As it happens, 2025 was about as good a year for regular blogging as 2024, though not for lack of trying. I swear to you all I will kicked off 2026 with the banger of finally ending the list of my favorite movies. What can be said about the past year? Mainly, a pattern of expansion and exhaustion. I had a play produced and performed, I suffered the death of my last grandparent, I traveled to Europe for the first time in my life, I helped open a cocktail bar, I fell in love. Through it all, 2025 was a solid year for stories, and I actually had some trouble coming up with this year's list. I think it is as broad and varied as the year itself, with the shocking discovery of not one animated piece a part of it! Spoiler warning as always.
5- Frankenstein, Guillermo del Toro
We begin with a visual and thematic feast—and the film I was probably most excited for in 2025. Guillermo del Toro crafts, truly crafts, a marvel of modern filmmaking which, although not entirely faithful to the plot of Mary Shelly's iconic novel, nevertheless carries its themes and tale to new, grisly, operatic heights. The amount of times Frankenstein left me breathless purely on aesthetic alone, I cannot count. Similarly, the ways in which everything from Jacob Elordi's brooding presence to Oscar Isaac's callous arrogance to Mia Goth's poetic understanding had me gasping, shuddering, or outright cursing earns this film's place on this list. Some of the changes proved harder to swallow than others, although I appreciate the presence of Christoph Waltz whenever he appears in anything, while others proved merely to heighten the drama and scale of so impactful and inspirational (that's a word to use here, isn't it? Huh.) a story. I think that might be more the beauty of seeing this tale told through the eyes of Guillermo del Toro, a man to whom symbolism and monstrosity are second nature: Frankenstein appears as hopeful as it does despairing. So much then for human nature, indeed.
Quote: "If you are not to award me love, then I will indulge in rage. And mine is infinite!"
4- Wake Up Dead Man, Rian Johnson
More symbolism, more monsters, more gorgeous cinematography. Rian Johnson's third Benoit Blanc mystery, helmed as ever by the deliciously-accented Daniel Craig, still falls slightly short of the first entry, but to me, miles above Glass Onion. Much of that has to do with the themes themselves—and rarely have I encountered a take on organized religion, especially Catholicism, which so deftly walks the line of respect and wariness. Blanc is himself an avowed atheist who, rightly for narrative purposes from my perspective, remains unchanged in his personal beliefs by film's end but who nevertheless grows something like an appreciate for the role of religion thanks to the standout performance of Josh O'Connor's Jud Duplenticy. As in any Knives Out movie, the side characters all take their turns at unabashed hilarity and thematic needling, with Daryl McCormack's Cy taking the cake for me, and the twists upon twists actually kept me guessing near the end. A fun ride with unbelievable artistic value and more than a few tearjerker moments.
Quote: "Yeah. You’re right. It’s storytelling. And this church, it’s… it’s not medieval. We’re in New York. It’s Neogothic 19th Century. It has more in common with Disneyland than Notre Dame… and the rites and rituals and costumes, all of it. It’s storytelling. You’re right. I guess the question is do these stories convince us of a lie? Or do they resonate with something deep inside us that’s profoundly true? That we can’t express any other way… except storytelling."
3- Red Rabbit by Alex Grecian
I like reading outside of my usual genres. I love my fantasy and military and geopolitical stuff, to be sure. But I'm not above a romcom (Emily Henry is a fave), litfic (hey, Sally Rooney), and a little horror here and there. So, a western horror about a posse gathering to take on a witch? Yeah, count me in, and by God am I glad to be counted in. Not only is Alex Grecian's novel vast and beautiful for its worldbuilding and understanding of its genres tropes (lampshading done like this has to be applauded), but it is also magical in a way I haven't felt in a while, even in fantasy, and strikes the balance of funny and horrifying in a way more works should. I genuinely fell in love with the characters and their respective missions, found myself crying alongside their losses and cheering for their successes. In a world where a witch can be a woman (nods knowing at my own work) and a demon can be a toad and the hospitality of any random town can be a weapon, Grecian keeps the reader on the knife's edge of magical realism and fantastic horror as his band of heroes, villains, tag-alongs, and one very quiet, very powerful girl circle closer and closer to the Witch of Burden County.
Quote:
"Sorry about that, Earl," Roy said. "I shoulda cleared my throat or something. I was saying that's a bad storm. Looks like it's directly over Riddle."
"Looks that way," Earl said.
"Might be witchcraft, then."
"Could be."
"Yeah," Roy said. "You think we ought to ride up there?"
...
Earl frowned, but said nothing.
"Well," Roy said. "I guess you're right. There wouldn't be a whole lot of point to it, would there? If its them Paradise boys, I guess she can handle them just fine."
"Storms come and go," Earl said.
"Welcome to Kansas," Roy said.
2- If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Calvino
If on a winter’s night a traveler should one day begin reading a blog post by a sommelier and aspiring author named Justin X. M. Corriss on his eponymous website and realize that, part of the way through a list of Justin's top five stories experienced in the year 2025, the narrative nature of the blog had changed somewhat drastically, they (possibly, you) would have some sense of the absolutely mesmerizing whiplash which is Italo Calvino’s novel If on a winter’s night a traveler. My deep love of metafiction and the absolute shattering of the fourth wall should be nothing new by now, and Calvino's postmodernist novel thoroughly reinforced it. On the one hand, If on a winter's night a traveler shows remarkable skill in navigating a range of different narrative voices for the novels that comprise this novel (it makes sense, kind of, I promise), on the other hand, this is a thoroughly enjoyable book about books and love and the thrill of knowledge and discovery. It's as frustrating as all of those elements, too, and some part of that merely added to the appeal. If the ending is a bit saccharine, so be it. Sometimes we just want to curl up at the end of the day with a good book, even if finding a comfortable position to read in is one of life's great struggles.
Quote: "There's a boundary line: one one side are those who make books, on the other those who read them. I want to remain one of those who read them, so I take care always to remain on my side of the line. Otherwise, the unsullied pleasure of reading ends, or at least it is transformed into something else, which is not what I want."
1- Sinners, Ryan Coogler
I texted a friend of mine not long after I finished watching Sinners, tear-stained and shaken, expressing that I was not quite sure of a film which so powerfully put such a perspective of the ancestry and cultural weight lost not only to colonialism but to slavery, and to have it expressed to eloquently through the lens of music. I got the text back: "Wait, the vampire one?" And, yes. The vampire one. I have made little secret of my own struggles vis a vis my identity as an adopted child of color, and there are few pieces of media which have better helped me mourn the loss of some of what might have been than seeing a movie so closely tied to what is, was, and has been lost already. Remmick (Jack O'Connell) as a villain is at once funny, terrifying, and deeply sympathetic—counterpoint to the deep soulful connection between Miles Canton's Sammie and Delroy Lindo's Delta Slim. The root is of course, music, and this film walks the line of being secretly a musical (more love to it). What's more, although ostensibly a horror, Sinners embraces a breadth of genre and influence, turning it into something of a homage not only to the genre but to all the inspiration Ryan Coogler must have felt over the course of his artistic career. A film about all the power to inspire, to connect, and to grieve through art framed with gorgeous cinematography, powerful music, and A+ acting from the entire cast? I've rewatched it twice already, and imagine I might again before the year's out.
Quote: "Those men lied to themselves and lied to us. They told stories of a God above and a Devil below. And lies of a dominion of man over beast and Earth. We are earth and beast, and god. We are woman and man. We are connected, you and I—to everything... You will taste the sweet pain of death. We will make beautiful music together."
Honorable Mentions: Superman ("No shit, I'm not dim."), K-Pop Demon Hunters (How it's done, done, done!), Skazki: A Spell of Ice and Snow (Shameless self promotion, but also sincere, grateful reflection.)