What the NYT’s ‘Best 100 Films’ List Missed: Part 1

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Now, don’t get me wrong. I think the New York Times’ recent list of the 100 best films of the 21st century is perfectly fine, wonderfully curated, and boasting a sleek, interactive design. The Times, in general, always produces innovative and ambitious digital presentations, something I have long admired about that newsroom.

And here is the conceit:

More than 500 influential directors, actors and other notable names in Hollywood and around the world voted on the best films released since Jan. 1, 2000. Here is how their ballots stacked up.

I agree with most of the picks on the list, and it was enjoyable to read through the reasoning people provided for their choices.

But…I have thoughts.

Here’s What’s Missing (according to me, a not-at-all-Hollywood-based photo editor, photojournalist, founder of Black Women Directors digital archive, co-founder of the Chicago Film Symposium, and aspiring film programmer)

25th Hour - Spike Lee (2002)

This is one of Spike Lee’s best films, and it’s criminally underrated. It stars Edward Norton as Monty, a charismatic drug dealer who gets pinched and has one last night of freedom before turning himself in to serve a seven-year prison sentence. This film, one of the first to be produced in New York after 9/11, carries a solemn, funereal weight. It’s a quiet exploration of grief and regret that culminates in a gorgeous ending monologue by Brian Cox, who plays Norton’s father. Philip Seymour Hoffman (may he forever rest in peace), Barry Pepper, and Rosario Dawson give strong supporting performances as well.

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Medicine for Melancholy - Barry Jenkins (2008)

While it’s not as strong formally and visually as his later releases (Moonlight —which of course appears on the NYT list—If Beale Street Could Talk, and The Underground Railroad), Medicine for Melancholy, an indie romance film about two people who connect after a one-night stand, will always hold a special place in my heart. The scene of Micah (Wyatt Cenac) and Jo (Tracey Heggins) riding the carousel at Yerba Buena Park in San Francisco is one of my all-time favorite moments in cinema. It was the beginning of Jenkins’s explorations of Black love, life, identity, and what it means to belong to a place, to a person, and oneself.