If there’s anything Hollywood loves – during “Awards Season” at least – it’s a good old-fashioned epic.

From “Gone With the Wind” to “Ben-Hur” to “The Godfather” and beyond, the film industry has always favored “big” movies when it comes to doling out its annual accolades, in part because awards equate to more public interest (and therefore more revenue) for films that might not otherwise grab enough attention to earn back their massive budgets. Yet, profit motive aside, such movies exude the kind of monumental grandeur that has come to be seen as the pinnacle of filmmaking craft, a perfect blend of art and entertainment that represents Hollywood at its finest and most iconic. It only makes sense that the people whose life is devoted to making movies would want to celebrate something that lives up to that ideal, especially when it also seems to reflect the cultural climate of its time.

That’s good news for “The Brutalist,” which has been buzzed – for months now – as the front-runner for all the Best Picture awards and seems to have proven its inevitability with its win of the Best Motion Picture Drama prize at this week’s Golden Globes. It meets all the requirements for an epic prestige picture: a sweeping plot, containing a nebula of currently relevant thematic ideas, but with an iconic historical period as its backdrop; monumental settings, spectacular locations, and impeccably designed costumes; an acclaimed actor giving a tour-de-force performance at the head of a proverbial “cast of thousands” and a runtime long enough to necessitate an intermission. Add the fact that it comes with an array of already-bestowed prizes from some of the most prestigious film festivals in the world, not to mention high placement on most of the year’s prominent “10 best” lists, and its predicted victory charge through the rest of the awards gauntlet looks likely to be a sure bet.

That assessment might seem glib, even cynical, but it’s no reflection on the movie. On the contrary, “The Brutalist” stands out above the rest of the crop not because of the hype, but because of its cinematic excellence, and that is precisely what has made it such an attractive awards candidate.

Spanning several decades across the mid-20th century, it’s the saga of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian Jewish refugee – once a young rising star on the European architecture scene – who seeks a new life in America after being liberated from a Nazi concentration camp. Reuniting with his already-Americanized cousin (Alessandro Nivola), who now owns a furniture business in New York, he offers his Bauhaus-educated expertise in exchange for a place to stay, leading to a fortuitous connection with wealthy industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce), who becomes enamored with his work. The resulting commission not only allows him to design and begin construction on a spectacular new masterpiece, but to facilitate the emigration of his beloved wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) – from whom he had been separated during the war – and his orphaned niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy).

Things are never easy for an immigrant, however, and unanticipated setbacks on the ambitious project for his mercurial new patron – possibly connected to a “functional” heroin habit that has grown increasingly difficult to balance with his professional life – soon lead to one reversal of fortune after another. It will take years before László is finally given the chance to complete his dream project, but even then the volatile affections of Van Buren threaten to thwart his ambitions before they can reach fruition.

It’s difficult to offer a synopsis that effectively sums up the powers of this film’s singular combination of pseudo-historical gravitas (the “pseudo” in this case means “fictionalized,” not “untruthful”) and coldly aloof observational commentary about the truth behind the so-called “American Dream”; director Brady Corbet unfolds his boldly countercultural narrative, in which the wealth and power of a privileged class that holds sway over the destiny of immigrants and outsiders is allegorically portrayed through the relationship between a visionary artist and the oligarch who ultimately wants nothing more than to exploit him. It’s an unmistakably political perspective that shines through that lens, and one that feels eerily apt in a time when even the greatest expressions of our humanity are granted value only so far as they serve the interests – and feed the egos – of the ruling power elite, and marginalized outsiders are “tolerated” only as long as they are useful.

In the intricately woven screenplay by Corbet and writing partner Mona Fastvold, these ideas run throughout the story of László’s American experience like the streaks of color in a slab of fine marble, turning “The Brutalist” into an anti-fascist parable through the personal stories of its characters. The portrait it paints of American classism, racism, anti-Semitism and sexism – all perhaps most boldly personified by Van Buren’s arrogantly boorish son (Joe Alwyn) – is not an attractive one; and though it grants us historical distance to make its observations, it is impossible not to see both the ominous connections that can be made to our current era and the true character of an American history in which “greatness” only existed for those with the money to buy it. The result is an eloquent piece of filmmaking that manages to “speak truth to power” through the details of its narrative without lofty speeches (mostly) or other contrivances to highlight its arguments – though admittedly, the broad strokes with which it crafts some of its more unpleasant characters occasionally feel like not-so-subtle Hollywood-style manipulation.

Ultimately, of course, what gives Corbet’s movie its real power is its size. Like the architectural style embraced by its title character, “The Brutalist” is monumental, a construction of high ceilings and ornate furnishings that is somehow streamlined into a minimalist, functional whole. Superbly shot by cinematographer Lol Crawley in a nostalgic VistaVision screen ratio that demands viewing on the big screen, it boasts a bold visual aesthetic rarely attempted by modern films, further suiting the scale of the statement it makes.

Finally, though, it’s Brody’s outstanding performance that drives the film, a master class in understated emotional expression that reveals a complex landscape of pain and passion through nuance rather than bombast. Jones is also superb as his wife, every bit his intellectual equal and exuding strength despite being wheelchair bound, and Pearce delivers a career-highlight turn as Van Buren, capturing both his confident charisma and terrifying rage while still giving glimpses of the hidden passions that lurk below them – though to say more about that might constitute a spoiler.

There’s no denying that “The Brutalist” is a superb movie, and one that feels as capable of standing the test of time as one of its protagonist’s structures. Make no mistake, though, it’s no crowd-pleaser; non-cinema buffs may be daunted by its combination of extreme length and leisurely pace, and while it has its moments of uplift, it never veers too far from the grim melancholy that lurks beneath them. For those with the stamina for it, however, it’s a movie that enfolds you completely, and holds your interest for each of its 200 minutes.

It’s time again for the Blade’s annual round-up of our favorite films of the year – and as always, we’re keeping our focus queer. We’ve loved movies like “Anora” and “The Brutalist,” and we appreciate the queer talent in inclusive titles like “Sing Sing,” “Emilia Perez,” and “Wicked,” but we’re limiting our choices to films that speak more directly to queer experience – which means most of the titles on our list are smaller movies that might have slipped under your radar.

Fortunately, we’re here to fill you in on the ones you missed.

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#10 Cora Bora. Landing at No. 10on the list is a comedy-of-awkwardness, this time focused on a bisexual musician (Meg Stalter) whose faltering bid for success in Los Angeles prompts her to return to her native Portland and attempt to reconcile with the longtime girlfriend she left behind. Stalter infuses the clueless self-absorption of her character with a subtext that wins our hearts before we even know the backstory which illuminates it, and the overall tone of compassion that director Hannah Pearl Utt drives home a healing sense of “meeting people where they are” that makes us think twice about judging even the most insufferable among us.

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#9 Big Boys. Equal parts bittersweet coming-of-age story and uncomfortable-yet-endearing comedy, this festival-circuit fave from filmmaker Corey Sherman strikes gold with an eminently relatable narrative about the awkwardness of burgeoning sexuality and a winning performance from young star Isaac Krasner, as a plus-size young teen who develops a crush on his female cousin’s hunky-and-bearish new boyfriend (David Johnson III) during a camping trip. Funny, poignant, and yes, heartwarming, it’s a much-needed look at the difficulties of navigating the transition to adulthood while also struggling with issues of body-positivity and sexual identity.

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#8 National Anthem. Though it garnered little attention during its brief theatrical release, this indie debut feature from Luke Gilford deserves due attention for its remarkably jubilant story of a young day laborer (Charlie Plummer) who takes on a job at a ranch run by queer rodeo performers, including Sky (Eve Lindley), a captivating trans girl who stirs feelings he’s kept hidden at home. An open-hearted coming-of-age story, with an optimistic attitude toward acceptance, love, and finding one’s “people,” it’s a welcome must-see in a time marked by conflict and divisive thinking.

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#7 Love Lies Bleeding. A throwback to ‘90s lesbian neo-noir, this stylized thriller from director Rose Glass stars Kristen Stewart as the estranged daughter of a small-town crime boss (Ed Harris) whose romance with an aspiring female bodybuilder puts them both in her ruthless daddy’s crosshairs. Pulpy, violent, and unapologetically amoral, it’s both an exercise in neon-tinged period style and a loopy-but-suspenseful thrill ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat even through its most absurd moments.

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#6 The People’s Joker. Trans filmmaker Vera Drew wrote, directed, and stars in this off-the-beaten-path triumph that amusingly asserts itself as a parody in no way associated with any “official” comic book franchise – even though it takes place in an alternate, dystopian America where Batman is the president, comedy is regulated by the government, and a trans comedian named “Joker” is attempting to disrupt the system by organizing a band of outsider comics into an illegal comedy troupe. Ingeniously creative with its low-budget resources, it inverts all the revered comic book tropes and spoofs them through a radical trans/feminist lens — which may explain why it never played at your local multiplex — in a way that manages to be as hilarious as it is militant. 

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#5 Problemista. If there’s any queer creative talent that’s exerted a unique mark on the contemporary cultural landscape, it’s that of Julio Torres; this oddly conceived riff on the “buddy comedy” – his feature filmmaking debut – is a quintessential example of its fey magic. Centered on a young Salvadoran immigrant (Torres) with dreams of becoming a toy designer and his unlikely alliance with an art-world outcast trying to manage the estate of her cryogenically frozen husband (Tilda Swinton), it’s a “Devil Wears Prada” style coming-of-age tale about mentorship that simultaneously skewers the lunacies of modern American society and encourages us to look beyond each others’ surfaces to discover who we really are – a delicate balancing act which Torres pulls off perfectly, with invaluable help from a deliciously over-the-top performance by co-star Swinton.

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#4 Femme. This sexy revenge fantasy from the UK, helmed by first-time feature directors Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping, centers on a London drag queen (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) who undertakes a dangerous plot to “out” his attacker in a gay bashing incident (George MacKay) after encountering him in a gay sauna – only to find himself becoming entangled in a secretive relationship with him. With a title that hints at the pressures of “passing” in a homophobic world, and a convincing pair of performances to sell its premise, it’s an unexpectedly powerful (and transgressively romantic) thriller about the conflict between empathy and hate.

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#3 Housekeeping for Beginners. Our third spot goes to this rich ensemble piece from the Republic of North Macedonia and rising filmmaker Goran Stolevski, which explores and celebrates the true meaning of “family” through the saga of a lesbian who agrees to adopt her terminally ill partner’s teen children, and then has to make good on the promise with the help of a household full of disparate outsiders she has collected around her. It transcends genre, blending social commentary with slice-of-life intimacy for a multi-faceted tale of queer resilience, and scores extra points for examining prejudicial attitudes around the “other-ized” Romani community in Central Europe.

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#2 I Saw the TV Glow. Nonbinary writer/director Jane Schoenbrun takes an even more surrealistic approach with this unsettling horror tale in which a sensitive teen boy bonds with an older lesbian classmate over a bizarre late-night TV series – “The Pink Opaque,” about a pair of psychic twins who fight monsters together from opposite sides of the world, which goes on to have an unexpected impact on their lives. It’s difficult to explain the plot, really, but that scarcely matters; in the eerie, dream-like world it inhabits, memory, perception, and reality are interchangeable enough that it somehow all makes sense – and a metaphoric subtext emerges to build an obvious allegory about the mind-altering influence of pop media, the erasure of Queer history, and the crippling impact of cultural transphobia. The ending will haunt you forever.

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#1 Queer. Topping our list is Luca Guadagnino’s lush big screen adaptation of William S. Burroughs’s semi-autobiographical novella, in which Daniel Craig is flawless as an American expatriate falling hard for a much younger man in the hedonistic haze of 1950s Mexico City. Raw and impressionistic, with frequent flourishes of surrealism and an overall tone of melancholy, it’s hardly a crowd-pleaser. But its fearless intensity and unwavering authenticity are palpable enough to burn – and we’re not just talking about the much-publicized sex scenes between Craig and co-star Drew Starkey, who also turns in an excellent performance. It’s a film of sheer cinematic beauty, a hallucinatory journey that touches human experience at its most intimate and essential level, with a career-defining star turn to anchor it.

If all you know about “Emilia Pérez” going into it is that it began life as the libretto for an opera, it might better prepare you than any mere description of its plot.

That’s because veteran French writer/director Jacques Audiard’s latest work (which premiered at Cannes in 2024 to a lengthy standing ovation and is now streaming on Netflix) is a larger-than-life affair fueled by yearning, passion, irony and fate. Its twists and turns might seem like outlandish melodrama but for its focus on the nuanced inner lives of its characters; that it accomplishes this focus through music – like opera – feels almost a mere coincidence of form, because the tale it unfolds would be as operatic as  “Tosca” even if there were not a single note of music on the soundtrack.

There is plenty of music, though. In fact, though it’s a movie for which the overused description “genre-defying” could easily have been invented, “Emilia Pérez” can safely be called a musical; it’s driven through songs by French avant garde vocalist Camille and a score by composer Clément Duco, performed onscreen by its cast and accompanied by visually stunning choreographed sequences by Damien Jalet throughout the story – and it’s quite a story.

Using a gifted but struggling lawyer – Rita (Zoe Saldaña) – as an entry point for the audience, Audiard takes us with her into the dark underworld of a Mexican drug empire when she is summoned to meet with a powerful cartel kingpin named “Manitas” (Karla Sofía Gascón), who is seeking a gender reassignment surgery and is both willing and able to pay her a life-changing sum of money to arrange it. It’s an offer she can’t refuse (yes, literally), and she succeeds in securing a doctor (Mark Inavir) who – after being convinced of the patient’s sincerity – agrees to do the job; she also handles the awkward business of convincing her employer’s wife Jessi (Selena Gomez) and their children of “his” death and moving them to Switzerland to protect them from former rivals who might target them.

That saga, which might easily be enough to fuel an entire film by itself, is only the first chapter of an epic journey which then jumps forward several years to find Rita surprised by the reappearance of Manitas – now comfortably living as the Emilia of the title – and her new desire to reunite with her children. She decides to help, beginning a genuine friendship with the former drug lord which eventually blossoms into a redemptive campaign to help the families of missing loved ones lost to cartel violence – even as the emotional baggage of a carefully-hidden past (and the ghosts of a former identity still struggling for dominance) begin to reassert themselves within the authentic new life Emilia has tried to build, threatening to drag both women down in a final, desperate power play that could cost them both their lives.

Almost literary in the grand scale of its ambition, “Emilia Pérez” packs so much into its narrative that it feels much longer than its two-and-a-quarter hour runtime – but not because it drags. On the contrary, its plot advances quickly, thanks in part to the powerful blend of musical and cinematic storytelling; it’s the richness and density of its emotional terrain, marked by both the dramatic landscapes of our primal urges and the delicate beauty of our noblest aspirations, that makes it seem epic, a sense of containing so much that it requires more space in our mind, perhaps, than it does time to convey it all. Audiard deftly uses broad strokes to heighten our experience, blending them with a feather-light touch that allows the subtleties of its “colors” to emerge with equal clarity, and draws on a mastery of the medium gained both from growing up as the son of a filmmaker and a nearly four-decade career behind the camera in his own right. The result is a near-kaleidoscopic modern-day fable – steeped in the dappled beauty of Paul Guilhaume’s cinematography – that remains firmly tethered to humanity, even as the story moves toward a denouement that feels almost mythic in stature.

While Audiard is undeniably the unifying force which allows “Emilia Pérez” to achieve its heights, it’s also a film whose success or failure hinges on its key performers – with the title role, in all its contradictory grandeur, standing out as the essential lynch pin. Gascón fills Emilia’s shoes magnificently, not only proving what is possible when a trans actor is allowed to bring the full authenticity of their lived experience to a trans character, but revealing a breathtaking talent that transcends the shallow irrelevance of gender distinctions when it comes to valuing an artist’s gifts. Already making history by earning Gascón the first Golden Globe nomination for a Best Leading Actress award, it’s a performance that feels like a landmark from her first appearance – as the pre-transition Manitas, a gold grille on his teeth and a coiled menace in his gruff-but-intelligent voice – and only enthralls us more as she takes the character through her epic journey.

Though she is the movie’s natural anchor, she’s joined by a trio of female co-stars that match her every step of the way. Saldaña, given top billing as the film’s biggest “name,” earns that distinction with an intelligent, vulnerable performance that showcases her own skills yet never threatens to overshadow Gascón’s, and Gomez steps confidently into her role while still projecting a nervous fragility that keeps the character from losing our empathy. Rounding out the ensemble is Adriana Paz, as a woman who opens up Emilia to the unexpected possibility of love in her life. Together, these four performers were awarded Best Actress Prize as an ensemble at Cannes, where the film also won the festival’s prestigious Grand Jury Prize.

Since that auspicious debut, “Emilia Pérez” has gathered numerous other accolades, becoming a staple on critics’ “Best of the Year” lists and looking more like an Academy Award hopeful every day – especially in light of its 10 nominations at the Golden Globes. Inevitably, that places its “transness” (both that of its story and of its leading lady) squarely into the public spotlight, since it will doubtless be a point of discussion come Oscar time.

As to that, it might be argued that Audiard’s film does not provide the most relatable trans representation by making its lead character a cartel boss, or that its story doesn’t really address issues of everyday trans experience – though we would counter that point by observing that one of the goals of queer inclusion in films is for queer characters to appear within stories that are not necessarily in themselves about being queer. In any case, there’s no denying that Gascón’s star turn is a breathtaking high point in trans visibility on the big screen, and mostly for its dedication to revealing Emilia’s layered humanity – something informed by her transness, to be sure, but not defined by it.

In any case, whether you come to “Emilia Pérez” for its transness or you don’t, it’s a refreshingly unorthodox piece of filmmaking that will leave you dazzled, and that matters more than all the awards in the world.