Enda Bowe/courtesy Hulu
Daisy Edgar-Jones and Paul Mescal captivate as the stars of "Normal People," an exploration of young love.
To say the content we watched in 2020 was an escape would be an understatement. Quite honestly, the best way to find solace during quarantine was often in many of the TV shows and movies we streamed from the comfort of our living rooms. Until theaters can safely reopen, that’ll do. Here are 10 things that got me through 2020. If you missed any, try them in 2021. Given how the year started, our need for escape is not going away.
Normal People, Hulu
There’s an intense intimacy in the romance at the center of Normal People not many shows explore. It’s an exploration of young love at its most vulnerable and often most truthful moments. Based on Sally Rooney’s best-selling 2018 novel, Hulu’s Normal People follows the complex relationship between Irish teens Connell and Marianne as they cycle in and out of each other’s lives from secondary school through college. Connell’s a popular rugby player who begins a secretive relationship with outsider Marianne despite very different backgrounds. The plot sounds familiar enough, but the show manages to evolve into something more over its 12 episodes. Normal People starts as a teen romance and makes an impressive leap to a more matured chronicle of the unbreakable bond between two young adults. All credit is certainly due to the phenomenal cast. Rising stars Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones captivate as the two leads, bringing a palpable on-screen chemistry that’s absolutely unmatched on TV. Plenty of moments between Connell and Marianne are wordless, but their connection never suffers because of it thanks to the subtle performances. Adaptations sometimes settle for rehashing the story of the book verbatim, but Normal People finds new ways to enrich the story and capture the novel while also digging deeper into the central themes of class difference and young love.
Palm Springs, Hulu
The world was well into quarantine by the time Palm Springs hit Hulu in July, just as month six of isolation fatigue approached. Days seemed to blur together, and it was easy to get trapped in the monotony of it all. Surprisingly, it was a rom com about the same day repeating itself that became a balm for the current situation.
Palm Springs made quite a splash at Sundance when it broke the record for biggest film acquisition in the history of the film festival — by a tight $0.69. The festival buzz comes as no surprise, really, as Palm Springs proves to be a charming and innovative take on the “endless time-loop” narrative. During a wedding at the titular resort, apathetic attendees Nyles and Sarah (an excellent Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti) accidentally find themselves stuck in an infinite loop of the wedding day. Sarah’s desire to escape the loop collides with Nyles' nihilist acceptance of his life, causing the major existential conflict at the center of the film. At just 90 minutes, the film is brisk and undeniably charming, mostly due to the duo’s effortless chemistry in every scene. The two leads really get to shine during a montage in which Nyles and Sarah experiment in the loop — starting fights, stealing a plane, and pulling pranks during the wedding. Despite the film’s often dark humor, there is a sense of hope at the end of Palm Springs. Life starts to feel meaningless when every day’s the same, but Palm Springs insists on finding value and connection in the monotony of it all. Palm Springs is a soothing reminder that there’s still hope in trying to do good in life, and it’s always better with a companion by your side. In 2020, that message sure hit home.
Dave, FX and Hulu
Dave Burd plays a fictionalized version of himself in this semi-autobiographical comedy about his life as rapper Lil Dicky. It’s thematically reminiscent of FX’s Atlanta, as both explore the complex and often absurd path to rap celebrity — although Dave leans heavily into its raunchy comedy. As his rap moniker suggests, Burd never misses a chance for sexual innuendo or physical comedy in Dave, but it would be a disservice to only credit the show for its humor alone. The dialogue is rapid and witty, but it also addresses more serious issues as the season progresses. Is Lil Dicky the character’s most authentic self, or is it just an act that Dave puts on? The answer is often muddled, as Burd traverses between the overly goofy and serious artist in his portrayal of “Dave.” Dave really finds its footing at the season’s midpoint, in an episode that centers around Lil Dicky’s hype man GaTa, who reveals he’s bipolar. The episode expands the frame to focus more on side characters and positions the show as much more thoughtful and empathetic than goofier early episodes. The character “Dave” is often difficult, and it’s hard to root for him when he refuses to grow up and chooses his ego and career over his relationships. His personal life catches up with him in the back half of the season, especially in the final two episodes. His commitment to pursuing music collides with his relationship to his girlfriend in the excellent and crushing penultimate episode — also the series’ best. The finale impressively combines all of the shows into one final scene, where Dave addresses cultural appropriation, ego, and taking himself seriously all in one freestyle rap. It’s a fitting ending to a show that, much like the artist at the center of the frame, proves itself worthy.
Shithouse, IFC Films
With a title like Shithouse, it’ll come as a surprise how tender and intimate Cooper Raiff’s debut coming-of-age film is. The 23-year-old serves as writer/director/star of the film, a small project he was able to develop into a feature-length movie with the help of indie director Jay Duplass. Raiff plays Alex, a sensitive college freshman who struggles to adjust to life far from home. Unable to make friends or bond with his roommate, Alex spends most of his time calling his mom and sister back home. When he runs into RA Maggie (Dylan Gelula) after a party, the two spend all night talking and strolling campus. Watching the two together often feels like being third wheel to a couple that hasn’t quite figured out their own feelings yet. Gelula nails the balance between the sweet but emotionally distant Maggie, providing a perfectly complex foil to Raiff’s boyish vulnerability as Alex. Raiff seems to be drawing from his own college experience in much of Shithouse, making the film a more personal story than most coming-of-age college stories of its kind. Still, there’s plenty to identify with in Alex’s college experience, due in part to how natural the film’s dialogue feels (a majority of the film is conversations between the two). Alex and Maggie’s conversations about adulthood and mortality closely echo the talky deep discussions of Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise. When the two fight after their night together, the encounter feels believable and they talk like real people do. That’s the magic of Shithouse; the two characters feel authentic. Shithouse was set to premiere at South by Southwest back in March before COVID canceled the festival, but it still managed to earn the Grand Jury Prize when the festival went digital. Don’t be scared off by the title — this is a special film.
High Fidelity, Hulu
Of all the great TV that’s come out of this year, perhaps no other show is as fun to spend time with as High Fidelity. The excellent soundtrack undoubtedly plays a part, but it’s also anchored by a strong main cast, led by Zoe Kravitz. Hulu’s new adaptation of Nick Hornby’s 1995 novel — also a 2000 film starring John Cusack — tells the story of Rob, a lovesick record store owner revisiting playlists and past relationships to win back an ex. Kravitz portrays Rob in this gender-flipped 10-episode version of High Fidelity, which updates the film’s story to the current day and incorporates many plot hallmarks from Hornby’s novel. Rob still breaks the fourth wall to address the audience (which Kravitz makes believable rather than gimmicky) and still gives rundowns of her top five lists through the series (top five breakup songs, for one). The soundtrack acts as its own language within the show, providing context to Rob’s mindset and many great needle drops. A karaoke session of “Come on Eileen” breaks out in the record shop in the first episode, serving as an energetic introduction to Rob’s coworkers (played by Da’Vine Joy Randolph and David H. Holmes). The role is a perfect fit for Kravitz, who plays Rob so naturally cool, albeit prickly at times. High Fidelity is set in a gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood, where Championship Vinyl stands as the last bastion of the past for music lovers like Rob in the digital age. “Half the neighborhood thinks we’re washed-up relics, the other half think we’re nostalgic hipsters. They’re both kinda right,” Rob explains to the audience during the first episode. Rob’s an old soul stuck between past relationships and moving forward in life, and her journey to maturity is delightful. Despite glowing reviews, Hulu unexpectedly pulled the plug on the show after its first season. The cancelation was a tough loss for a dedicated fanbase, who connected with it in a special way. High Fidelity’s a binge-worthy watch that hits all the right notes for music lovers.
The Last Dance, ESPN Films and Netflix
Remember how exciting it was to gather every Sunday night to watch a brand-new Game of Thrones episode at the same time as everyone else? There’s a special sense of community that comes with watching a big TV event with the rest of the world, whether it’s checking the live Twitter discourse or being able to talk about it with friends the next day. Events like these have become harder to come by in the streaming age, but ESPN managed to bring them back in epic fashion.
ESPN’s documentary of Michael Jordan’s last championship run with the Chicago Bulls was always going to be a hit. What was most surprising was the communal experience the world had watching The Last Dance every Sunday night. In the middle of quarantine, it dominated the conversation on social media spaces like Twitter, and it wasn’t hard to stumble into The Last Dance discourse across the internet. Yes, it’s really that good. The Last Dance has a knack for depicting the '90s Chicago Bulls dynasty with the drama and stature of a Greek myth. The 10-part saga of Michael Jordan’s last NBA finals run is rife with rivalries, egos, and drama among teammates. Incredible interviews explore stories on and off the court that reveal how players handled status as cultural icons. In a way, The Last Dance is less about the sport itself and more about hero worship, self-mythology, and the implications of being the very best at all costs. Jordan pushed his teammates hard and often was a bully on the court, but was that necessary for the team to reach a championship? Does it take an ego like Jordan’s to get to the level of greatness? Director Jason Hehir leaves it to the audience to ponder these questions, but the character studies of the players are often just as entertaining as the game footage. The Last Dance offers plenty to enrapture even the most apathetic sports fans, which is surely due in part to Jordan himself. Some of the best parts are an older Jordan reacting to a video of another player’s comments, a sly smirk on his face. Unsurprisingly, The Last Dance drew controversy for its subjectivity, especially in favor of Jordan. Nevertheless, no sports documentary is as much of a thrill ride as The Last Dance, and soon it’ll be time for a rewatch.
I May Destroy You, HBO Max
Michaela Coel has a lot to say. She has a story to tell that’s all her own, and the result is I May Destroy You, a bold, sharp and at times cathartic new 12-part series from HBO Max and BBC One. Like Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, I May Destroy you is an entirely auteurist vision — Coel, a black British woman, stars, writes, directs and produces the project from beginning to end. She plays Arabella, an author and millennial celebrity who takes a break from her writing that ends in a blurry night out with friends. Arabella soon comes to the realization that she was drugged and raped, and her life spirals out of control as she confronts her trauma over the rest of the series. I May Destroy You explores different forms of consent, how trauma can have a ripple effect among those around us, and what it means to come to terms with trauma. Themes are heavy, but Coel’s storytelling brings a humanity that balances drama, humor and catharsis. None of the characters are perfect; Arabella’s a flawed protagonist, often unaware of how her actions affect those around her. Just like the characters, there’s plenty of grey area in the show’s topics. There’s no easy answer when Arabella and her friends confront trauma. From week to week, there was an exciting element of surprise as to where I May Destroy You might take you next on Arabella’s journey, but Michaela Coel always had complete control. In its finale, I May Destroy You finds a fitting and complete conclusion to its main thesis.
Host, Shudder
If there were an official movie to represent 2020, this might be it. The best horror can tap into the anxieties of a certain moment and expose society’s true fears, and Host is a tailor-made document of 2020. The premise is simple: seven friends gather for a weekly Zoom reunion. This one’s a bit different. With the help of a medium, they will be performing a remote séance over the video platform. As you can expect, things go very, very wrong. Filmed entirely in quarantine in just 12 weeks, Host is a crash course in DIY filmmaking. All of the filming and collaboration was done over Zoom, so the actors were in charge of engineering their own backgrounds and special effects with assistance from director Rob Savage. Doors are left open in the background, leaving room for imagination to fill in what might be lurking in the shadows. The script is loose, allowing plenty of opportunities for improvisation in between main story beats. While films like 2014’s Unfriended effectively use the “computer screen” horror format, Host finds innovative new ways to build tension. Some of the credit goes to Zoom, which has become an essential part of life in quarantine both for catching up with friends and remote office work. One character uses a fake video background to fool her friends early on which becomes a source of scares later on. The invisible malevolent force looming over the characters hits close to home in the era of coronavirus, and the film knows exactly how to get under the skin. Host has a total runtime of only 57 minutes, but it doesn’t waste a second. The simple reunion over Zoom becomes a propulsive and terrifying thrill ride quickly, all the more impressive because the actors pull off genuine scares remotely.
The Assistant, Hulu
Harvey Weinstein never appears in The Assistant, nor is his name ever mentioned, but his specter looms large over the entire film. Kitty Green wrote and directed this unassuming look at workplace culture in the entertainment business in the wake of Weinstein and the MeToo movement. Julia Garner plays Jane, an aspiring actress and assistant at an unnamed production company who discovers her boss’s predatory behavior. The predatory behavior in The Assistant is largely implied, relying on forgotten earrings and late-night “auditions” that Jane must schedule to reveal sexual harassment. The boss never makes an appearance in the film and it’s implied Jane only hears from him when she’s done something wrong, but everyone in the office seems a bit scared to cross paths with him. Garner, who’s best known for her Emmy-winning performance as the clever, foul-mouthed Ruth in Ozark, gives a subtle and mostly terse performance as Jane, who’s largely isolated and unnoticeable among her coworkers. Instead, Garner’s acting is mostly physical, allowing viewers to read Jane’s visible discomfort and confliction from just the slightest facial expressions. In the film’s most harrowing scene, Jane uneasily tells HR about the sexual harassment only to be belittled by an executive (Succession’s Matthew Macfayden) questioning Jane’s claims. Garner’s able to do a lot with very little here, and it’s a sobering look at how enablers within workplaces can uphold systems of predatory behavior. It can be a heavy watch at times, but it’s one of the best movies of the year.
Small Axe: “Lovers Rock”, BBC One and Amazon Prime
Writer/director Steve McQueen has an eye for capturing beautiful imagery in Small Axe, so vibrant that it comes alive on screen. The entire series is shot like photographs of a moment in time, a document of young life. “Lovers Rock,” the second part in McQueen’s five-part Small Axe anthology, serves as a dazzling document of Black joy in a 1980s house party. At 68 minutes, “Lovers Rock” is a non-stop dance party over the course of a single night. At a time when London nightclubs wouldn’t welcome them, young Jamaican adults have a celebration of their own, complete with a romantic reggae playlist. To say the film feels observational would be an understatement: The camera positions viewers as a partygoer making rounds at the party themselves. The story has no main characters, but it passes through the house for brief glimpses of different scenes, including a run-in with troublemaker Bammy and a blossoming romance between Martha and Franklyn. There’s a magical moment at the midpoint where the music stops but the entire dance floor continues singing Janet Kay’s “Silly Games” nonetheless. Time slows down, the camera slowly pans across the crowd swaying and smiling, and for a moment we’re more than a bystander at the party. We’re in the center of the dance floor, and it’s glorious. And that’s the beauty of McQueen’s “Lovers Rock.”
