50. “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” (2011)
Few things are as primally satisfying as seeing a well-trained chef prepare a piece of beautiful sushi. After all, sushi is an art form, in addition to being a scrumptious dinner option. David Gelb’s “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” is a fascinating look at the life and work of Jiro Ono, who routinely prepares what is widely considered the finest sushi on Earth out of a nondescript space somewhere in a Tokyo subway. Jiro is a pioneer and a true original in his field: one of his restaurants was awarded no less than three Michelin stars (the guy also once whipped together a sushi dinner for former President Barack Obama, no small feat). What’s fascinating about “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” is that Jiro himself doesn’t seem to think he’s perfected his craft: if anything, he keeps raising his own personal bar for perfection with each passing year. “Jiro” also examines its subject’s life as a father of two young men, both of whom are understandably apprehensive about one day inheriting their dad’s considerable culinary inheritance. “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” offers viewers an embarrassment of riches: it’s a testament to striving for excellence, a procession of drool-worthy food porn, and proof that the maxim “if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life” undeniably has some merit. Jiro is still with us (he’s 94!) and thanks to this wonderful film, both he and his sushi will live in cinematic immortality. – NL
49. “Under African Skies” (2012)
There are two kinds of documentaries: good ones and book reports. The latter is a hagiographic exercise presenting a person, event, or idea in a certain light, offering some background and consenting opinions to back up that claim, concluding with a summary of why the foregone conclusion is indeed correct. Director Joe Berlinger isn’t in the book report business, and his “Under African Skies” documentary about the recording of Paul Simon’s 1986 ‘Graceland’ album escapes this trap by detailing a complicated moment in history, allowing the audience to draw its own conclusions. When Paul Simon broke the cultural boycott and travelled to South Africa during the height of apartheid, he was making a statement about the universal nature of music, and its ability to transcend politics. Conversely, his critics charged that he was violating a very practical and effective method meant to bring an end to a brutally racist system of government. Both sides make great points, and the documentary works because it never tries to sell its audience on either. Buoyed by great music and a fascinating conversation about the role of artists in society, “Under African Skies” is one of the great overlooked documentary gems of the decade. -Warren Cantrell
48. “Infinite Football” (2018)
The widely quoted aphorism “most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go their graves with the song still in them” is popular presumably because it contains a sad-eyed truth about fulfillment not found and potential untapped, phenomena to which Laurentiu Ginghină, the subject of Corneliu Porumboiu‘s droll, deceptive documentary, is no stranger. But the saying is also a con-job: a faux-poetic mash-up of Thoreau and a bit of Oliver Wendell Holmes, a mongrel heritage that somehow makes it more, not less applicable to Porumboiu’s irresistible, eccentric project. Colliding political allegory, football fandom, Romanian bureaucracy, superhero myths, and hangdog biography, “Infinite Football” should be a hotchpotch but is instead a work of surprisingly honest and humorous lyricism, albeit painted in institutional grays, in which Ginghină’s increasingly convoluted plans for the total overhaul of the Beautiful Game come to symbolize all the beautifully impractical aspirations that can be harbored in the hearts of the otherwise disappointed. Static, wilfully ugly shots of dog-eared flipcharts and drab offices, contrast with the wild flights of fancy from the monologuing Ginghină, who is interrupted every now and then by a quizzical, skeptical but never condescending Porumboiu. Even before an epilogue that takes us into overtly poetic territory, and whether or not you care to read some manner of political parallel into his gradually revealed life story, Ginghină’s owlish sincerity sells us on the oddball nobility of this fabulously quixotic hobby of his. Funny, moving and as defiantly idiosyncratic as an octagonal football pitch, this is ultimately an admiring, if not a little heartbroken portrait of a downtrodden man determined, despite all that desperation, not to go to the grave with his loopy, ludicrous song unsung. – Jessica Kiang
47. “Citizenfour” (2014)
So much of contemporary documentary looks back – in the form of slick, hagiographic bio-docs and History Channel-style archival assemblage – that there wass something particularly thrilling about the sheer present-tense reportage of Laura Poitras’s Oscar winner for Best Documentary Feature. Fusing fly-on-the-wall observation with conspiracy thriller paranoia, this accounting of the initial disclosures of Edward Snowden was mostly shot in a single Hong Kong hotel room, an appropriately claustrophobic and clandestine location for a film detailing shocking invasions of privacy and abuses of power. Yet the picture’s strength lies in its intimacy, in how much we seem to learn about Snowden and reporter Glenn Greenwald (and how complex those impressions turn out to be, as detailed in her follow-up film “Risk”). A terse, direct, yet admirably complicated piece of work. – JB
46. “Tickled” (2016)
“Tickled” has no real agenda except the search for answers about the world of competitive tickling, but boy-howdy: does it encounter some agendas along the way! When New Zealand TV reporter David Farrier casually follows up on a story about this quirky community, he has no idea it will lead him down a rabbit hole of fraud, false identities, scare tactics, and ruined lives that would make an OT VII Scientologist blush. In “Tickled,” Farrier and his producing partner Dylan Reeve embark on a hunt for answers that lead them to a shady media company that turns out to be a front for the activities of just one man, whose manipulative practices and defamation campaigns run off all but the most ardent pursuers. What starts out as a breezy, light-hearted investigation into a niche fetish subculture spirals into a bizarre descent into litigious combat with an entity with seemingly bottomless pockets and a predilection for ruining lives. And while the revelations are indeed fascinating, they are just part of a larger, interesting story that only comes into focus as the final puzzle piece is put into place. It’s a wild ride, and well worth any fidgeting along the way. -WC
45. “An Open Secret” (2015)
The “open secret” of the title is the entertainment industry’s ongoing and unapologetic sexual exploitation of young people – “open” because everyone knows, and “secret” because of who it implicates. Released more than two years before the fall of Harvey Weinstein and the beginnings of #MeToo, Amy Berg’s searing exposé underscores that those stories were not just of their moment, or about any particular person; they were the organic outcomes of a systemic issue in the industry, where power is absolute and all peccadillos are indulged. Sensitively detailing the experiences of five victims, Berg’s film points some fingers and names some names (though not all). But most importantly, she listens, sympathizes, and asks pointedly why such crimes are allowed not only to occur, but to continue. – JB
44. “They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead” (2018)
Have you seen Orson Welles’ “The Other Side of the Wind?” If you haven’t, don’t worry – some film nerds might crucify us for writing this, but it’s simply not very good. Welles’ “unfinished” film proved to be a source of curiosity for the director’s apologists, and it’s nothing if not a fascinating experiment in narrative form, but it’s also a far cry from the likes of “The Magnificent Ambersons” or “F For Fake.” If you’re curious about the movie’s long, arduous journey to the small screen (Netflix released it November of last year) but don’t feel like subjecting yourself to its various wonky indulgences, we highly recommend Morgan Neville’s superb documentary “They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead,” which chronicles the gestation period of Welles’ magnum opus. “They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead” is catnip for millennial savants of the ’70s cinematic golden age, as it’s replete with marvelous cameos from notable members of that aforementioned scene. A stoned, bedraggled Dennis Hopper shows up, distilling his entire infamous counterculture mystique into a few genuinely scintillating moments. Hey, there’s Claude Chabrol at a ritzy party out in the California desert! Peter Bogdonavich playing a preening, not-so-sympathetic riff on his public persona! And, of course, John Hughes, who reputedly clashed with Welles playing the star of “Other Side,” a very Wellesian figure by the name of J.J. Hannaford. “They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead” has enough detail and texture for an entire nonfiction miniseries, so the fact that the film is as brisk, stimulating and informative as it is amounts to a kind of miracle. – NL
43. “Seymour: An Introduction” (2015)
Ethan Hawke made his documentary filmmaking debut with this 2015 profile of pianist Seymour Bernstein, who abruptly stopped playing publicly at age 50 and spent his twilight years as a composer, teacher, and all-around raconteur. He has accumulated many good stories in those years, and Hawke is more than happy to listen to, and record, those. But his film is less an audience than a dialogue, with the actor (and occasional writer and director) seeking out Bernstein’s thoughts and wisdom on living the life of an artist while still living the life of a person. Their conversations – searching, warm, and funny – elevate “Seymour: An Introduction” from hagiography into the realm of self-examination, and even self-help. – JB
42. “Searching for Sugar Man” (2012)
A sprawling investigation that examines the power of art in a repressed society, as well as the collective force of myth making, “Searching for Sugar Man” defies expectations at every turn. An investigative documentary that tracks a handful of music sleuths in their hunt for a fabled 1970s rock musician, “Sugar Man” is as much about the people and the community as the artist that inspired them. Director Malik Bendjelloul is patient with the unfurling of his tale, starting with some background on musician Sixto Rodriguez, who released a pair of albums in the early ’70s that flopped in the U.S., but became a cultural touchstone for millions of South Africans. As it develops, the documentary transforms into a cautious love letter to the arts, and what it means to “succeed” creatively. More than just a puff piece about a rocker the filmmakers admire, it is an examination of the toll creativity takes on the creator, as well as the boon it provides to the audience. It also serves as a beacon of hope to any person who has created something seemingly forgotten and champions the idea that there’s potential for an audience if the product is pure. -WC
41. “All These Sleepless Nights” (2016)
If you were born in the early 1980s, you might find yourself in a generational grey zone like Polish director Michal Marczak did when he set out to make his 2016 Sundance award-winning “All These Sleepless Nights.” A film that exists in a fascinating grey zone of its own, caught at the intersection of documentary and narrative fiction, Marczak wanted to craft a film that reflected the latter half of the Millennial generation – one that grew up far kinder, empathetic, and way more technologically savvy than he did. Turning his camera (he also served as cinematographer) on real-life friends Krzysztof Baginski and Michal Huszcza, Marczak documented the universal trials and tribulations of youth through the art of dance and movement. Aided by a timely, pulsating soundtrack of modern electronica like Caribou, Marczak’s film is a fascinating look at the generational divide: the real lives of two latter-era Millennials twisted and contorted to serve a greater narrative by an older Millennial reflecting on his own youth. There were other filmmakers who toyed with a similar type of narrative this decade – directors like Dean-Fleischer Camp brilliantly exploited our YouTube obsessed minds with “Fraud” the same year as Marczak’s film – but nothing felt quite as fresh and visually dazzling as “All These Sleepless Nights.” — Max Roux
