Though the “Barbenheimer” phenomenon seemed like a punchline in search of a joke, the release of “Wicked” on the same day as “Gladiator II” did illuminate how culture works today. Yes, intellectual property—or “IP”—continues to exercise dominion over our art, but it doesn’t have to mean the end of creativity. Whereas the latest Roman epic is a wan imitation of its predecessor, its multiplex rival turns the Oz story inside out. Instead of tired toga-wrapped political intrigue, “Wicked” poses relevant questions that stretch beyond politics: How much of what everybody knows is simply a constructed fiction? Conspiratorial thinking made for great thrillers in the ’70s and it could reinvigorate filmmakers’ imaginations, if they’re willing to take a chance on doing something interesting.
“Wicked” (in theaters) or rather “Wicked: Part One,” as the opening title has it, was my favorite film of the year, combining the magic of the Harry Potter movies (though it’s far better than any of them) with the comic energy of “Mean Girls” (but it’s much funnier than either of those features). The director, Jon M. Chu, isn’t an auteur. He isn’t interested in showy camera work or fancy editing. He simply serves up a terrifically entertaining story with thrilling musical numbers.
Auteurism was, however, very much the style of the other film that left me in awe this year: Brady Corbet’s “The Brutalist” (in theaters Dec. 20). This staggering drama set in the world of postwar architecture proves that you don’t need a big budget to create an outsize experience. (Mr. Corbet, previously a director of little-seen indies such as 2018’s “Vox Lux,” has said he had less than $10 million to work with.) He passionately combines image and sound to elevate to mythic proportions a clash of personalities between a fiercely single-minded architect (Adrien Brody) and his equally strong-willed patron (Guy Pearce) as the two of them build a cultural center near Philadelphia.
At the other end of the state, in Pittsburgh, another battle of resolve takes place inside a working-class family in another period piece, “The Piano Lesson” (on Netflix). It’s a searing adaptation of the August Wilson play from writer-director Malcolm Washington, star John David Washington and their father, producer Denzel Washington. As a hotheaded young man (John David Washington) seeks to avenge past wrongs with murder and a plan to purchase the land where his enslaved ancestors once worked, his sister (Danielle Deadwyler) refuses to let him sell the family heirloom, a piano carved with figures that represent the sorrows and endurance of African-Americans. Like the disputes of eras past, the piano is best left alone.
Both of today’s most charismatic new movie stars, Austin Butler and Glen Powell, earned impressive summer showcases.
Mr. Butler, who took on the title role in “Elvis,” returned in “The Bikeriders” (on Peacock), as a soulful member of a fraternally devoted group of 1960s motorcycle lovers in writer-director Jeff Nichols’s finely detailed film based on an art book by Danny Lyon that delves into a mostly forgotten subculture of working-class Midwestern men with respect and wonder. Neither Montgomery Clift nor James Dean could have played the part any better.
And just as Mr. Butler embodies soul-searching, today’s other nascent superstar, Glen Powell, radiates the self-confidence of Matthew McConaughey and Tom Cruise. In Lee Isaac Chung’s “Twisters” (Peacock), a near-perfect example of the formulaic summer action blockbuster, the tornadoes were unstoppable but Mr. Powell was the true force of nature, forming half of the year’s most adorable screen couple with Daisy Edgar-Jones. (Mr. Powell also seemed to have more fun than any performer in 2024 playing a series of fake hired killers in the Netflix comedy “Hit Man,” which would have made my 10-best list if 11 were the same as 10.)
Plunging us into unfamiliar situations as effectively as Mr. Chung and Mr. Nichols did, two more films with an especially keen sense of setting were “Anora” (theaters) and “September 5” (theaters, Dec. 13). The former is a madcap raunchy comedy about a poor stripper (Mikey Madison, in a star-making performance) who captures the heart of the wealthy young son (the amusingly louche Mark Eydelshteyn) of a Russian oligarch while the father’s minions hilariously fail to split them apart. Writer-director Sean Baker’s frantic fairy tale ricochets around Russian neighborhoods in Brooklyn as memorably as “What’s Up, Doc?” did around San Francisco. By contrast, “September 5” virtually bolts us into a Munich television control room at the 1972 Summer Olympics, where Palestinian terrorists take the Israeli Olympic team hostage. Presented from the point of view of ABC Sports producers Roone Arledge (Peter Sarsgaard) and Geoff Mason (John Magaro), the film by Swiss writer-director Tim Fehlbaum uses a point-by-point rundown of the choices made by journalists covering an unprecedented situation to explore the sudden practical, legal and ethical dilemmas that arose out of what was supposed to be routine sports coverage.
A similarly claustrophobic feel intensified the scares in “Heretic” (theaters), which makes the most of Hugh Grant 2.0, now a virtuoso among mischievously sinister character actors. In a snowbound house, Mr. Grant plays a man toying with a pair of visiting Mormon missionaries (Sophie Thatcher, Chloe East) who can’t escape his lair unless they play his twisted game, which involves a doubter’s challenges on the nature of religion but may not fully account for the possibility of redemption through faith.
Not quite as scary (though it was also rated R), the stop-motion animated feature “Memoir of a Snail” (theaters) was about siblings, not mollusks. Australian writer-director Adam Elliot crafted a heartrending, crazily serpentine tale about an orphaned girl and boy who are sent to live in separate foster homes far apart and yearn desperately to be reunited. Finally, Pixar added yet another classic to its library with “Inside Out 2” (Disney+), which in accordance with company practice bobbed along delightfully on the surface but carried serious thematic cargo beneath. As anyone acquainted with today’s youngsters can tell you, there’s a frantic little imp running amok in the teen psyche, and her name is Anxiety. Unlike the Wicked Witch of the West, she isn’t entirely a fantasy figure.
