The film output of 2024 was full of performances so nice, we had to run this feature twice. The wonderful contributors to this site have already weighed in on sixteen of the best performances of the year—starmaking turns from unknowns, A-listers demonstrating their dominance, character actors finally getting their moment in the spotlight. But the hits keep on comin’, so we’ve got another fresh crop of sixteen wonderful roles to celebrate.
In this back half, we’ve got more welcome surprises and head-nodding favorites: little-discussed lead turns in smaller indie horror, at least two “Star Wars” alums honing their skills in knottier roles, teen heartthrobs growing into homicidal murder-dads, the list goes on. Read on, and see who else thrilled us in front of the camera in 2024.
Adam Driver as Cesar Catilina in “Megalopolis“
Great performances tend to be associated with great movies—or at least with movies that, in some commonly agreed-on sense, work. But sometimes you see a great performance in a movie that either doesn’t work or that reasonable people can disagree about. Francis Ford Coppola’s thirty-years-in-the-making, self-financed science fiction fable “Megalopolis” is that kind of movie. And if indeed you believe (as I do) that it works in any meaningful way (if only as an expression of its director’s mercurial, stubbornly personal approach to the art form), it’s because of the way that Adam Driver plays the main character and Coppola’s avatar and appears in nearly every scene.
“Megalopolis” is the story of a visionary urban planner named Cesar Catalina—imagine Robert Moses as a character in Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis“—struggling to assert his will and vision in New Rome, which is an amalgam of New York City, Rome, and a lot of other fictional spaces. Cesar is at odds with the city’s mayor, Franklyn Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito), and its power elite over how best to use their resources in reconstructing the city after a disaster. But really, he seems to be at odds with everyone, including himself, to some extent. He’s brilliant and arrogant, but (the film seems to argue) has earned the right to a certain arrogance because of his brilliance.
The character would probably seem like an insufferable, half-baked, self-canceling caricature if played by anyone else but Driver, who excels at playing difficult men and is one of the few modern American leading men who is equally believable playing hyper-verbal geniuses and guys who are so dumb that they take a ruler to bed to see how long they slept. He makes no apologies or special pleadings on behalf of Cesar to try to compel sympathy for him, instead playing him completely straight even when the dialogue is at its most self-conscious, verging on camp. He somehow splits the difference between naturalism and stylization, making all the movie’s other performance modes, from almost-Kabuki clowning to whispering subtlety, seem to meld rather than clash.
It’s as much of an architecture job as anything Cesar himself would get involved in. The character has the mystical ability to stop time, and when you see Driver’s wizardly effectiveness, you believe it’s a power he brought to the set. He seems to see everything that everyone is doing and thinking at any given moment, and he’s somehow figured out how to put it all together into a cohesive role. At times, it’s as if he’s subliminally directing the performances as much as Coppola was probably doing it on set. – MZS
Daisy Ridley as Fran Larsen in “Sometimes I Think About Dying”
In Rachel Lambert’s “Sometimes I Think About Dying,” Daisy Ridley plays an introverted office worker named Fran, whose routine at work often gives way to dreams of her dead body splayed in various settings. We gaze at sandy beaches and forest floors before watching as she snaps back into reality, hand over her mouth and eyes darting to ensure her coworkers haven’t noticed. Slowly, Ridley allows the coils of Fran’s inner workings to unwrap, exposing her soul bare for the audience. Almost all of this is done in silence, with Ridley only having dialogue in quick or frenzied bursts.
Subdued while also staggeringly physical, Ridley portrays a woman who haunts her life like a ghost; each time she’s on screen, it’s painfully clear how Fran is a woman confined to a body and an experience from which she is blatantly disconnected. It’s a peculiar thing for a character as afraid of themselves as Fran to command the audience’s gaze, but it’s a performance that is impossible to not feel grasped by. At the end of the film, Fran confesses–voice wavering ashamedly–to her burgeoning love interest Robert (Dave Merheje) that she often looks outside of the office window and dreams about hanging from a crane that idles outside. With this admission, carried so severely by Ridley’s gasping whisper, it’s impossible not to think you’re watching someone’s career begin again. – Kaiya Shunyata
Natasha Lyonne as Rachel in “His Three Daughters”
As I grow older, I find myself growing weary of the breathless hyperbole of what is too commonly, and often inaccurately, described as “Method Acting.” Real acting, we’re so often told, is disappearing into the role, a chameleonic immersion requiring physical transformation, a graduate course of research, and/or dramatic refusals to break character on set.
However, I find myself more drawn to actors who craft a recognizable persona, and then do their most compelling work subverting it. For the actors of the studio system, that persona became their bread and butter (see Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, James Stewart, other actors who weren’t in “The Philadelphia Story”). These days, Tom Hanks, Denzel Washington, and Kristen Stewart fall into these rough parameters. And so does Natasha Lyonne.
We think we know what to expect when we’re introduced to Rachel, her character in “His Three Daughters”; the pot-smoking, tough-talking, sports-betting New York woman who has become the default caretaker of the dying Vincent (Jay O. Sanders) could easily be played in the same key as her brassy broads of “Russian Doll” and “Poker Face.” Instead, Lyonne goes inward, turning what could have been a caricature of gregariousness into a keenly observed study of preemptive grief. She’s witnessed her father’s descent well before her sisters arrive, and her throwaway line readings and inverted body language (she’s often literally eyeing the nearest doorway when thrust into a conversation) tell us more about this character than any searching, multi-paged monologue could. – Jason Bailey
Raúl Briones as Pedro in “La Cocina”
Lacking the authority of a captain, Pedro, an undocumented cook from Mexico, still pulls rank in the tumultuous ship that is the Times Square restaurant where he works among immigrants from around the globe. His facetious bravado, bordering on hubris and almost unbearable in its unpleasantness, collides with a mostly concealed vulnerability in Mexican actor Raúl Briones’ visceral performance as part of this reimagining of the stage play The Kitchen by director Alonso Ruizpalacios. Accused of stealing money from his employer and dealing with his workplace romantic interest and their unplanned pregnancy, Briones’ Pedro prepares dishes with a manic intensity while philosophizing about the unattainable mirage that is the American Dream. In one scene, Pedro rants about the perils of speaking English, still feeling like his voice isn’t heard. More than some of his coworkers, who are just going through the motions of a life of exploitation, he’s painfully conscious of his powerless position.
Near the end, Pedro unravels in a physically violent manner, as if his pent-up rage can no longer be contained inside his body. He’s visibly crushed by the weight of a capitalist system that only perceives his existence based on productivity and otherwise disposable. In that final outburst, one is almost convinced that Briones himself has been consumed by the frustration that overflows in the role. Briones, an actor of great emotional potency forged in the theater, laces the part with a sorrowfulness that beams from Pedro’s tired, sad eyes in quiet moments. With his range on full display here, his presence feels incandescent. – Carlos Aguilar
Cillian Murphy as Bill Furlong in “Small Things Like These”
I recall a filmmaker saying to me, “If you can see the performance, then it’s usually not a great performance.” You’d be hard-pressed to say you saw Cillian Murphy’s performance in “Small Things Like These.” All we see is the sincere honesty of a character whose traumatic past and fatherly love for his daughters collide to reveal his wounded soul and his enduring vulnerability. What’s striking, however, is how Murphy creates space for the audience to enter the film through his physical performance and his character’s guarded and discreet nature.
Murphy articulates the spirit of the film. “Small Things Like These” is a discreet work that relies on an unspoken fear. The scene when he wakes up in the dead of night, a fearful thought set loose in his mind, is brilliantly executed. We’re not seeing Murphy sitting up in bed, terrified of what he would be expected to do should his daughter get herself in “trouble.” No, we see a worried Bill Furlong. This, along with many of the other subtle moments in Murphy’s performance, constructs a world within a world—his internal and outer worlds. The space Murphy, director Tim Mielants, and screenwriter Edna Walsh create for the audience to enter the film is Bill’s internal world. Murphy draws the audience in and asks them to look into his soul to understand him. The fine performance contextualizes the past not as flashbacks but as memories—the film and audience inside the mind of its character. – Paul Risker
Anja Plaschg as Agnes in “The Devil’s Bath”
Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala’s “The Devil’s Bath” is based on the historical phenomenon of “suicide by proxy” in confessional states, which saw depressed people (women) commit murder so as to receive confession and salvation. Working off a book by Kathy Stuart, which delineates “suicide by proxy” as symptomatic of patriarchal religious control, the film follows Agnes, played by Anja Plaschg. “The Devil’s Bath” is certainly a historical document, but because of Plaschg, it is also something glorious: the film is transmuted into a living, breathing thing, a portrait of a woman unraveling.
At the film’s start, Agnes is serene as she prepares a wreath for her wedding to Wolf (David Scheid). A devout soul, she prays she will be a good wife and bear children, But her new life is hard. Her husband won’t have sex with her, and her mother-in-law (Maria Hofstätter as a stony Mother Gänglin) is controlling. Everything seems to go wrong, and Agnes, a sweet, poetic girl, can’t handle it. Setbacks are read as dire failures, and she falls into a deep depression, one mirrored by her surroundings: a heavy fog settles into the forest around her new home, and the trees, once safe, become one great craggy mire.
Plaschg carries Agnes’s disintegration with acute understanding. At first, Agnes performs little rebellions, like quietly offering a second loaf of bread to the workers on Wolf’s family’s farm. Still, Mother Gänglin is always there to undercut her, forcing Agnes to suppress her natural kindness. In one stunning scene, after being nearly swallowed by the forest, Agnes takes a thorny branch and rubs it furiously against her tongue, a little flagellation for the severity foisted upon her by Mother Gänglin. Agnes’s depression moves slowly at first, then settles all at once; like bad weather, you can almost see it weighing her head.
Plaschg’s awareness of the cadence of psyche-shattering sadness is spellbinding. Her brows are often knit as if her eyes are straining to see through her heavy tears, and her eyes are often swollen for all the nights she spends weeping. Agnes is a woman under the influence of a soul-wracking depression, and Plaschg carries her with a grace and intricacy reminiscent of Gena Rowlands.
Near the end of the film, when Agnes becomes limp in bed, Plaschg maintains a discerning care in allowing not a helplessness to show through but rather an utter inability to think or feel or move, becoming a clarion clear embodiment of insensate melancholy, of sheer hopelessness. And after Agnes commits her crime and is finally allowed on death’s doorstep when she is forgiven after she confesses little offenses, her red face lights up in delirious ecstasy; it is the happiest she has been since her wedding day. Plaschg’s Agnes laughs and wails at once in the culmination of one of the year’s best performances. – Alisha Mughal
Naomi Scott as Skye Riley in “Smile 2”
It’s when I saw Naomi Scott chug an entire bottle of Voss water in about ten seconds with unbridled ferocity that I knew I was witnessing an all-timer horror performance. Said aqua guzzling is a coping mechanism that Scott’s character, pop star Skye Riley in Parker Finn’s “Smile 2,” employs whenever she feels the urge to use drugs due to stress, anxiety, or pain; she’ll experience all of the above and more throughout the film.
Indeed, it’s hard to think of a movie character who went through the wringer more than Skye. When we first meet her, it’s evident that she’s battling demons of her own long before the film’s titular supernatural entity seeks to quite literally feast on her torment and angst. It’s a role that could have been one-note, but Scott imbues her take on the tortured artist with a resolve that makes for an inspired performance. It’s her fluctuation between caving into despair and committed fortitude that makes her instantly relatable and compelling.
One of the clever strengths of Finn’s film is in the way it draws an equivalency between the monstrous entity’s soul-sucking appetite and the nature of the invasive, parasocial relationships that have been normalized as a result of social media’s ubiquity and stan culture. In Skye, we see how the glory, money, and fame of the spotlight don’t take away one’s issues; it only gives them a bigger platform. Scott proves she’s more than up for the challenge of playing a character caught between crumbling and courage. She boasts music chops to make her a believable pop star that would make her the object of affection, your “favorite artist’s favorite artist” whom the tabloids would obsess over and to whom eager fans would say things like “You’re my spirit animal.” The in-universe songs are certified earworms in their own right but are even more gripping and enlivening thanks to Scott’s self-aware delivery of the lyrics’ double meaning. It’s a marvel to hear her belt lines like “You can have me a la carte, no condition to it,” knowing as seemingly as it may seem, it’s horrifying given the context of that which haunts her.
The revelation, though, is also in how Scott embodies interior agony so palpably. It is on her visage that a whole host of emotions reside alongside smeared lipstick and dried tears, a canvas where Finn paints the consequences of the crushing weight of fame, the fear that we’ll be defined by our worst mistakes, and the ways we quickly spiral and try to seize control when things slip further from our grasp. Yet, to Scott’s credit, she doesn’t play Skye as helpless; instead, she reveals that same fear with steely confidence and discipline. Amidst the film’s many plot twists, we remain anchored by Scott’s spellbinding resolve and spirit. It’s this mix of open-heart vulnerability and dogged resilience that cements Scott as a major talent; “Smile 2” is merely a combustible calling card for an artist who knows how to slay with a smile. – Zachary Lee
Josh Hartnett as Cooper in “Trap”
Perhaps one of the greatest twists of M. Night Shyamalan’s career was casting perennial nice guy Josh Hartnett as a ruthless serial killer in his latest film, “Trap.” Nothing makes you feel your own mortality more than seeing your teen crush playing the parent of a teenager. Shyamalan’s thriller largely takes place inside a giant stadium, where Cooper (Hartnett) has taken his daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) to see her favorite pop girlie, Lady Raven (Saleka Night Shyamalan). A firefighter by day and killer by night, Cooper quickly learns the entire concert is a trap to catch him. The film’s tension relies on Hartnett as he balances charismatic girl-dad energy with the panic of a criminal trying to outsmart cops who have him surrounded.
Hartnett pulls this feat off with aplomb, playing out Cooper’s conflicting emotional state largely through shifts in his facial expression. Shyamalan often films Hartnett in close-up shots, his sly smile and shining eyes filling each frame with a plethora of discordant emotions. In Hartnett’s hands, goofy dad humor is laced with menace; each harmless wink at a hapless PTA mom has the potential to bludgeon. Hartnett seamlessly blends the killer’s frantic need for escape with the same try-hard eagerness of a dad who desperately wants to still be cool in the eyes of his beloved daughter. Once the action moves to the Cooper home, the duality at the heart of Hartnett’s performance merges into a singular psychosis, his vulnerability melting away completely as his villainous nature is irrevocably unmasked. – Marya E. Gates
Brian Tyree Henry as Jason Crutchfield in “The Fire Inside”
Whenever social media launches a prompt like “who should be cast in X,” my mind almost always goes to Brian Tyree Henry. He should be in Marvel movies, indie dramas, and everything in between. Why? Because he continues to be one of those rare performers that elevates every single part they take. Whether it’s going understated in broad genre work like “Bullet Train” or finding the human core of his character in “Causeway,” he has never phoned it in. His latest, next week’s “The Fire Inside,” is another reminder of his talent. I’m pretty sure I could pick him every year for a feature like this.
What makes BTH different? It’s the moments between the lines. He’s one of those excellent performers that deftly hides the strings of filmmaking, disappearing into character instead of looking like an actor on a set. He does that by convincing us he’s listening, thinking, responding, reacting instead of just enacting rehearsed dialogue and blocking.
Jason Crutchfield, and “The Fire Inside” as a whole, could have just been another by-the-numbers inspirational sports movie, but Henry (and his wonderful co-star, Ryan Destiny) make it feel real. We don’t mind cliches as much when we believe the characters living through them are genuine. And Brian Tyree Henry is incapable of giving a disingenuous performance. – Brian Tallerico
Jeremy Strong as Roy Cohn in “The Apprentice”
Before seeing Ali Abbasi’s American horror story, “The Apprentice,” Roy Cohn was nobody to me. Without the standout performance from Jeremy Strong, Cohn would still be a nobody to me. While many may have avoided the film due to the 2024 political climate, there’s a bit of lore unveiled here that the “true crime” and “historical fiction” crowds would find entertaining. Furthermore, there’s a particular itch to scratch when it comes to understanding who is at the origin of the madness or the masterpiece, depending on how one frames it.
Sebastian Stan, who serves the titular role (a young Donald Trump), is pushed to succeed on a greater level due to Strong’s substantial support; it’s as if their characters’ symbiosis stemmed directly from reality. In one of his first major roles since the finale of HBO’s “Succession,” Strong taps into an unnerving, specific type of hyper-capitalistic, misogynistic evil. Trump’s Tropicana-colored spray tan was first modeled as a good idea by his mentor, Roy Cohn; this superficial detail symbolizes myriad poor choices to follow. Strong is unrelenting in his role as the blueprint for Trump’s behavior and business practices. Their co-dependency quickly slips into Stan sucking the life out of Strong, and as his health and status decline, Strong seamlessly steps from a nasty, nefarious attorney into a dying, dissociative man who possibly regrets the monster he’s made.
While it’s likely safe to assume that the real-life Roy Cohn died with no regrets, this fictionalized take on the becoming of Donald Trump is strengthened by Strong’s ability to embody ambivalent feelings, which in turn personalizes the role and the story as a whole. I’ll be waiting for the day when Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune crafts a clue that connects two of Strong’s best performances: what is Kendall Roy Cohn? – Cortlyn Kelly
Justice Smith as Owen in “I Saw the TV Glow”
It’s difficult to overstate the melancholic power of Justice Smith’s performance in “I Saw the TV Glow,” Jane Schoenbrun’s rich and haunting exploration of teenage dysphoria. In the film, two high school students bond over a late-night television series called “The Pink Opaque,” only for one of them, Maddy, to vanish following its finale; the other, Owen, is left at a loss to navigate parts of themselves they’d understood best (though even then only partially) through the series, as years pass and fantasy blurs into reality.
Played first by Ian Foreman, before Smith assumes the role, Owen is a painfully awkward and lonely adolescent, uncertain how to express the profound feelings of unease that, as he’s aged, have gradually served to hollow out his sense of self, rather than propelling forward his search for an inner truth. Schoenbrun is a trans filmmaker and has discussed their film as a metaphor for the “egg crack” moment at which a person realizes they’re trans, but Owen lacks the vocabulary and the self-knowledge to articulate his identity in this manner, growing more isolated and dissociated as he gets older.
In a visceral performance of unbearable distress and discomfort, Smith captures this subconsciously suppressed dysphoria as a slow death, a living tragedy. As Owen becomes less of himself, afraid to face the constructed nature of his reality and uncertain how to reclaim a more authentic sense of self, Smith portrays his existence as a purgatorial state of self-detachment—each movement a repression, every word swallowed up as soon as it’s spoken—before the film’s shattering, revelatory climax finds Owen finally confronting, with wonder and terror, what lies inside. – Isaac Feldberg
Riley Keough as the female in “Sasquatch Sunset”
At the Sundance premiere of the Zellner brothers’ latest exercise in deadpan absurdity, Jesse Eisenberg mentioned inviting his personal mime coach to the set to train the cast. That’s emblematic of the seriousness everyone brings to their wordless (thus the mime coach) turns as wild Sasquatches roaming the shrinking wilderness of Northern California in “Sasquatch Sunset.” But as the lone female of the group, co-star Riley Keough has the most difficult acting challenges in the film, and takes the biggest risks.
Keough throws herself 100% into her roles, even the ridiculous ones (see: her career-making turn in “Zola”). But managing to convey fear, panic, grief, and all-around pathos while wearing a Bigfoot suit and full facial prosthetics is a lot, even for her. In the first half, she’s just goofing around with her co-stars, hooting and throwing things and making noises in the Sasquatch sex scene. (You read that correctly.)
As the story goes on, however, Keough’s mama Sasquatch becomes the emotional center of the story, guiding it through a risky (but successful!) tonal shift from silly lark to sorrowful elegy. Her physical performance in the scene where she “gives birth” alone, in the woods, grunting and howling and pulling a baby Sasquatch doll out of her furry bodysuit with her hands, represents a level of commitment that all actors should aspire to, and few ever achieve. – Katie Rife
Zendaya as Tashi Duncan in “Challengers”
Former Disney Channel superstar and golden child Zendaya has taken on numerous roles since her time at the House of Mouse came to an end. From her Emmy-winning portrayal of Rue in “Euphoria” to playing the love interest of the world’s favorite web-slinger in Jon Watts’s “Spider-Man” trilogy, and now starring in Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune,” it seems there is no limit to the starlet’s staying power.
While Zendaya’s fame is undeniable, her acting prowess has faced some skepticism in recent years. Despite winning a Primetime Emmy Award for her performance in “Euphoria,” some critics argue that she has yet to deliver a truly standout role that matches the level of her widespread acclaim. However, it appears Zendaya has taken this feedback to heart, as she has begun tackling more challenging and unconventional characters.
Her portrayal of Tashi Duncan, a former tennis prodigy turned coach after a devastating injury, is the latest example of her evolution as an actress. Tashi is seductive, calculating, and emotionally complex—most importantly, she is a fully realized adult. While Zendaya has played mean-girl archetypes before, these characters often carried an air of immaturity, as they were typically younger and less developed.
This performance, however, marks a significant shift. For the first time, audiences see Zendaya embodying a mature character, signaling her growth as both an actress and an artist. From her movements to her expressions, she demonstrates a depth and broader approach that feels like a departure from her Disney Channel roots and a step above her performance in “Malcolm & Marie.”
Now that she’s stepping into more layered roles, one can only hope this is a trend Zendaya continues to embrace as she explores richer, more dynamic characters in the future. – Brandon Towns
Ralph Fiennes as Cardinal Thomas Lawrence in “Conclave”
Doubt and certainty wage war within the soul of Cardinal Lawrence as he presides over the seething group of Cardinals, gathered to elect a new Pope. In such a cutthroat atmosphere, wearing your heart on your sleeve isn’t at all wise, and the diplomatic Lawrence is accustomed to presenting an unflappable and mild personality. But Lawrence’s internal war can’t be hidden this time, and his carefully practiced mask of gentle authority starts to break apart. Fiennes, at times, seems to be truly under siege. Alone in his room, he breaks down into heaving sobs, and the release seems purely physical.
Lawrence is in a whirlwind, and he only lets us see a little bit of it at a time. After a lifetime of service in the Church, he has doubts about everything, including his faith, an almost unsayable admission in the Vatican.
But Cardinal Lawrence is a complicated man. Doubt is not usually associated with steely strength and leadership, but Lawrence isn’t the Dean for nothing. He confronts the big issues. He maneuvers back-channels. He holds his cards close. He breaks rules. Underestimate this self-effacing bureaucrat at your peril.
This is not a “showy” performance, or even conventionally expressive. What Fiennes is doing is harder than it looks; it takes great control, a control mastered over a decades-long career. The whole film in a way is a tribute to what long-standing character actors bring to any table. Eccentricity and absurdity come easily to Fiennes, but this is the most interior performance he has ever given and it’s one of his best. – Sheila O’Malley
Naomi Ackie as Frida in “Blink Twice”
In “Blink Twice,” Naomi Ackie is the queen of reversals in her portrayal of Frida. This character digs her whimsically painted fingernails into us by reaching beyond delineated emotions into the shades between them. Initially, Frida ignores the instinct that something is wrong with her island vacation and the man (Channing Tatum) who brought her there. She has dreamed of being swept into luxury by a billionaire “prince.” If she can’t find happiness with him, and her life at home is unhappy, she has no dreams left.
The pinnacle of this internal tug-of-war is in the dance scene with her tainted beau. Each rotation away from him is a moment of terror, and with every turn back her feigned mask of revelry returns. It’s a chillingly effective play for survival, made more so because—in varying degrees—many of us recognize this dance. When Frida says she’s having a good time, we know she’s not, but she believes she is.
Those dueling states of mind form the kaleidoscopic colors of Ackie’s performance. In every plot twist, she reveals new shapes to her island hell. Every returned memory is rendered in micro-expressions—clenched fingers, sudden tremors, out-of-control breaths, and upward-turned lips that are neither a smile nor a grimace. These are signs of someone whose psyche is in upheaval. Frida is a woman who is unsure of how deep the torrent goes, and because of Naomi Ackie, we believe her. That is what makes her last look of vengeance-laced smugness so deeply satisfying. – Sherin Nicole
John David Washington as Boy Willie in “The Piano Lesson”
John David Washington displays a fearlessness surpassing his other big screen roles to date in his brother’s film adaptation of August Wilson’s The Piano Lesson. Directed by his brother Malcolm (in his directorial debut) and reprising his role from the 2022 Broadway production as Boy Willie, Washington’s performance feels personal on a visceral level.
This formal football player brings Wilson’s masterpiece to life with an emotional depth and poetic justice, making each word ring like a song composition in cinematic form. His ferocity for the language is boldly embodied with each movement, glance and interaction with every cast member. With an undeniable screen presence, his performance is only enhanced by his scene partner and older sister Berniece (the equally excellent Danielle Deadwyler) on screen.
John David Washington may be the son of Black Hollywood Royalty (Pauletta and Denzel Washington), but it is abundantly clear that he has forged a cinematic path uniquely of his own volition, encompassed by multiple genres, characters and directors across an already notable career. The best is yet to surface for this young thespian whose future is so bright it literally burns my eyes. – Carla Renata
16 more great performances of 2024. Read More