Top Twelve Best Film/Television Moments of 2020

Well... that was certainly something. I’ve no idea how to sum up what we just witnessed taking place in America this week, so I’m not going to try.

For all intents and purposes, this is meant to be a pop-culture blog, but even within that limited sphere of interest it was a pretty awful year. The pandemic robbed us of several big-screen releases, J.K. Rowling went full-transphobe on Twitter, and Chadwick Boseman passed away from cancer, a tragedy that shook everyone (especially given his young age) and which casts a pall over the future of the Black Panther franchise.

We also lost Diana Rigg and Max von Sydow (though in those cases you couldn’t say they hadn’t enjoyed long and rewarding lives) and the Black Lives Matter resurgence in May meant that many harrowing accounts of what it’s like to be a Black performer in the entertainment industry emerged.

Of particular interest to me (given the projects they were a part of) were the stories shared by John Boyega, Nicole Beharie and Mehcad Brooks, whose experiences on Star Wars, Sleepy Hollow and Supergirl are eerily similar: all were playing characters that were initially held up as the co-lead of a franchise, each one had romantic chemistry with their white co-star, and all were eventually side-lined in favour of white replacements.

Boyega was reduced to a sidekick, Beharie was written out of the show, and Brooks’s material became so measly that he eventually quit. All three of them have described racial discrimination from both the fandom and in front of the cameras. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a pervasive and insidious pattern that continues to play out whenever racism gets the better of the writers’ room. And the stupidest part? Their marginalization literally hurt the quality of the story itself.

Finally, two cult series came to an end this year, with no small amount of controversy: The 100 and Supernatural each chose to kill off a main character in a remarkably stupid way and go out flipping the bird at devoted long-term shippers, meaning that both shows will certainly live on in infamy, and providing more examples of why writing for Twitter trends is a bad idea, especially if you have no intention of following up on the bait that you dangle.

So yeah, a lot of shit to wade through this year. But for what it’s worth, this annual post is to highlight some of the best on-screen moments of 2020, whether on television or (with safety measures in place, obviously) the big screen...

The Good Place sticks the landing

This is less of a singular moment and more of a... well, an example of a show sticking the landing. There hasn’t been a great track record of shows or movie franchises ending on a high note lately; too often there’s a stumble at the finish line, or nonsensical resolutions to character arcs, or a clear indication that writers were simply making things up as they went along (which doesn’t necessarily lead to a bad ending, but why take chances?)

That wasn’t the case with The Good Place, a story about four rather awful dead people who are gaslit by demons into believing they’ve reached heaven, only to figure out their true circumstances and start working to improve their situation (and that of others on realizing the rules to get into the real Good Place were virtually impossible to meet). That’s an incredible concept, and the writing was consistently good enough to live up to it.

With discussions on ethics and philosophy and human nature, it was a show that delved into unexpected depths along with its comedic charm, and the final stretch of episodes took everything to its logical conclusion: finding a way to modify the rules of heaven, giving each of its main characters a sense of peace and purpose, providing closure for its range of supporting characters, and then surrendering to the eternal mystery of life and death. Thinking about it makes me sigh in deep relief and satisfaction: that there are writers out there who still know how to deliver.

Darwinism runs its course in Avenue 5

Okay, this is kind of a depressing one, but you can’t say it wasn’t WEEKS ahead of its time. Onboard the cruise star-ship Avenue 5 are a bevy of passengers who are sick and tired of their circumstances: stuck in space, thrown off course, facing a five-year voyage home, and bored of the ship and each other. So they decide to do what every mob does when faced with unpleasant facts: deny the existence of their own reality.

Deciding that they’re actually in a highly sophisticated flight simulation (egged on by a woman who insists she knows all about SFX) the passengers demand the right to “get off the ride” by hurling themselves into the airlock and getting jettisoned into space (only it’s not space, the man they watch turn into a desiccated corpse is just more special effects, and he’s on his way to the green room).

Even after seeing the first volunteer float off into icy space, more people hustle to do the same, much to the horror of our protagonists, who later cry: “we just saw seven people stupid themselves to death!”

The sad thing is that I watched this during the first lockdown, and found myself thinking: “come on, no one’s THIS stupid.” How wrong I was. As protests against vaccines and masks and basic hygiene and other life-saving measures around the world go on, I can actually look upon these airlock-embracing idiots with something resembling affection: at least they’re only killing themselves.

(Edit: can you believe I wrote this in regards to the pandemic, BEFORE the insurrectionists at Capitol Hill live-streamed themselves breaking the law, making sure their names and places of origin were clearly stated for the cameras? Dear God, we’re a stupid species).

Harley and Ivy ditch the wedding in Harley Quinn

After the final episode of Harley Quinn’s second season aired, a number of Tumblr posts emerged that depicted Harley and Ivy back in the nineties’ Batman: The Animated Series, in which a team-up episode has them leaping into a car together and driving off into the night. Back then, a same-sex villainous couple in a children’s cartoon was unthinkable, but by 2020... actually, come to think of it, Harley Quinn is hardly a children’s cartoon. We’ll leave that to She Ra.

The last episode of the season (which could have easily been the show’s finale) revolves around Ivy’s misbegotten wedding to Kite Man, one of the franchise’s D-list villains (but who apparently predates this show). The show’s treatment of their relationship was always a bit strange: on the one hand they were totally unsuited, on the other there are a couple of scenes in which they do seem good for each other... but on a show called Harley Quinn there’s no doubt who’s going to end up the romantic victor.

As the church (technically a corn factory) burns, the guests start rioting, law enforcement opens fire and Clayface serenades the entire situation, Ivy and Harley make their escape, grabbing the bridal car and driving through the chaos for the open road (once they figure out how to navigate the carpark).

It’s a perfect note for this particular incarnation of the characters to go out on, though I keep thinking about how it’s also the natural conclusion to the way they were depicted way back in the nineties. It couldn’t have ended any other way for them, though as that final question mark suggests, we have another season to look forward to.

Adora and Catra save the world in She Ra

This show was always completely gay, so it’s fitting that just as the first season finale concluded with its bevy of heroines using a rainbow to defeat their foes, the fifth and final season ended with long-time frenemies Adora and Catra sealing their true feelings for each other with a kiss.

It wasn’t just special within the framework of the story, which retrospectively puts all of Adora and Catra’s previous interactions into the undeniable new context of romantic tension rather than a broken friendship (I mean, in case their interactions at the Princess Prom weren’t obvious enough), but as a win for LGBTQ representation in general.

As recently as 2014, Korra and Asami could only hold hands as they walked into the spirit world (though I’ve defended the restraint of that decision in the past) and now in 2020 we’re looking at an actual on-screen kiss between two young women in a children’s cartoon (and yeah, I know Princess Bubblegum and Marceline got there first, but I haven’t seen Adventure Time yet).

I can’t say I was enthusiastically hoisting the flag for Catra and Adora: I would have preferred a little more time for a redeemed Catra to work through her issues and realize that she can exist independently of Adora before a full declaration of love took place. But that’s just my issue with pacing and Catra’s prior characterization: the moment itself was beautiful, in which the demonstration of their love is what powers the failsafe and literally saves the world. The message couldn’t be clearer.

Declaration of love from The Old Guard

One more gay kiss to achieve the trifecta. I wasn’t blown away by The Old Guard, though it was enjoyable enough, even if many of its best ideas were either minimized or left for the sequel. This is best exemplified in the love story of Nicky and Joe, centuries-old warriors who met during the Third Crusade, the other a Christian, one a Muslim, and both on each side of the conflict.

That’s a high concept premise that I’m sorry the film didn’t dramatize on-screen for audiences, because man – what a setup. Perhaps there’s a chance that it’ll happen one day, either in flashbacks or a full-blown prequel, but for now, their love story is incapsulated in this moment:

It’s the one scene of the movie that’s “gone viral” so to speak, and it’s heart-warming to consider that the author of the original graphic novels, Greg Rucka, made sure that on signing over the rights to an adaptation, the contract stipulated that the scene was to stay intact. And it’s a great scene, not just for the shamelessness of the lovers, but the bewildered homophobia that surrounds them – it can’t fathom what it’s seeing, and it can’t do anything to stop it either.

Kirsten Bouchard puts evil in its place in Evil

If you have spent any time at all on this blog, you’ll know that I appreciate it when stories recognize evil for what it truly is: banal. As my favourite quote from Simone Weil puts it: “Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvellous, intoxicating.”

Such is the case with Leland Townsend in Evil. As played by Michael Emerson, he comes across as intelligent, cunning and vaguely charismatic, despite being a huge creeper. But this is what evil is like, right? It’s suave and powerful and mysterious. Even as he stalks Kirsten, threatening her family, dating her mother, harassing her constantly, there’s the sense that he’s one being depicted as one of those always-in-control alphas that women (apparently?) seem to like so much.

But then, Reality Ensues. Kirsten does some off-screen research, and when Leland slithers up to her in his latest attempt to throw her off-guard, she throws down a truth bomb. His real name is Jake Perry, a twice-divorced insurance adjustor who used to play the tuba in high school. He’s a total loser. Because that’s what evil is: pathetic and vindictive and weak, and you can see him visibly wilt under her onslaught.

Evil is Donald Trump sending others to do his dirty work after not getting re-elected and Rudy Giuliani being effortlessly tricked into putting his hand down his pants and any number of white supremacists taking their insecurities out on other people. Racists, incels, school shooters, internet trolls – this is what they’re really like, and though it doesn’t negate the harm they’re capable of doing, it’s a needy reminder that evil isn’t something grand and magnificent and impressive – just “gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring.”

Cecelia escapes her abusive spouse in The Invisible Man

Perhaps the premature death of Universal’s Dark Universe franchise was a good thing (though never forget the hubris of this cast picture) for it allowed at least one new and interesting take on an old classic: what if the Invisible Man was an abusive ex-boyfriend? It’s enough to do your head in with its implications: gaslighting, emotional terror, physical abuse, manipulation of the environment... all as easy to do as slipping on a suit.

The opening sequence to The Invisible Man is a master class in suspense and show don’t tell. We have no idea who this woman is, but just watching her quietly grab her belongings, hurriedly dress and keep a watch on the figure still asleep in the bed – we don’t need to know any details. It’s all laid out for us in her scared face and what are obviously her long-term preparations.

Heck, you could hypothetically watch this nine-minute introduction as a short film: it has all the suspense and pathos and characterization you’d ever need from a full-length movie.

The lasting legacy of love in Portrait of a Lady on Fire

This was one of my favourite movies of 2020, at least in part because it’s so focused on the lives and experiences of women, with virtually no on-screen depictions of men at all. Marianne is summoned to an isolated island off the coast of Brittany to paint the wedding portrait of Héloïse, and after a few misunderstandings the two of them embark on a love affair that is all more the poignant due to the ticking clock that hangs over their heads – something both are well aware of as the days go by.

I was sad to see that a lot of people chose to avoid this film because the Sapphic lovers don’t get a happy ending, which is a shame since its bittersweet conclusion encapsulates the entire point of the film. How it ends is perfectly calibrated to the characters, the period they live in, and the themes of the love story we’ve just watched, culminating in the beautiful ending sequence that depicts Marianne at an art gallery, standing beside her paintings – many of them inspired by her time with Héloïse.

Then she hears that there’s a portrait of Héloïse on display, and on standing before it she not only realizes that her former lover has had a child, but that the book in her hand is opened to page twenty-eight, a reference to the sketch Marianne did of herself on page twenty-eight of a book Héloïse took with her when they parted ways. When she sat for this latest portrait, she must have anticipated that Marianne would one day see it and realize its significance.

They had only a short time together, but it’s immortalized forever in their art, hidden in plain sight amidst a patriarchal world, and that to me makes for a far more powerful ending.

The Ride of the Valkyrie from Onward

I have a thing for people sacrificing their prized possessions in order to save a life, or in service to the greater good. Remember when Sokka threw away his space-sword in order to save Toph? Or when Fflewddur Fflam cast his beloved harp on the fire to keep his companions warm?

Well, a similar thing happens in Pixar’s Onward, a film that I honestly thought was one of the most underrated movies of the year. Brothers Barley and Ian are on a mission to complete a spell and bring their deceased father back to life for the day, only to get cornered on a mountain path, with police cars catching up and Ian unable to summon the magic that might allow them to block the road and get away.

So, Barley comes up with an idea:

It’s gorgeous. The music, the salute, the way the tire pops and thereby gives the car the appearance of a galloping horse... it’s not often you see a scene that’s both hilarious and heart-breaking, but this is surely it.

Barley loved that van, but he loves his brother more, and it’s a sacrifice that will be neatly inverted by the end of the film: just as Barley was willing to give up his most prized possession so that Ian can meet their dad, Ian eventually gives up his greatest desire so that his brother can finally gain the closure he needed – sacrificing his chance to meet his father and holding off the dragon so that Barley can speak to him. You’ve still got it, Pixar.

Edith Garrud calls out Sherlock Holmes in Enola Holmes

It was to my astonishment to realize that the character of Edith Garrud, as played by Susie Wokoma in Enola Holmes, was actually a real person. Living in Victorian London, and living all the way to age ninety-nine, she did indeed teach the suffragettes how to defend themselves using jujitsu (sparking a number of derogatory cartoons at the time, because of course). It’s fitting then, that Edith has what is perhaps the best scene of the entire movie. Sherlock comes to visit her, on the hunt for his runaway sister Enola, and the subject of politics comes up:

It’s beautifully done, the way Edith threatens him with the teapot, the way he cheerfully reminds her that he’s got all the power in any given situation (namedropping his brother, her banned books, and her place in society) and then even asks that she “educate” him when she states he has no understanding of what’s really going on (that choice of word and its connotations to the “debate me” bros cannot be an accident).

That one of the most famous men in all of literature is finally being called out on his privilege, by a woman who actually existed and fought for woman’s rights, and who is played by a Black actress in a period drama at that... amazing. But what’s heart-warming is that unlike Mycroft, who simply blusters and shouts his way through this movie, you can tell that Sherlock has heard what Edith has said, and visibly ponders it. Perhaps there’s hope for him after all.

The Amazon Olympics from Wonder Woman 1984

I knew going in that the movie was likely to peak with its opening sequence, and I was right. The visual splendour of the competitive games on Themyscira, the exhilaration of seeing only women as its competitors and spectators, the beauty of the athleticism and the ensuing race, the wide vistas of the island itself: the beaches, the ocean and the cliff-top stadium – it was glorious stuff. Horses! Archery! A magnificent obstacle course! I hardly ever go to the cinema these days because the ticket prices are so horrendous, but this was worth seeing on the big screen.

Lilly Aspell returns as young Diana, thrilled to be among these women and desperate to prove herself – so much so, that she’s willing to bend the rules a little in order to come out in front, something that her aunt soon puts a stop to (honestly, I thought she was demonstrating a degree of innovation when she found a way to get herself back in the race, but never mind). But it sets the moral tone of the rest of the movie, and the look of disappointment and fury on little Diana’s face makes for a nice contrast to the story’s underlying message: you can’t cheat your way to what you want.

My only disappointment is that this is all we see of Amazons and the island, with Hippolyta and Antiope reduced to little more than cameos. C’mon Patty Jenkins, THIS is where the real interest lies! May the third movie involve Diana returning to Themyscira.

Running with the Wolves in Wolfwalkers

I saved the best for last. I’ve been looking forward to Wolfwalkers since the first concept trailer was first released back in 2017. I loved Cartoon Saloon’s The Secret of Kells, and its second offering Song of the Sea is legitimately in my top five favourite films of all time. So my excitement for Wolfwalkers couldn’t have been higher, despite all the dangers of getting overhyped for something. And yet, my expectations were surpassed (do you know how rare that is these days?)

Robyn Goodfellowe has been brought to Ireland with her father, a man who hunts down wolves for a living, but on following her pet hawk into the forest, she meets a little girl called Mebh Óg MacTíre, who can change into a wolf while she’s asleep. After accidentally getting bitten by Mebh in wolf-form Robyn comes to realize that she too is a wolfwalker, and joins her new pack in the forest...

There is nothing about this sequence that isn’t pure magic: the fluidity and beauty of the animation, the joy and excitement on the girls’ faces, the haunting strains of Aurora’s Running With the Wolves – I get a chill down my spine every time she sings: “I’m everything...”

It was such an evocative, hopeful capper to a shite year, and a reminder that humans are still capable of creating beauty and magic. And if you haven’t seen it yet, what are you waiting for?

Honorary Mentions:

I’m not actually watching The Mandalorian; just following its storyline through various message boards and gif-sets, but I have to admit to being fascinated by the reactions to Luke Skywalker’s appearance in the final episode, having arrived to rescue the characters from certain doom and take on little Grogu as his student.

Viewers cheered, or cried, or punched the air in glee, and naturally there’s a lot of discourse about how the show is attempting to “rehabilitate” the character’s image after the sequel trilogy depicted him as a sad old man who threw in the towel and became a hermit, leaving the galaxy to the violence and cruelty of his nephew. No, I’m not going to delve into the endless drama that surrounds The Last Jedi’s creative decisions, but I’m deeply interested by the fine line that exists between a creator’s prerogative to write whatever they want, and an audience’s expectations in regards to the fondness they hold for certain characters. 

Is there a point when writers (especially those who haven’t invented the characters they’re writing for) are obliged to respect the integrity of said character? I come down hard on the side of writers having full autonomy to do what they like, and that listening to fandom’s demands in the creation of a story will almost certainly result in garbage... but then... what if they’re dealing with a character that has a certain cultural legacy, or is universally loved by fans, or has become a symbol of something much bigger than the story itself?

I’m thinking specifically of Xena, a lesbian and feminist icon that was gruesomely brutalized and beheaded in her show’s final episode, or Maid Marian in the BBC’s Robin Hood, who was murdered in an overtly sexual way to provide narrative manpain for her killer, or of course, Luke himself, a symbol of goodness and compassion that ends up milking an alien’s teat on an island while resisting the call to provide help to innocent people.

Fandom can be entitled and whiny and uninterested in anything but what ships are going to become canon, but you can’t deny that sometimes writers fuck up on inexplicably bizarre levels. I’ll get to a more in-depth post on this subject sooner or later, but it does provide plenty of food for thought in the meanwhile.

The final episode of The Mandalorian also involved a scene in which four of its female characters teamed up to complete an operation, a sequence which has naturally been compared to the infamous “girl power” scene of The Avengers: Endgame, in which many of the female characters of that franchise gather together to “pose” for a certain shot, which requires the massive coincidence that they would all end up in the exact same part of the battlefield at the exact same time.

Honestly, I don’t care enough about the Marvel franchise to overthink the optics of this: I was capable of finding the scene cool in the moment while acknowledging that it was a pretty cringy attempt to “win back the female crowd” after fridging Gamora and Black Widow in the exact same manner across the past two films.

But the main point in contrast is that the Marvel scene is deemed “performative”, while The Mandalorian’s similar use of its female characters is more organic and narratively sound. One can’t help but suspect that it was done as a direct response to Marvel's feminist offering.

And then I remembered that The Boys also credited the Marvel scene with inspiring one of its climactic moments in season two: namely the female characters of the superhero team ganging up to take down a Nazi sympathiser in their ranks. Now, I’m not familiar with the show beyond this, but it does serve as an interesting reminder that mass-media and pop-culture is on its own narrative journey. Without the existence of the clumsy female team-up in Endgame, would we have had more satisfying female-centric scenes in Star Wars or The Boys?

It would be great if we could jump straight to the good stuff on the first try, but sometimes we have to put up with less-than-great material in order for those who come afterwards to do better. So if you hate that particular scene in Endgame, think of it as a stepping stone to better, more unaffected scenes – much like how the absurd amounts of destruction porn in Batman vs Superman lead to Marvel adding several deliberate scenes of their superheroes controlling crowds and saving individual lives. It’s all interconnected these days.

***

As for other scenes and performances of note, here are some quick commendations: Zosia Mamet’s cameo appearance as Louisa May Alcott in Dickinson was a hoot, while on the opposite end of the scale Kelly Marie Tran put in a chillingly ambiguous performance in her episode of Monsterland. All the cast selections of the young actresses in The Babysitter’s Club were exemplary, bringing to life characters that have lived in the minds of Millennials since the eighties.

Florence Pugh’s monologue on the economic importance of marriage to a woman in the mid-19th century in Little Woman bestowed a long-awaited sense of justice on the (traditionally) least-loved March sister, while I was surprisingly touched by the final twist in the sequel to To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, in which Lara Jean decides to offer an olive branch not to her currently-estranged boyfriend, but her former friend and current rival Gen.

Every last second of Parasite was riveting, we all got the chance to finally see Hamilton performed onstage with its original cast, and Jack Robinson and Phryne Fisher mercifully put an end to their long-time simmering UST in the latter’s first feature film. I was also oddly moved by Ophelia, if not just for the beautiful costumes and musical score – and of course, it’s decision to let its main character survive the bloodbath that is Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

Terminator: Dark Fate wasn’t good either, but I did love its focus on female characters, and the conceit that its female lead wasn’t the Madonna of the new generation of Terminator characters, but its Messiah. On that note, Birds of Prey was a lot of fun as well, and I suspect it will be remembered fondly by a lot of people as the last film they got to see in theatres before the lockdowns began.

Every sparkling line of dialogue in The Great was award-winning, and The Owl House got in plenty of hilarious digs at Harry Potter; my favourite being the way it highlights the absolute nonsense of Quidditch rules:

The CW’s Nancy Drew has a twist regarding the identity of its titular character that’s so audacious that it has to be respected, while the Tracy Brothers in Thunderbirds Are Go finally rescued their missing father from the reaches of deep space in a finale that was surprisingly tear-jerking.

Vikings ended this year as well, and on a relatively high note, with especial poignancy to be derived from Ubbe, Torvi and the rest of their fellow voyagers arriving in North America and establishing peace with the Native Americans already living there: leaving gifts, exchanging weapons, and beginning the first steps of communication with each other. Seeing the women admire each other’s hair braids and begin to share their techniques was particularly lovely.  

For a show that has been so soaked in bloodshed and violence for the last eight years, it was a balm to the soul to see Ragnar’s best son finally get things right.

Was the sight of a heavily pregnant Catherine of Aragon fighting a battle in The Spanish Princess completely absurd? Yes, but dammit if I didn’t love her maternity armour. And speaking of uniquely stupid choices in clothing, the mid-step costume change that Dolores Abernathy pulls off in the third season of Westworld makes absolutely no sense (she’s not in disguise, she’s not being chased, there’s literally no need for it) but still looked fucking awesome, and sometimes that’s enough:

2020. It was a year, and now that year is over. 2021 is ten days old, and there’s already been an attempted coup by people dressed in flags on the American government. Can you believe the Bean Dad controversy also happened this week? Wow.  

My Christmas leave is over and I’m heading back to work tomorrow, which is undoubtedly a good thing considering that the kindness and common sense of my co-workers will help ground me back in the real world, and forcibly separate me from soaking up endless news cycles. There’s a limit to how much one brain can absorb, and I need to get back to the business of things I have the power to shape and change. I think a display on books about debunking conspiracy theories is in my near future...