Christian Gallichio

Saint Frances is truly a stunning debut, both in its overt treatment of problems women face all the time, and its sheer unconventional approaches to, what on the surface looks like, a conventional narrative.

Coup 53 is a live-wire thriller that is one of the best documentaries of the year.

While not the sweeping historical exploration of “Kingdom of Silence,” Fogel’s film vigorously interrogates the reasons and methods behind Khashoggi’s murder, creating a humane portrait of a fiercely political journalist.

Although Tamhane’s sedate pacing might put off those expecting a more visceral dive into the culture of Hindustani music, The Disciple is profound in its microcosmic world-building, slowly creating Sharad’s life through individually realized moments, adding up to an extraordinary portrait of a failed artist.

Even if the film threatens to bustle over with ideas, the Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat format deftly juggles several narrative threads, making history feel more alive — and in sync — than many other documentaries of its kind.

While at times a brutal watch, with the film’s insistence on showing the ravages of COVID-19 in up-close detail, 76 Days will, I suspect, become a landmark document when talking about the virus and China’s initial response.

It’s a powerful, infuriating document of a family’s resilience in the face of massive communal pressure and to the notion that these types of small, necessary shifts can add up.

Gladstone manages to sell every emotion, moving from despair to wonder as the journey continues.

The People’s Joker is deeply weird and often feels like the first draft of someone’s first attempt at using genre as a type of autofiction. But it’s also heartfelt, fascinating, and a really compelling introduction to an original cinematic voice.

In the end, The Mauritanian is an efficient procedural that condemns the Bush-era treatment of detainees more effectively than any other recent narrative film. It’s an affecting, but nevertheless tragic, watch.

It’s a quiet film in every sense of the word. One that relies on the expressions of its actors over the words that they are saying, but it’s also one of the more compelling debuts in some time and a film that’s well worth seeking out.

For those willing to spend ninety-plus minutes with Herzog as he riffs on the wonders of space, “Fireball” is a heartfelt tribute to scientific exploration.

While not a complete portrait of Lightfoot, “If You Could Read My Mind” provides enough key insight into the musician to entertain those who are already fans and convert the others who perhaps haven’t heard of him.

It’s a film that not only works as a self-reflective biography and community portrait but also as a testament to the living nature of literature, where a work is able to be interpreted and reinterpreted by the generations to come.

Not only does Ostroy contextualize her life outside of filmmaking, but he also centralizes Shelly’s steady and progressive growth from actress-for-hire to independent filmmaking force, noting how creative autonomy allowed her to develop her own projects but also slowed down the development time in-between movies as she scraped together financing.

Twilight suggests the futility of trying to solve some labyrinthian plot and that, instead, one should train their lens away from the facts and onto the people affected.

Seeds may be indebted to the elder subjects that Shyne centralizes, but it’s also a film that dares to look forward, suggesting that — despite everything — these farms will continue.

Akin’s film draws connections to suggest that maybe through these crossings, we begin to understand each other.

Nash’at may have started the filmmaking process looking for something resembling humanity in the Taliban fighters, but what he found instead was a shocking level of resolve that we, and the US military, underestimated.

Somber, depressing, and ultimately a must-watch, “Four Hours” moves through that fateful day with precise clarity – toggling between the lawmakers and those within the mob as the situation grew increasingly dire.

A marvel of economic storytelling, Waikiki spotlights the social and spiritual erosion of colonial tourism on the indigenous population.

Peete and Yapkowitz have created a tender portrait of the underappreciated singer, humanizing her experience within the recording industry and showcasing a one-of-a-kind musician who is only just beginning to get the recognition she deserved.

There’s simply too many stories to contain about the Chelsea, but “Dreaming Walls” does well to show how the ghosts of the residents past can, hopefully, inform the hotel’s future.

While a bit too opaque near the end, and perhaps not the horror show that one might expect, it’s nevertheless an impressive debut.

Like Fences, Ma Rainey is an actor’s showcase, yielding exemplary work from Davis and tragically indicating a complex range from Boseman in a career that was just beginning to blossom. In short, it’s one of the best films of the year.

I Lost My Body is aesthetically beautiful, surreal, clever, and truly profound in its offbeat dealings with trauma. But, more than anything, it succeeds in humanizing a bloody hand, elevating its absurd concept into a film that demands to be seen.

The Aftermath may lack the novelty of the first film and often takes on more than its runtime can account for, but it also successfully adapts the genre of espionage thriller to the documentary form with riveting results.

From Ground Zero isn’t a hopeful film by any measure. In fact, it’s a painful and upsetting watch that nevertheless does find some semblance of optimism in the filmmakers and the work that was made. By putting these stories on camera — whether they be nonfiction or scripted — these filmmakers are nevertheless shedding light on a conflict that many would prefer not to see.