating with the world writ large. It makes sense that there are three Judd Apatow-produced comedies on here, if just because I am nostalgic for Anchorman (2004) quoting being a fun party trick. There are things here that might not translate to others, but I’d argue capture how art impacts American sensibilities, especially. After all, The New York Times is manufactured here and represents one of the only cities in America where almost every film in existence stands a chance at being screened and reviewed.
Even if this article was annoyingly paywalled to keep the virality from being truly immersive on my part, I do love it when websites like this partake in such an odd challenge. It never works out in the same way that two separate people in my theater audience at the end of No Country For Old Men (2007) – which placed 6 – got up and said, “That was shit.” Art rarely appeals to everybody satisfyingly. For me, it’s still a chance to listen to others and find what makes them happy. While I don’t think there’s any value in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) being on this list, I don’t fault anyone who sees the fantasy and finds comfort in the larger metaphor.
I say that in part because some of the Top 10 I submitted for that novelty graphic didn’t make the list. Where was Blue Valentine (2010) or Juno (2007)? Where was Ghost World (2001) or some truly adventurous indie titles? Again, I think it speaks to the hypothetical that these lists could do with more diversity, but like I discussed with Anderson earlier, different art speaks to different parts of yourself. How could you possibly pick The Master over Punch-Drunk Love? Those lists are even more fascinating in their cutthroat manner, but that isn’t what’s going on here. It’s about celebrating the art that speaks to everybody at this exact moment. To that, I say it does a fantastic job, even if I disagree.
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