If the best film performances of 2025 share a commonality, it is “quiet observance.” I gravitated to performances that weren’t overtly assertive. They drew me into how they perceived their worlds. Their characters were skeptical, insecure, calculating, terrified, overwhelmed, or just generally overcome. Sometimes, they were just happy to be in the room where something was happening. But they contained themselves, letting their truest emotions out through slight shifts in demeanor, movement, and countenance. If they did explode, via an aching confession or fiery confrontation, it was because they had no other choice. Subtleties were their strength, and bombast was their reward. (Or, they didn’t get a reward at all.)
As has become tradition, I sifted through the 100-plus films I watched this year to identify the performances that left a mark on me. (You see my thoughts on all of them on Letterboxd.) That’s a lot of actors to consider, and I narrowed that list down to 31 performances. (It was initially 30, but I saw Weapons hours before publication.) There are several performances I enjoyed that I left off for various reasons. There are under-the-radar picks I wanted to spotlight, rather than those who have led the end-of-year conversations. I also wanted to pick some fun ones from films that weren’t fall festival darlings.
Of course, this means my usual list of caveats before I get into the list itself. This is not an Oscar predictions list. A performance’s omission does not mean I thought it was unworthy. This list simply reflects the works, whether it be one word, one scene, or the whole film, that mattered most to me in 2025. I share this list because I love discussing and reflecting on performances, it’s the end of the year, and it’s fun. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.
My Favorite Performance of 2025: Dylan O’Brien, Twinless
The Best Film Performances of 2025 (in alphabetical order by last name):
- Marisa Abela, Black Bag
- Will Arnett, Is This Thing On?
- Sebiye Behtiyar, Preparation for the Next Life
- Tom Blyth, Plainclothes
- Jessie Buckley, Hamnet
- Lee Byung-hun, No Other Choice
- Rose Byrne, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You
- Timothée Chalamet, Marty Supreme
- Daniel Day-Lewis, Anemone
- Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù, My Father’s Shadow
- Joel Edgerton, Train Dreams
- Jacob Elordi, Frankenstein
- Chris Evans, Materialists
- Brett Goldstein, All of You
- Regina Hall, One Battle After Another
- Cooper Hoffman and David Jonsson, The Long Walk
- Jacobi Jupe, Hamnet
- Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas, Sentimental Value
- Amy Madigan, Weapons
- Wunmi Mosaku, Sinners
- Robert Pattinson, Mickey 17
- Florence Pugh, Thunderbolts
- Amanda Seyfried, The Testament of Ann Lee
- Ntobeko Sishi, Laundry
- Alexander Skarsgård, Pillion
- Tessa Thompson, Hedda
- Tonatiuh, Kiss of the Spider-Woman
- Jeremy Allen White, Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere
- Zoë Winters, Materialists
- DeWanda Wise, Love, Brooklyn
My Favorite Performance of 2025: Dylan O’Brien, Twinless
If 2025 is the year of the dual role, then Dylan O’Brien may be its chief bannerman. In Twinless, he plays Roman and Rocky, two brothers so different from each other that their genetic connection feels like a hiccup of nature. Besides crafting two wholly distinct personalities, O’Brien draws a powerful throughline of how the loss of one brother deeply impacts the other. You feel how rudderless Roman is without Rocky, how shell-shocked and guilt-ridden he is, through O’Brien’s work.
When Roman fully reveals his grief to Dennis (James Sweeney) one night, O’Brien slowly crumbles. You mourn with Roman as he laments what he said and didn’t say before Rocky died. O’Brien’s voice cracks when he apologizes to Rocky for being unsupportive when he came out, and when he loses control of his anger. That loss of Rocky’s control leaves O’Brien nearly convulsing from his character’s pain. It leads him to sob out one of the year’s most soul-crushing lines: “I don’t know how to fucking be here without you.” You believe him. O’Brien is so good that you can easily replace Dennis with Rocky in your mind and visualize that confession cracking through Rocky’s aloof demeanor. His dual roles allow O’Brien to explore the full scope of grief and recovery and deliver the performance of a lifetime.
Marisa Abela, Black Bag
It takes a lot to pull focus from Cate Blanchett, Michael Fassbender, and Naomie Harris. And yet, Marisa Abela does in Steven Soderbergh’s crazy, sexy, cool spy drama. Abela slices through Clarissa’s more experienced colleagues with exasperated, disgusted, and bewildered stares and delicious line readings that expose their egotism and petty grievances. She is clearly having a blast doing so, letting a glint of amusement in her eyes shine through. Abela is the highlight of every scene, whether she’s committing illegal espionage or humiliating the entire older male population for their vain obsessions. (She also wields a butter knife like a razor-sharp katana.)
Whatever Clarissa’s seniority, Abela more than keeps up with her castmates, ensuring that her character is who you’re thinking about. Black Bag further affirms her status as an actor to watch. (By the way, if you haven’t already, watch Industry immediately.)
Will Arnett, Is This Thing On?
Will Arnett is someone who, as Michelle Bauer on Guiding Light once said, acts like everything is funny, even if they don’t laugh. His dry, irreverent cadence is the perfect conduit for self-deprecating humor, making accidental stand-up comic Alex Novak the perfect conduit for Arnett. Even though Alex isn’t joking when he’s on stage for the first time, detailing the end of his marriage, Arnett’s lilting, bewildered tone makes every line land with the crowd and us. But his effortless humor is only part of the effectiveness of his performance.
Playing a man who uses stand-up comedy to process his divorce, Arnett conveys a bone-deep sadness at Alex’s circumstances. Even when Alex feeds off the energy of the audience and his fellow comics, you see that he would still rather be with his family. Arnett makes something as ordinary as folding laundry look like an exercise in existential dread without caricaturizing it. That yearning also serves as the kernel for his potent chemistry with Laura Dern. Arnett’s deft handling of sincerity and sarcasm yields one of the year’s best dramedic performances.
Sebiye Behtiyar, Preparation for the Next Life
Sebiye Behtiyar is so captivating that it might shock you to learn that Bing Liu’s lovely Preparation for the Next Life is her first big part. Her character, Aishe, requires such command. Aishe is on constant alert as an undocumented Uyghur immigrant. She is silent out of necessity, but always thinking, assessing, and dreaming. She’s a realist, but she can also be swept off her feet by Skinner (Fred Hechinger), a military veteran. Behtiyar brings Aishe’s qualities to life with sharp intelligence and empathy. Her eyes and voice subtly clue us in to Aishe’s volleying between skepticism and bemusement as she and Skinner whip through late-night New York. She’s unafraid to be both cunning and vulnerable as Aishe considers marrying Skinner to avoid deportation. When it’s clear that their relationship is hopeless, Behtiyar approaches the collapse of them and her future with frustration and grace.
Liu asks Behtiyar to balance a lot simultaneously, and she never stumbles, experience. It is a remarkable first role that marks the arrival of a promising new talent.
Tom Blyth, Plainclothes
In Plainclothes, Tom Blyth plays Lucas, an undercover cop who cruises for gay men in mall bathrooms to entrap them. It’s a cruel but not-unusual punishment Lucas thinks little about. (Likely because of what it might reveal about himself.) For Blyth, repression is the name of the game. He carries himself the way Lucas imagines a typical straight male would, even if the fit isn’t right. He doesn’t directly signal Lucas’s discomfort, but the signs are there for those with eyes to see.
One of those seeing people is Andrew (Russell Tovey), who is almost entrapped by Lucas but escapes when Lucas, stunned by attraction, lets him go. Andrew’s existence cracks Lucas open, exposing pleasures and emotions that seemed perpetually out of reach to him. Blyth takes to Lucas’s awakening like a starving man, sucking up every drop of affection and arousal, knowing that he may never be satiated. That desperation sends Lucas into an emotional tailspin that threatens to wreck him and his loved ones. Blyth’s earnest, heart-skipping portrayal of Lucas’s yearning doesn’t excuse his trespasses but sparks empathy for him. It also reveals a new dimension of Blyth’s talent outside the Hunger Games franchise.
Jessie Buckley, Hamnet
There is a subtle irony to Jessie Buckley in Hamnet. Even though Chloe Zhao often frames her within nature, Buckley’s work feels otherworldly. She is fiercely attuned to the intangibility of the natural world without alienating us from the intensely personal experiences of love and loss. Both her openness and mystery serve as a vessel to explore how art can move us through grief. She is unguarded in conveying the devastation of Agnes losing her son.
It’s almost too much to bear, but Buckley guides us through, from paralyzing agony to a bittersweet yet meaningful catharsis. She lays bare for us the emotional torrent inspired by Hamlet, William Shakespeare’s (Paul Mescal) conception of their shared loss. Her face moves fluidly through horror, confusion, amusement, surprise, and freedom from pain. It’s a bracing yet deeply satisfying journey that showcases the power of art and the communal experience. Buckley’s performance is overwhelming, but worth every tear-stained second.
Rose Byrne, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You
If I Had Legs I’d Kick You is a two-hour-plus nervous breakdown. Linda is at her wits’ end with her life, juggling a demanding job as a therapist, a highly dependent daughter with a feeding disorder, an unhelpful doctor treating her daughter’s feeding disorder, her absentee husband, and a house that literally falls on top of her.
That much confined hell might be alienating if anyone other than Rose Byrne were our guide. The actress wears Linda’s exhaustion with a relatable, frazzled grace, showing us how badly Linda wants to be every woman, and how taxing it is when her purported support systems fail her. As Linda’s life spins further out of control, Byrne grounds us in the sobering truth that love just isn’t enough sometimes. She navigates the chaos superbly, controlling every bomb that filmmaker Mary Bronstein tosses her way. Does Linda screw up, sometimes indefensibly? Sure, but Byrne’s ferocity keeps us resolutely in the “she did nothing wrong” camp.
Lee Byung-hun, No Other Choice
Capitalism sucking isn’t novel. And yet, there’s nothing out there, at least this year, quite like Lee Byung-hun’s conveyance of that insight in No Other Choice. Park Chan-wook taps the actor to lead his brutal satire about a salaryman who goes on a murder spree to secure a new job. Byung-hun does much more than murder the competition, though. Yoo Man-su completely prostrates himself before the altar of financial success. He begs on his knees outside of a bathroom, gets poison sucked out of a snake bite, rolls around in the dirt, unironically wears a John Smith costume, and so much more.
Whatever the scenario, Byung-hun fully leans into the necessary slapstick. Most impressive is that Byung-hun retains his dignity and elegance, and our empathy, underscoring that no one (except maybe the 1.5%) is immune to the ruthlessness demanded by our socioeconomic structures. It is a monumental performance in one of the year’s funniest and most sobering films.
Timothée Chalamet, Marty Supreme
Marty Mauser is a little shit. Everyone knows it; he knows it, too. We put up with him, though, because of his irresistible spark that suggests he’s more than bluster. Chalamet is quite different. He has consistently proven that he is worthy of whatever movie stardom looks like in 2025. You can argue that Marty Supreme actively engages Chalamet’s stardom, especially following his unconventional press tour. He leaves it all on the table, tearing through Josh Safdie’s wicked, bum-rush dialogue with glee and turning heads with his swaggering confidence. He clearly thrives on playing a role that trades on his charisma and comedic skills.
Still, he doesn’t abandon the emotional clarity that netted him his first Oscar nomination for Call Me By Your Name. His final scene is among his best. It’s a moving and, perhaps, bittersweet acknowledgement that Mauser might’ve been chasing the wrong thing. If true, the same can’t be said of his portrayer. If anything, Chalamet had further burnished his credentials as the indisputed leader of Gen-Z Hollywood.
Daniel Day-Lewis, Anemone
Anemone wasn’t the explosive comeback that many were expecting from one of our greatest living actors. Whatever you make of Ronan Day-Lewis’s esoteric and, perhaps, alienating first feature, there is no denying his father’s resilient power. Neither his absorbing screen presence nor his ability to deliver a stunning monologue has diminished in the eight years since his highly publicized retirement. In fact, Ronan grants his father two monologues to remind us of the latter. The first is an eviscerating screed against the Catholic priest who abused Ray, Daniel’s character, as a child. The second is a shattering recollection of what led to Ray’s self-imposed exile in the Irish wildlands.
While Daniel is famous for disappearing into roles, his performance in Anemone carries a compelling meta quality. Instead of settling comfortably into his own exile and cinematic legacy, he returned to serve his son. Hollywood still struggles with the concept of nepotism, but it is endearing to see Daniel make the effort, critical and commercial appraisal be damned.
Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù, My Father’s Shadow
In My Father’s Shadow, Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù plays Folarin, a working man in early-90s Nigeria, an era of political transformation and unrest. Dìrísù, a man of towering physical presence, lends his imposing stature to Folarin and his two sons, Remi and Aki, as they venture to Lagos on a financial errand. On their travels, however, he slowly reveals the nicks, scratches, and cracks in Folarin’s armor. He conveys it through PTSD-driven faraway stares and unconvincing declarations that M. K. O. Abiola will triumph in the presidential election.
It isn’t long before the leaks spring forth. It happens on the beach when Folarn reminds Remi of his responsibility as Aki’s older brother. As Remi innocently probes Folarin about the nature of his parents’ relationship, asking whether love means not being around often, Dìrísù gently unravels Folarin’s guilt, disappointment, and wavering faith. Just when you think your heart can’t break any more, Folarin tells Remi about his namesake, Folarin’s deceased brother. Dìrísù renders Folarin’s recollection with near-religious conviction, which also helps contextualize his political actions. There isn’t a dry eye left by the time they leave the beach, and it’s thanks to Dìrísù’s soul-bearing work.
Joel Edgerton, Train Dreams
Joel Edgerton sneaks up on you in Train Dreams. Like his character Robert Grainier, Edgerton is subdued and focused, determined not to take too much space or draw others’ attention. As the film chugs through the brutal realities of early 20th-century labor, Edgerton’s unassuming nature shows us how Grainer loses his sense of self and his beliefs. He shields himself with silence, and every time we try to break through it, we’re left wanting more. Perhaps we’re not meant to know the depths of his sorrow.
But then Robert lets us in. Edgerton lacks a conventional explosion of pent-up emotion, but the despair seeping across his face throughout the film’s third act is equally searing. We may expect a showy catharsis, but Edgerton’s approach is honest and painful enough to make us resent the expectation. His performance is one of rugged dignity, fertile as the ground that Grainier spends a lifetime toiling on. We’re all the better for both.
Jacob Elordi, Frankenstein
If you haven’t noticed, Jacob Elordi is tall. His height could be a crutch, leaning into easy roles like a rom-com charmer or swaggering jackass. Instead, Elordi has challenged expectations of his physicality to deliver emotionally resonant performances. Frankenstein, Guillermo del Toro’s take on the horror legend, is one such example. As the Creature, Elordi moves with ungainly, apologetic movements, his long limbs seeking the connection that the Creature knows isn’t available to him. He evokes disarming empathy as he reaches out and recoils in fear, and through his eyes, captivating even beneath the prosthetics.
Again, Elordi avoids using the makeup as a crutch and implores us to look deeper and acknowledge the Creature’s humanity. Even in moments of rage and displays of his otherworldly strength, Elordi makes you feel for him. Elordi is excellent all around, but it’s his unique use of his stature that makes it a definitive monster-horror performance.
Chris Evans, Materialists
After several roles that misunderstood (Ghosted, Pain Hustlers) or diminished (Red One) his screen persona, Chris Evans got his groove back with Materialists. He infuses John, a struggling actor and ex-boyfriend of Lucy (Dakota Johnson), with gentle, self-effacing warmth that smooths out his pricklier tendencies. John wants to be worthy of Lucy, but knows he can’t yet be. The tension allows Evans to be a gracious yearner, conveying, with soft smirks and ache-filled gazes, how John resists the temptation of old patterns for both their sakes.
That grace and restraint make the candor and vulnerability in which Evans expresses John’s failings and love for Lucy in the final act so impactful. It was clear from the trailer that John’s “I see wrinkles” speech would be a rom-com triumph, but Evans’ delivery of the line, “Do you think I’m worthless?” is devastating. It’s Evans bearing John’s soul, and perhaps some of his own, as a Hail Mary pass in the face of John and Lucy’s mutual skepticism. The whole scene is Evans’s finest acting moment to date. Materialists demonstrates the power of Evans’s “imperfect everyman who tries anyway” persona and points to a compelling third act for the MCU icon.
Brett Goldstein, All of You
Another champion yearning performance on the list, Brett Goldstein casts aside his own iconic persona to play Simon in the sci-fi romance All of You. Over several years (and 90 minutes), Simon realizes that his soulmate is his best friend, Laura (Imogen Poots). What keeps them apart is her participation in a scientific soulmate test, which links her to someone else. Simon tries to be the best friend Laura can crack inappropriate jokes with, but the strain is evident.
Goldstein puts himself through the emotional ringer (he co-wrote the film with William Bridges) as Simon struggles to reconcile his connection with Laura and what it means for both of them. It’s a revelatory side of Goldstein. He surprises us with his heart-on-his-sleeve sweetness and easy irreverence, delivered in a gentle register that would be inconceivable on Ted Lasso. It’s a deceptively simple, endearing performance that proves Goldstein is more than just Roy Kent.
Regina Hall, One Battle After Another
One Battle After Another is an embarrassment of riches, with every actor being worthy of recognition. However, Regina Hall’s performance as Deandra, leader of the French 75, stood out the most for me. Her work is the quietest amongst the delightfully bombastic cast, but also among the most powerful. Her performance is grounded in the deep-seated emotional toll that revolutionary politics can have on an individual. Hall conveys a firm but trustworthy authority, most memorably when she arrives at Willa’s (Chase Infiniti) school to spirit her away from a planned ambush.
Deandra is formidable, but Hall also relays anxiety through her encroaching tone and tense hands, trying to offer comfort while also detailing the life-threatening stakes. Her eyes fill in the rest: about the resistance’s fragile state, and her fears that all she’s fought for could be for naught. When Deandra finally breaks down, that tension cracks in a quiet wave of Hall’s tears. Deandra ultimately succeeds in saving Willa, but Hall beautifully spotlights the seismic cost.
Cooper Hoffman and David Jonsson, The Long Walk
This year’s paired performance pick shared virtually every frame of Francis Lawrence’s dystopian thriller The Long Walk. Cooper Hoffman and David Jonsson play Ray and Pete, respectively, two young men participating in the titular event, where they must walk, uninterrupted, for miles until only one remains. The event that doesn’t breed companionship, but Ray and Pete form a bond amongst the destitute contestants. They are each other’s crutches, sounding boards, loudspeakers, caffeine pills, and north stars, even knowing that one of them must die.
The Sword of Damocles swinging over their heads feeds tension and empathy through the natural chemistry between Hoffman and Jonsson. Even as fatigue and frustration eat away at their characters, they keep their connection intact. When they have their individual standout moments, you see where they step up to support and where they step back to let their work breathe. Hoffman and Jonsson are powerhouses alone, but together, they are unbeatable. (They know it, too, since they’ve already signed on to another film together.)
Jacobi Jupe, Hamnet
It’s tempting to say that Jacobi Jupe is wise, brave, or perceptive beyond his years in Hamnet. The implication is that maturity is required for a child’s performance to be compelling. However, the beauty of his work lies in how he and Chloe Zhao utilize his youth. Jupe doesn’t hide any of Hamnet’s emotions, lacking the self-consciousness that he might be too precocious. Hamnet needs to be open to internalize William’s (Paul Mescal) instruction to protect his sisters.
That instruction would have shattering consequences for the Shakespeare clan. As Hamnet lies by his twin sister’s side as she fights the bubonic plague, Jupe’s wobbly voice and steady stream of tears carry an unfathomable responsibility for her welfare. He makes us believe that Hamnet must trade his life for hers, and that innocent conviction powers one of the year’s most devastating scenes. For most people, watching Hamnet is less a question of whether you’ll cry than of how much you will cry. By my estimation, Jupe is responsible for at least half of the tears shed.
Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas, Sentimental Value
Sentimental Value is, among other things, a deconstruction of artistic expression and ego. Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas’s Agnes doesn’t have the same vested interest as her sister Nora (Renate Reinsve) and her father Gustav (Stellan Skarsgård) do, which gives her a unique perspective into her family’s fragile state. Lilleaas is our window into the dysfunction, as Agnes monitors her family’s messy estrangement with a blend of soft scrutiny and compassion.
Agnes’s “ah ha” moment comes when she researches her grandmother’s experiences in a WWII concentration camp. Lilleaas retains her composure but lets the gravity of her research chip at it, with slow tears rolling down her face. It continues with Agnes asking Nora to read Gustav’s script. As Nora reads aloud, Lilleaas surfaces Agnes’s emotions more easily, conveying a newfound, potentially transformative understanding of what Gustav knows about his daughters. Agnes isn’t Sentimental Value’s narrative center, but she is its beating heart, as is Lilleaas.
Amy Madigan, Weapons
I don’t play with demons, but I can admit when a demon does what they need to do. Aunt Gladys has become something of a cultural icon since Weapons was released over the summer. It’s easy to see why: with her chopped-bangs red wig, smudged makeup, wide smile, and reedy voice, she’s a hop and a skip away from being a cartoon. She is camp, and Madigan plays her brilliantly. She is just strange enough to be unnerving, but doesn’t cross the line to raise any major red flags.
Of course, it’s a front, but the scale of it is shocking. Without the outside Gladys facade, Madigan is terrifying, projecting an ice-cold, exacting dominance through her stare and obsidian tone. It’s completely understandable why Alex basically damned his classmate to hell on her behalf. If you didn’t understand before she put the Gladys drag back, you do afterwards; it’s bone-chilling. Even if Gladys didn’t demonstrate her powers to Alex and a horrified audience, Madigan makes you believe that Gladys could conquer the world. I, for one, welcome our new, pancake makeup-wearing, soul-stealing overlord.
Wunmi Mosaku, Sinners
Amidst the blood-sucking chaos unleashed on the juke joint in Ryan Coogler’s vampire flick Sinners, there is one indispensable, stabilizing force. Annie, the town’s spiritual healer and Smoke’s former partner, is the one living person who has a clear enough head to guide the rest through what promises to be hell on Earth. From her first frame, Wunmi Mosaku projects an air of earned power, the kind that makes children trust Annie and the usually-smooth Smoke trip over himself in her presence. Her eyes can strip anyone to their studs, while her honeyed tone can rouse spirits (or arouse an erstwhile lover).
Most impressive about Mosaku’s work is how her generosity of spirit and steely faith in the higher powers shape the world that vampire Remmick (Jack O’Connell) seeks to destroy. Whether she’s weak or strong, you have no reason to believe Annie couldn’t solo Remmick with the right tools. The fact that she doesn’t is the film’s greatest tragedy, but Mosaku’s performance remains a towering monument.
Robert Pattinson, Mickey 17
At this point, Robert Pattinson is the patron saint of strange little voices. After landing a spot on my list last year for his vocal work in The Boy and the Heron, he returns to the list this year with not one weird little voice, but two. Pattinson kicked off the year of dual roles in earnest with Mickey 17. He plays Mickey Barnes, an Earth ex-pat who is repeatedly sacrificed and cloned to aid the development of a new space colony. The 17th iteration of Mickey is a sweet and dopey one who lives solely for Agent Nasha (Naomi Ackie). Then there is the prickly, violent 18th Mickey, who was created after Mickey 17 was left for dead on a mission.
That accident of poor management means we get two distinct Robert Pattinsons going full-blown sicko mode at filmmaker Bong Joon-ho’s glorious behest. Every (double) inch of him is up for the challenge, from those brilliant vocal cords to his limbs dangling outside of the cloning machine. His commitment to the bit (and there are lots) keeps the film from spinning out of orbit. Mickey 17 is not only another notch on his patron saint belt but also a loud declaration that he’s one of our most adventurous actors.
Florence Pugh, Thunderbolts
After appearances in Black Widow and Hawkeye, Florence Pugh takes center stage in this year’s Thunderbolts as a new leader for the creatively and commercially adrift MCU. Beyond just flipping through the air and eliminating enemies of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), Pugh also bears the weight of the film’s exploration of the mental health consequences of heroism (or antiheroism).
She exceeds the challenge, playing beats of compassion, anger, and self-loathing through Yelena’s skepticism and indifference. She forms a powerful bond with Lewis Pullman’s Sentry, whose mental health struggles contextualize her own, helping her realize she’s worthy of being a hero. Yelena’s confrontation with Alexei (David Harbour) as Sentry sends New York into the Void is one of the MCU’s finest post-Endgame moments, thanks to Pugh firing from all emotional cylinders. Her performance further proves that Marvel is capable of complex character work and that they should invest in the Oscar nominee as a future pillar of the franchise.
Amanda Seyfried, The Testament of Ann Lee
The Testament of Ann Lee is a lot of movie. Its ambition is staggering: part New World-era musical, part examination of sex’s messy entanglements with religion, part deconstruction of celebrity worship and fanaticism, and likely other parts I’m forgetting. It is up for debate how well those parts work. (Unless you write for Variety and think none of it works, which, what the hell, sure.)
What is less debatable is the sheer force of Amanda Seyfried’s bravura performance in the titular role. She achieves an exceptionally tricky balance between wholesale confidence in Ann Lee’s rigid moral and religious code, intoxication from the psychological and spiritual power that her followers grant her, and recognition of the trauma that informs her zealotry. She is never unconvincing or uncompelling, whether she is preaching, singing, or dancing, all of which she does splendidly. It feels safe to say that no one should follow Ann Lee. Amanda Seyfried, however? Sign yourself up.
Ntobeko Sishi, Laundry
There’s little more painful than watching your dreams die in front of you. Khuthala experiences that pain firsthand at the end of Laundry, Zamo Mkhwanazi’s film about a well-to-do Black family in 1960s Apartheid South Africa, whose world is upended by the arrest of their patriarch, Enoch (Siyabonga Shibe). Despite his father’s wishes for him to eventually take over the family laundromat, Khuthala wants to be a musician. He is so determined to achieve that dream that he seeks out help from his father’s mistress, a popular singer.
Sadly, Enoch’s extended incarceration and the racism governing the apartheid system slowly strip away Khuthala’s relative innocence. Ntobeko Sishi brilliantly demonstrates that loss: in his eyes when negotiating with his father’s white acquaintance, and when he performs protest music. Nothing aches worse, though, than the end. The utter devastation on Khuthala’s face as his dream drives away is soul-crushing, and a remarkable moment from a new talent.
Alexander Skarsgård, Pillion
Alexander Skarsgård in little glasses. Whew.
With that out of the way, let’s talk about what else Skarsgård brings to the surprisingly sweet BDSM romance. Ray is a rigid fantasy, designed in a Stockholm lab to melt the pants off Harry Melling’s bumbling Colin. Skarsgård could’ve easily played Ray as a gruffer Eric Northman, but he offers so much more. The joy of his work is seeing Ray’s apathetic mask occasionally slip, revealing dimensions that the leather distracts from. We see Ray amused by Colin’s parents, frustrated by Colin testing the boundaries of their relationship, and genuinely pleased by Colin blooming within it. Skarsgård shares those glimpses while holding tight to the expected bleeding-raw sex appeal. He also makes space for those glimpses to be some cruel trick at Colin’s expense. The fact that the other shoe never drops only adds to Pillion’s surprise-and-delight nature. Skarsgård’s thoughtfulness helps smash the film’s preconceived notions. It’s apropos for someone who thrives in biking over the rulebook.
Tessa Thompson, Hedda
Has anyone ever enjoyed being bad as much as Tessa Thompson in Hedda? Nia DaCosta’s interpretation of the Norwegian play Hedda Gabler turns the titular heiress loose on a somewhat-expecting house of party guests, ostensibly there to support her husband’s campaign to become a tenured professor. Hedda’s interests lie elsewhere, though. She invites her ex-lover, Dr. Eileen Lovborg (Nina Hoss), and Eileen’s new lover, Thea Clifton (Imogen Poots), to the party. Naturally, hijinks ensue. Thompson flourishes as the chaos agent, floating in her stunning chrome party dress, knowing that everyone eagerly anticipates Hedda’s next move. She wears glamour, lust, and volatility like badges of honor, polished off by a glint in her eye.
Hedda is also capable of insecurity and vulnerability, and Thompson conveys them with that same sparkling clarity. However, when Eileen humiliates Hedda in a private moment, a switch flips, and all bets are off. Hedda Unbound is Thompson at her best: exhilarating, unsettling, and ruthlessly magnetic. Even if someone could claim to enjoy being bad as much as Thompson, she would probably dispatch with them quickly.
Tonatiuh, Kiss of the Spider Woman
Luis Molina is irresistible in Kiss of the Spider Woman. You know it as soon as they float into Valentin Arregui’s (Diego Luna) jail cell as his new cellmate. Molina is unapologetically themselves, draped in fine silk and barraging an initially disinterested Arregui with his love of Old Hollywood (specifically a splendid Jennifer Lopez), even amidst the social carnage outside. Tonatiuh’s confidence and verve are astonishing, snatching us up by the collars and never letting us go. Even more impressive is how his confidence never becomes grating.
That’s because he also has a strong handle on Molina’s weaknesses, particularly his desire to be loved as a woman. Every time Arregui mocks or pities that desire, Tonatiuh takes it like a fatal wound to the chest. Your heart breaks for what Molina wishes to be in the flesh. He does all of this while also playing a part in Molina’s film-within-a-film, and with Molina having his own song-and-dance fantasies in which he has chemistry with anything with a pulse. To do any one of these things is impressive. To do all of them, while holding your own against two superstars, marks the arrival of one in his own right.
Jeremy Allen White, Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere
Jeremy Allen White doesn’t exactly “disappear” into the role of Bruce Springsteen in Deliver Me From Nowhere. However, “disappearing” into The Boss doesn’t seem to be the film’s point. It’s most interested in exploring how Springsteen teetered on the edge between superstardom and oblivion, and how that tricky balancing act informed his controversial Nebraska album. This tight focus suits White’s recent acting strengths incredibly well, particularly the stormy intensity he carries in a well-framed stare. White makes you feel Bruce’s frustration at failing to recreate his vision on digital, and the meticulousness with which he approaches perfecting it on analog tape. He also tethers Bruce’s torment to more than vague “trauma,” visibly struggling to maintain genuine connections with loved ones and colleagues.
Where White blurs the lines of “becoming” is in his singing. While there are minor differences, his singing is nearly indistinguishable from Buce’s, without sounding like studio trickery. That aside, White’s performance helps the film achieve what few other biopics have done as of late: offer compelling insight into their subject that a music video or interview might miss.
Zoë Winters, Materialists
One of the year’s toughest roles belongs to Zoë Winters in Materialists. The film asks the actress to bear one of this year’s sharpest tonal shifts, when her unlucky-in-love character Sophie is sexually assaulted on a date set up by matchmaker Lucy (Dakota Johnson). Up until that shocking reveal, Sophie is treated like comic relief, an unwitting reflection of Lucy’s cynicism about New York dating culture. “I’m trying to settle!” she exclaims when she and Lucy debrief after a bad date, with Winters’ sharp delivery earning laughs for Sophie’s frustration.
Sophie is funny, earnest, and relatable in her desperation, which is part of why her assault is so shocking. A brutal transformation from matchmaking victim to assault survivor should be insurmountable, but Winters is staggeringly successful. She has such a strong grip on Sophie that she can still feed her character’s dark humor into a devastating confrontation over Lucy’s negligence without losing sight of the violation, betrayal, and knowledge that she deserves better from the world. Materialists takes big swings in its observations on love and commerce, and the most successful comes from Winters’ bat.
DeWanda Wise, Love Brooklyn
In Love, Brooklyn, DeWanda Wise’s Nicole is looking for a fun, casual time with her situationship, Roger (André Holland). Their arrangement suits her just fine, as it does him, at first. However, Roger’s overall aimlessness and restlessness prompt him to seek more from his part-time lover, leading him to actively engage with Nicole’s daughter. Nicole’s calm, cool, and disaffected demeanor slips with Roger’s well-meaning intrusion into her personal space.
Wise flips the script on us when she confronts Roger and explains that Nicole’s daughter’s father passed away. Nicole can’t afford to put her daughter in an unstable situation, which is all Roger can offer. Wise is brutally honest and unnervingly vulnerable as Nicole, leaving everyone – Roger, the audience, and quite possibly herself – reeling. Her performance is a razor-sharp inflection point for a film that mostly goes with the flow, and is a powerful reminder that people deserve to be more than a footnote in someone else’s story.
Leave a Reply