The 50 Best Sci-Fi Movies Of The Last 50 Years

Akira was probably one of the first sci-fi movies I ever watched, and it was the stuff of nightmares. My older brother watched it religiously since he was (and remains) a huge anime dork, meaning it absolutely plagued me. Numerous scenes from the movie are etched into my memory for what seems like the rest of my life, including Tetsuo’s grotesque transformation in his final battle against Kaneda, as well as the striking orbital laser that comes down to try and kill the former as he lays waste to Neo-Tokyo. For all intents and purposes, Akira was the baseline of what sci-fi could and should be in my life, and that set a really high standard early on.

Akira is rightfully heralded as a classic for its heady themes, no-frills approach, and gorgeous animation. It is, after all, the origin of the beloved (and often imitated) “Akira slide.” More than 30 years later, it’s one of the boldest films ever and hasn’t been matched, let alone overcome. Tons of sci-fi films posit questions about the efficacy and true role of the military, but I think few have the open disdain and grime of Akira. Neo-Tokyo may look sleek and cool, but it’s the template for the artifice of cyberpunk settings. Underneath it all, everything is rotten.

Besides the obvious reasons for Akira’s acclaim, I think it’s also pretty neat that my earliest exposure to the genre came from outside of the American bubble. I think it’s easy for folks to mistake any one view for the dominant perspective on a subject, but Akira instilled a sense early on that there is far more to the world, fiction, the future, and our anxieties than my few blocks, city, state, or country. — Moises Taveras

There are very few films that come close to the splendor that is Alien—sci-fi or not. A stellar cast, a brilliant director, dialogue that feels so natural you feel like you’re one of the Nostromo’s crew members, beautiful sets that look like real, inhabited spaces, and horrifying practical effects, all set against the backdrop of a simple but effective premise: something alien has invaded a space, and there’s virtually nothing humans can do about it. It cuts to the core of many of the themes science fiction loves to unpack: the inevitable degradation of everything thanks to capitalism, human beings’ smallness in this universe, the horrors that lurk in parts unknown, the fallibility of humanity. It is pitch-perfect, the kind of science fiction film all other science fiction films strive to be.

If you’re looking for an even better explanation as to why Ridley Scott’s 1979 sci-fi horror masterpiece is on this list, may I point you to Carolyn Petit’s excellent write-up in our rankings of the Alien films. — Alyssa Mercante

Five years before he’d follow up his own sci-fi thriller, The Terminator, with a balls-to-the-wall action sequel, James Cameron gave Ridley Scott’s pulse-pounding sci-fi horror film Alien similar treatment, amping up the franchise’s firepower immensely and delivering one of the most influential action films of all time. Previously we’d seen a xenomorph tear through the hapless crew of the Nostromo and it was terrifying, but those were just ordinary working folks, not space marines armed with all the futuristic weaponry money can buy. Surely these perfect specimens would be no match for an entire crew of heavily armed future soldiers, right? Right?!

Aliens takes the shadowy threat of the original film and makes it much more concrete, establishing that no matter what tools we may have at our disposal and how advantageous our position may seem, we are no match for the xenomorphs, and it does so through some of the loudest, most spectacular action scenes ever filmed. Crucially, however, it doesn’t lose the human element in all the bombast and carnage. Every actor makes his or her character vivid, distinct, and memorable, even those who get killed off early on, and we believe in the camaraderie and connection that binds the band of soldiers together. More than that, in the midst of it all, Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley finds a kind of family with Michael Biehn’s Hicks and young survivor Newt, a dynamic with themes that resonate in a film which also introduces the Alien Queen, who we see laying her many, many eggs in wonderfully graphic detail. Oh, and the first film’s themes of corporate fuckery and the expendability of human life are alive and well, with Paul Reiser showing surprising range as a delightfully sleazy representative of the Weyland-Yutani corporation who definitely does not die a very satisfying death.— Carolyn Petit

As a Jeff VanderMeer fangirl, I was excited for Alex Garland’s Annihilation, inspired by VanderMeer’s novels, long before it debuted. In it, a mysterious barrier known only as the Shimmer (Area X in the books) that suddenly emerged from a lighthouse in the Florida panhandle is being studied by an incredibly suspicious government organization. Attempts to send manned patrols into the Shimmer have resulted in their disappearance, save for one person, Kane (Oscar Isaac) who returns seemingly unchanged but rapidly declines once leaving the space. His wife, Lena (Natalie Portman), a cellular biology professor and former soldier, joins an all-female expedition into the Shimmer, encountering mutated flora and fauna and much, much more.

Though the film deviates quite a bit from the source material (which is both a clever choice considering how bizarre the novel is and a metatextual analysis of the novel itself), Annihilation is incredible. It’s a film that forces you to question the nature of humanity and reckon with your truly baby-brained understanding of the world around you. It brilliantly twists the source material, mirroring what happens to all living organisms that cross this alien threshold, and really demonstrates Garland’s understanding of VanderMeer’s novels. The film is also beautifully surreal and incredibly well-acted, with a few truly horrifying moments that will leave you shaken to the core. — Alyssa Mercante

Arrival has the distinct honor of being the only sci-fi flick that makes me weep uncontrollably. Starring Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner, this saccharine drama focuses on the efforts of a translator charged with interpreting the language of an alien species that has arrived under mysterious, but seemingly peaceful, circumstances. There is no invasion, even if some of the larger forces in Arrival’s world would like to think of the situation in that way. Instead, Adams’ character, a linguist, does something much more difficult: She tries to understand the aliens and their utterly baffling language.

I love a good alien action movie, but I also really love a story willing to do a bit more work interrogating the nature of extraterrestrials, and by extension, ourselves. Humans are an incredibly divisive species, which might be why our first instinct is to meet something unfamiliar with cruel, blunt force. Arrival speaks to a more sensible side of our existence, one that is capable of more than violence, one that can offer curiosity and unifying love, and one that has the capacity to act on these notions in pursuit of something greater than ourselves. I don’t know, man, I just really love Arrival even if I find it hard to ever go back to. But I guess that’s great sci-fi, y’know? It haunts you, and Arrival definitely haunts me. — Moises Taveras

A cult classic that put John Boyega on the map, Attack the Block is an incredibly British (and incredibly funny) sci-fi flick about an extraterrestrial invasion of a South London council estate. Brilliantly, Attack the Block asks and answers the question: what would a group of young kids trying to prove their street cred do when an alien pops up on the block and attacks one of them? And if they manage to kill it (spoiler: they do) what do they do after that? Bring it to their weed dealer, of course (played, hilariously, by Nick Frost).

Attack the Block only gets more absurd from there, but cleverly weaves a strong emotional thread through the alien action, deftly handled by Boyega in his first-ever movie role. If you’re looking for a thoroughly enjoyable, fast-paced romp through South London complete with icky alien blood, Attack the Block is a must-see. — Alyssa Mercante

One of the most innately crowd-pleasing movies of all time, Back to the Future takes a brilliant core concept (a time-traveling DeLorean designed by a kooky scientist!) and makes the absolute most of it with phenomenal performances, a stirring musical score, a sharp, hilarious script, gee-whiz special effects, and exceptional, propulsive direction by Robert Zemeckis. Moving effortlessly between sci-fi action, zany comedy, and moments of existential crisis and heartfelt connection, Back to the Future is an example of a story that can only be effectively told through the medium of cinema. Sure, its concept of how time travel works may not hold up to rigid scientific questioning, but it doesn’t need to. Cinema is a purely visual medium, and I’ll never forget that image of the photograph Marty carries with him that shows his siblings fading from existence, or the thrill of the lightning strike that sends the Delorean back to the future, leaving nothing but flaming tire tracks in its wake. — Carolyn Petit

What can you say about Blade Runner that hasn’t already been said? It’s just such a rich, haunting, atmospheric, meaningful, and multifaceted film, one you can appreciate purely as one of the great visual achievements in cinema history, or for its fascinating exploration of what it means to be human. As far as the art of cinema is concerned, it’s Blade Runner’s visual legacy that looms the largest. Itself heavily influenced by film noirs of the 1940s, complete with its trenchcoat-wearing, hard-drinking detective who talks to us in detached voiceover–at least in the original theatrical release–Blade Runner’s vision of 21st-century Los Angeles is perhaps the most iconic and inescapably influential fictional city ever put on film.

Every element of the production design, visual and audio, tantalizingly hints at a larger world. Consider, for instance, the dirigible glimpsed early in the film, telling Angelenos that “a new life awaits you in the off-world colonies, the chance to begin again in a golden land of opportunity and adventure.” In so many films, a detail like this would only be featured if it figured directly in the plot, something to be explained and elaborated upon. But here in Blade Runner, it’s just one of many stimuli competing for our attention, earning only a derisive look from Harrison Ford’s Rick Deckard before he turns back to his newspaper.

And yet it’s not just because of its incredibly immersive world that Blade Runner has endured for so long, only growing in prestige and earning millions of new admirers in the decades since its disappointing box office release. We keep coming back to Blade Runner for the spectacle, sure, but also for the alluring story at its center, one that remains fascinating precisely because it offers no easy answers to its central questions about the nature of being human. Instead, we can turn it over and over again in our minds like a dream, pondering how someday, for each and every one of us, all these moments will be lost, like tears in rain. — Carolyn Petit

Every fan of Ridley Scott’s 1982 Blade Runner had some concerns about Blade Runner 2049. Scott’s original film is a masterpiece, and a sequel nearly 30 years later starring Ryan Gosling and Harrison Ford and directed by Denis Villeneuve could have gone one of two ways. Luckily, it went the good route—though 2049 is a bit too in love with its source material (the concept: a blackout led to a replicant rebellion that destroyed the Tyrell company, with a new one cropping up in its place), Villeneuve’s singular vision makes for one of the most beautiful sci-fi movies to ever grace the screen.

Its biggest flaw is its failure to engage in social commentary around police brutality and economic inequality considering the world in which it’s set, but if you can put aside your frustration, Blade Runner 2049 is a visual feast with a heartbreaking romance at its center. — Alyssa Mercante

As we approach two decades since the release of Children of Men, the movie only gets more relevant. That’s not really a good thing considering the dystopian hell that is Alfonso Cuarón’s 2006 film. Starring Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, Michael Caine, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Charlie Hunnam, Children of Men introduces audiences to a world in which the human race has become completely infertile and mass hysteria has turned governments like the United Kingdom into extremely xenophobic police states. The film’s portrayal of a world dominated by a government’s willingness to constantly torture their own people, who become become increasingly divided over extremist beliefs. It’s a plot that feels all-too-familiar in today’s political climate.

At the heart of all this horror however, is a story that does center on hope and the power of community. Watching Owen’s Theo bond with Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey), the only known pregnant woman on Earth, is beautiful. On top of that, Cuarón makes Children of Men a gorgeous movie to watch despite its subject matter—like with an amazing, unforgettable unbroken shot that still takes my breath away. And for video game fans you can watch this knowing that it was a big inspiration for The Last of Us, for what that’s worth. — Willa Rowe

1975’s Jaws wasn’t Steven Spielberg’s first film, but it was the one that announced the arrival of a major talent, one with a visual sensibility that would arguably change the movies forever. (After seeing Jaws, Alfred Hitchcock reportedly said that Spielberg is “the first one of us who doesn’t see the proscenium arch,” meaning that he and other directors of his own era came to cinema with a sensibility informed by the theater, and Spielberg didn’t have those constraints at all, instead seeing bold new possibilities for fluidity and framing.) But if Jaws indicated the arrival of a cinematic prodigy, his next film, 1977’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, cemented it. I still think its UFOs are the most spectacular spacecraft I’ve ever seen in a movie, so vast and colorful, ships made for cinema.

Close Encounters is a visual feast, a sci-fi adventure yarn, and a fascinating character study in the simultaneously life-saving and life-shattering impact that faith, yearning, and a search for greater meaning can have on our lives. It’s also a wonderfully personal film that brought together elements of Spielberg’s life in ways that, for a long time, he himself did not realize. And while it’s undeniably composer John Williams’ work on franchises like Star Wars and Indiana Jones for which he will be most remembered, let’s not overlook his wonderful score for this film, and his contribution of the playful, lively exchange of sound through which the aliens and humans first strive to communicate.— Carolyn Petit

An adaptation of the Carl Sagan novel of the same name, Contact tells the story of scientist Dr. Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster) who has dedicated her life to confirming extraterrestrial intelligence exists and can be discovered by listening to radio emissions from space. Though she’s met with disbelief, scrutiny, and the threat of a full shutdown of her research, she doggedly persists, eventually discovering a signal that details the schematics for building a single-manned spaceship that can reach the place from whence the signal originated. Contact is an incredibly grounded sci-fi flick for nearly its entire runtime, before going absolutely balls-to-the-wall in the final act and ultimately presenting a fascinating question: how much of science is rooted in faith when our scientific instruments and/or theories prove to be inadequate? — Alyssa Mercante

Matt Reeves is better known these days for helming the most recent Batman flick, but once upon a time he gave us the best sci-fi blockbuster of the 2010s. That movie is Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, which really should’ve been the title of the first movie in the 2010s trilogy, but that is neither here nor there. I could try and give you a pitch, but instead I want to just describe my favorite sequence in this absolutely stunning film.

In the film’s big set piece, the apes, led by the movie’s villain Koba, go to war with the remaining humans in San Francisco. If you’ve ever seen a scene of an ape on horseback wielding two assault rifles akimbo-style, this is the genesis of that image. However, the most arresting part of this sequence is when Koba leads the charge on a tank. He jumps on top, kills the human gunner, and then dives into the tank to take out the rest of its crew. All the while, the camera is fixed to the spinning turret, panning over the warzone in a 360 degree shot that captures the chaos that Koba’s bloodlust has caused. Mortars come down, killing countless apes, but still they persist. Eventually, Koba reemerges the clear victor, seizes the turret and becomes the very thing he believes he’s fighting against: a tyrant, a man. — Moises Taveras

Putting two movies in one entry is not cheating if those movies are meant to be watched in a single sitting, and I firmly believe Denis Villeneuve’s sci-fi epic is a back-to-backer. Dune: Part One and Part Two take on what is largely considered the headiest, most difficult-to-adapt science fiction universe: Frank Herbert’s Dune. One director (Alejandro Jodorowsky) tried and failed to turn the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s science fiction novels into a science fiction film (though the legacy of that failed film can be found in Star Wars, Alien, and beyond), while another (David Lynch) successfully made one that he pretty much openly hates.

But Villeneuve manages to succeed where other men failed, bringing Herbert’s heady first novel to the big screen with scale, splendor, and style. Though I’d argue there is more visual deliciousness in Part Two (like spacesuit-clad figures silently floating up off of the sands of Arrakis to mount an attack, or every single black-and-white scene set on Giedi Prime, planet whose sun blanches color from everything), Part One effectively sets the stage for the creation of a Messiah—the stranger in a strange land, the othering, the evil machinations of those determined to tear down a good man. There is so much more I could say about Dune (the incredible performances from its star-studded cast, the insanely cool set design, the costumes that I have daydreams about), but the simplest thing to say is: it fucking slaps. — Alyssa Mercante

Sci-fi often is often simply just the coolest shit imaginable, and Edge of Tomorrow is just that. This remarkable action movie is led by Tom Cruise and Emily Blunt, who star as soldiers in a war against aliens called Mimics, which are capable of looping time. Cruise, in an atypical move, is a hapless soldier who barely knows up from down, let alone how to use his exosuit, and relies on Blunt’s character, an esteemed war vet, to learn how to survive. In turn, as one of the only people aware of the time loop occurring every time he dies, Cruise tries to save everyone from being slaughtered by the Mimics.

Edge of Tomorrow has been likened a lot over the years to video games. When Cruise’s character dies, he effectively respawns with all the knowledge of his past life. Taken as a whole, Edge of Tomorrow is just kind of a cool sci-fi roguelike. It’s also hilarious—watching the main character consistently eat shit as he tries to crystallize a sound strategy against the aliens leads to a few hearty belly laughs. If you want a crowd-pleasing flick, you cannot go wrong with Edge of Tomorrow, which should also just be turned into a video game at this point. — Moises Taveras

Yet another Carpenter classic, Escape From New York is set in the near-future of 1997 where New York City has become one large maximum security prison—AKA a manifestation (and skewering) of the worst fears of ‘80s broken windows policing. Kurt Russell stars as the amazingly named Snake Plissken (the inspiration behind Metal Gear’s Solid Snake), who is about to be sentenced to prison on Manhattan Island for robbing the Federal Reserve, until the president is kidnapped by terrorists. Plissken is then injected with micro-explosives and dropped onto the island to search for and rescue the president, giving us an hour-and-a-half of gruff, no-nonsense Russell and one of the more grimy takes on Manhattan to come out of the ‘80s (and that’s saying something).

Escape From New York has the mark of Carpenter all over it—the B-movie energy, the tongue-in-cheek observations on modern society, the wild action and weirdness. It’s an instant classic (and a great Halloween costume, I might add). — Alyssa Mercante

You may have noticed by now that I’m a sucker for romance movies, and ones that blend them with sci-fi elements tend to be near the top of that list. I believe Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was my first run-in to that hybrid genre, and to this day, it’s probably still one of the most effective. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, everything’s great until it’s not, boy and girl fall apart. In Eternal Sunshine, there’s another step though: boy erases girl from memories via experimental new technology in order to rid himself of the pain of reliving that loss all the time.

Except there are some twists. Eternal Sunshine mostly takes place in Joel’s (Jim Carrey) memories as they are being erased. In a non-linear order, we bounce around his head and the highs and lows of his relationship with Clem, played by the always-astounding Kate Winslet. As his brain is getting toyed with and manipulated, the film adopts a visual style to match the events of the movie. This means there are abrupt cuts, visual noise and fog in certain scenes, and Eternal Sunshine finds fun in playing with perspective too. There’s at least one horrifying jumpscare (you’ll know it when you see it) but my favorite sequence involves the romantic leads speaking plainly to each other as the house around them (and Joel’s memory of their relationship) collapses. Eternal Sunshine has it all and then some. — Moises Taveras

The multiverse has become such a bastardized science fiction concept thanks to cameo-filled franchise films that it’s easy to forget it’s an incredibly effective storytelling tool. Everything Everywhere All At Once follows the multiverse-spanning story of mother and daughter Evelyn and Joy. What starts as a mundane drama about generational divides through the lens of the Asian-American identity quickly escalates into an absurdist tale examining all that mundanity through an extremely distorted lens.

Everything Everywhere All At Once unravels its two leads into every conceivable version of themselves across every timeline. Then all that’s left are two women who see every possibility they missed out on and choose to forsake all those other timelines to love each other in this one. Even with its exaggerated science fiction framing, Everything Everywhere All At Once captures the core truth that our relationships with each other give us reason to hope, to care, and to believe that this life is worth living, no matter how dull it may seem. The Daniels’ spin on the multiverse gazes into so many possibilities, but in every timeline, it finds that same deceptively simple truth. — Kenneth Shepard

The events of Ex Machina could happen very soon, and that’s part of the reason why this Alex Garland flick is such an effective use of science fiction. It follows Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), a programmer at an SEO company who wins a chance to spend a week with the company’s eccentric and elusive CEO, Nathan Bateman (Oscar Isaac). When he arrives at the incredibly remote compound, he learns that he’s there to help Bateman determine if his incredibly advanced AI companion named Ava (Alicia Vikander) is capable of real human consciousness, and if Caleb can relate to her despite the nature of her creation.

But Ex Machina quickly transitions into a thriller—Bateman is erratic and seemingly cruel to his creations, and Ava wants Caleb’s help in escaping the compound. The two seem to fall in love, pushing the boundaries of what AI is capable of, just for us to learn that Ava goes even further beyond those boundaries. The film’s twists are delicious, Vikander is a vision, the android girl power on display gave me the kind of unbridled confidence only a white man knows, and, of course, we got this absolutely bonkers scene from Isaac that will forever be seared in my memory. — Alyssa Mercante

The Fifth Element is the kind of wacky, sexy, but totally sincere science fiction movie that we don’t really get anymore. The European sci-fi action film about magic space rocks and an evil fireball set to destroy Earth stars Bruce Willis, Milla Jovovich, Chris Tucker, and Gary Oldman, and it’s so damn fun and memorable. If you like interesting and eye-catching sets and costume designs, this movie has you covered. If you love strange sci-fi nonsense and weird aliens, this movie has that in spades. Or maybe you just want some sexy people doing cool action sequences while an alien lady sings electronic opera. Well, Fifth Element has that too, and all of it is wonderful.

There’s not a dull moment or boring scene in this film. It’s the kind of sci-fi that offers just enough world-building and lore around its edges to make tantalize you, but never gets bogged down in any of its universe-building. It zips from beginning to end and along the way features lines and moments I still quote to this day. We need more sci-fi that’s not afraid to be strange, horny, and cool. But for now, I’ll just watch The Fifth Element again.— Zack Zwiezen

It’s yucky, it’s gross, it stays with you long after the film ends, it’s The Fly. It’s also a David Cronenberg film so of course you’d expect icky body horror galore. The 1986 movie stars Jeff Goldblum as Seth Brundle, a brilliant but bizarre scientist determined to figure out how to harness the power of teleportation. Despite the pods successfully teleporting inanimate objects, they warp and mutilate anything alive, but that doesn’t stop our Sethy, oh no. He goes in the teleportation pods himself, and well, you know the title of the film. The Fly boasts incredibly gross and effective practical effects, the kind you’d expect from a Cronenberg film, as well as fleshed-out characters that ensure the disgusting shit you’re seeing also hurts to watch. An absolute classic. — Alyssa Mercante

Can a parody of a franchise become one of the best entries in said franchise? I think so and Galaxy Quest, a big-budget send-up of Star Trek, is a perfect example. The 1999 film features Tim Allen, Sigourney Weaver, and Alan Rickman as aging actors who were once part of a Star Trek-like TV show but who now are slumming it at conventions. However, they get involved in a real-life space war when a group of aliens who don’t understand fiction mistake their series for reality and teleport them into a recreation of the fake ship to help them fight an evil alien empire.

What makes Galaxy Quest work is that the people behind it clearly love Star Trek, so the jokes in the movie never feel mean or shitty. It feels like Star Trek fans cracking wise about red shirts and aliens all looking like humans. It also helps that Galaxy Quest isn’t justreally funny and respectful of Star Trek, but it’s also a genuinely great sci-fi film that even non-Trekkies will enjoy. But if you do love Star Trek, you’ll get a kick out of Galaxy Quest’s antics and feel a bit of pride in the movie’s final act, which involves a diehard nerd saving the day through his knowledge of lore and canon. Truly, every superfan’s dream. — Zack Zwiezen

Oh no, don’t be an AI assistant with a sensual voice, you’re so sexy and I’m in love with you! Her, starring Joaquin Phoenix and the disembodied voice of Scarlett Johansson, is a lovely genre mashup of sci-fi and romance. Though in the current cultural climate there is a slightly less adorable sheen on the story of a lonely man falling in love with his AI assistant, Her still has the power to make you laugh, cry, and worry about the inevitable takeover of the world by robot overlords. — Alyssa Mercante

I don’t think you can find a better adaptation of a young adult novel than The Hunger Games trilogy—and I’d argue that a very good YA adaptation of a science fiction series is worth a spot on this list. In the aughts/teens, there was a slew of movies adapted from YA fantasy and sci-fi novels (Twilight, The Maze Runner, Divergent, The Mortal Instruments), but the only one that gave us consistently great acting and heart-wrenching scenes was The Hunger Games. Jennifer Lawrence slips so well into the role of Katniss Everdeen that it’s impossible to imagine anyone else in the role, and her incredible capabilities as an actor help drive home just truly terrible this dystopic world is.

The mix of absurd spectacle and dreary daily life for Panem’s lower-class people makes for a riveting watch, and one that feels even more prescient and poignant today. — Alyssa Mercante

Very few movies on this list made me cry quite like Interstellar. Christopher Nolan’s time-bending sci-fi flick follows the story of Cooper (Matthew McConaughey), a former NASA pilot turned farmer after a global blight careens the human race toward extinction and space travel is deemed frivolous. When Cooper and his two children discover strange patterns in falling dust particles, they decipher the binary code and trace it to a secret NASA facility that has been toiling away at figuring out how to transport humanity to other hospitable planets. Cooper agrees to man the flight, but faces immense odds, including time dilation (an hour spent on one potential planet is seven years on Earth), a mad scientist determined to get back home no matter the cost, and the consequences of leaving your young children behind to embark on what very may well be a fruitless endeavor.

Though Interstellar plays with some pretty involved scientific conceits, at its core it’s a story about the power of love and its ability to transcend time. An absolute fucking tear jerker that’s brilliantly paced and well-acted by McConaughey, Anne Hathaway, Jessica Chastain, and Michael Caine. — Alyssa Mercante

There are few movies more emblematic of ‘90s cinema’s heyday than Jurassic Park. Based on the novel by Michael Crichton, the film explores the possibilities of bringing dinosaurs back from the dead, and what happens when you try to harness the power of nature for financial gain—it’s a park, after all, meant for the amusement of attendees, not so much the preservation of long-extinct species. What happens when God creates dinosaurs, kills dinosaurs, then creates man—and man chooses to create dinosaurs? (“Dinosaurs eat man, woman inherits the earth,” of course.)

Jurassic Park melds practical effects with what was then state-of-the-art CG to impressive results that still hold up today. The velociraptor’s breath fogging up a glass window, the T-rex chewing on a car tire, the sickly stegosaurus being tended to by the lovely, captivating Laura Dern, are all visuals seared into the brains of anyone who’s seen Jurassic Park.

Perfectly paced, well-acted, and shot with an eye that only Steven Spielberg has, Jurassic Park endures, always. — Alyssa Mercante

I recently rewatched Mad Max: Fury Road ahead of Furiosa (which you should absolutely see), and was viscerally reminded of just how damn good it is. Though the notion that good art can only be made through suffering is one I don’t subscribe to, Fury Road is arguably a point in its favor—production was plagued with problems, from having to relocate the entire shoot from Australia to Africa, to an alleged feud between stars Tom Hardy and Charlize Theron, to the grueling nature of filming in a desert. But the results are absolutely incredible, a testament to George Miller’s singular vision and the power of a great casting department.

Visually, Fury Road looks like nothing that came before it and almost nothing since (save for Furiosa), with Miller finally having the tools at his disposal to create a masterpiece. Erratic and rapid zoom-ins, blue-black desert nights, searingly bright sands, the ethereal, almost magical beauty of Immortan Joe’s wives, scantily clad in diaphanous white fabric—Fury Road feels like a masculine movie with a feminine heart. It will get your heart pounding in one moment and tear it out in the next. — Alyssa Mercante

First off, Minority Report is fun as hell, a man-on-the-run story that belongs alongside The Fugitive as a terrific example of a yarn about an innocent person caught up in the wheels of a justice system gone awry (or perhaps one that’s just fundamentally fucked from top to bottom) and who will do anything to extricate himself and prove his innocence. Tom Cruise does so much running here, y’all! And like many of the movies collected here, Minority Report is a masterpiece of visual cohesion and worldbuilding, creating a technological future so rich with detail that it feels like it would stretch on if you picked a direction and kept on walking. (In fact, in writing this entry I just discovered that there’s a whole Wikipedia page devoted to “technologies in Minority Report” which explores how the film features “numerous fictional future technologies which have proven prescient.”)

And yet, as much as sites love to write lists covering all the things a given movie “got right” or “got wrong,” it’s not sci fi’s role to accurately predict the future; it’s to tell stories that explore the human condition in compelling ways that other genres often can’t, and Minority Report is one of the best of the 21st century in that regard. One of three films on this list adapted from the work of Philip K. Dick (the others being Blade Runner and Total Recall), Spielberg’s breathless sci-fi thriller shares with those its propensity to make us think deeply about how we experience fundamental elements of life. It also has an amazing, star-making performance from a young Colin Farrell, one of Minority Report’s most impressive special effects. — Carolyn Petit

Hot on the heels of 1986’s Aliens, John McTiernan’s Predator again gave us a bunch of badasses who find themselves being slaughtered by a nigh-unstoppable alien threat, albeit in a scenario that takes place much closer to home. McTiernan lays on the intoxicating atmosphere wonderfully thick; I can practically feel the sweltering heat in that early scene that gave us the most memeified handclasp of all time. Predator also sees Schwarzenegger really coming into his own as an action hero. I won’t say he gives a rich, nuanced performance, but he’s clearly learning how to leverage his charisma and screen presence to great effect.

Like Aliens, however, this is an ensemble film, elevated tremendously by the variety of personalities that Schwarzenegger’s Alan “Dutch” Schaefer has at his command. It’s a wonderfully quotable popcorn flick, too, giving us lines like Jesse Ventura’s classic, “I ain’t got time to bleed.” Many viewers, however, misread this moment, and the film as a whole, as an uncritical, uncomplicated celebration of alpha male bravado, never mind that the heroes find themselves slaughtered one by one. But consider how Ventura’s line is followed up by another, as Richard Chavez’s Poncho replies with a skeptical but resigned, “oh, okay.” Predator gives us more than just a superficial creature feature, though it certainly delivers on that level, with phenomenal creature design and special effects that, for the time, were state of the art. At every turn, it uses its high-concept tale of a trophy-hunting alien to nod to the futility and the terrible cost of American imperialism and overreach in ways that deepen the film’s richness without interfering with the fun.— Carolyn Petit

Paul Verhoeven’s satirical sci-fi masterpiece, like many of the films on this list, is great for many reasons, not least of which because it works both as pure entertainment and as a film replete with meaning that rewards repeat viewings and deeper consideration. (If you want to dip your toe into just some of the lenses through which people have deeply considered this indelible film, check out the hefty “thematic analysis” section of its Wikipedia entry.) RoboCop gives us an absolutely iconic hero, exceptional on every level, from the visual design of his suit to the sound his footsteps make. It gives us eye-popping special effects (with terrific stop-motion animation charm), wonderfully over-the-top villains, and hilarious situations, like the scene in which a corporate stooge is gunned down by a “malfunctioning” ED-209 that presents violence with all the glee of a Looney Tunes cartoon.

And yet somehow, despite (or perhaps because of) the ludicrousness of so much of RoboCop, it maintains a beating human heart. Consider the scene in which Murphy, the severely wounded (declared dead) cop who remains haunted by his humanity after being crudely repurposed by the vile OCP, gets help from his partner Lewis to recalibrate his targeting computer by shooting little bottles of baby food, how much it speaks to everything Murphy has lost. Like its hero, RoboCop has a lot more going on under the hood than many suspect. — Carolyn Petit

Director M. Night Shyamalan developed a reputation early on for making films with surprising twists that recontextualized everything that came before, but what makes Signs so effective as a sci-fi horror film is that there’s a twist of sorts baked into the very concept, and into Shyamalan’s filmmaking. Rather than using tight, enclosed spaces to build up suspense the way many sci-fi horror films do, in Signs, for much of its runtime at least, it’s the vastness of the spaces its characters inhabit that often feel threatening, the feeling that there is no safety to be found out in its endless Pennsylvania cornfields. Shyamalan may be the very definition of a hit-or-miss filmmaker, but in Signs his desire to always deliver something fresh and inventive to viewers and to do something he hasn’t done before paid off with this unique horror film that ensured I’ll never look at all that beautiful scenery rolling by out the window on a road trip quite the same way again.— Carolyn Petit

A common theme in sci-fi is urgency—the genre often speculates on the urgent problems of the far-flung and near future to try and instill a sense of caution in the choices of today. At the same time that I was becoming a more politically aware young adult, I started absorbing an influx of smart sci-fi stories about climate change, the crisis that will claim all of us in a matter of decades and that has single-handedly made this past summer the hottest and most insufferable season of my life. Snowpiercer, from Bong Joon Ho (Parasite) is one such story.

Snowpiercer is a class-conscious thriller about a rebellion on board a globe-spanning train carrying the last vestiges of humanity after Earth has effectively frozen over, becoming completely inhospitable. At the tail end of the trains are the working class, who slave away in the train’s squalid makeshift ghettos while the unimaginably wealthy upper class sit in their fancy cars at the front of the train dining like fat cats and pretending nothing is amiss. It isn’t the most high-brow sci-fi concept, nor is it especially showy in the way that the genre tends to be, and that’s why I love it. Snowpiercer is a grisly and down-to-earth tale of of a future I can picture with relative ease, one where the world has fallen into a state of disrepair and rather than cast aside the harmful attitudes we’ve spent generations learning and reinforcing, we double down and doom ourselves to oblivion. — Moises Taveras

It’s hard to realize today, in 2024, just how huge the original Star Wars film was and how it completely changed sci-fi forever. So much of the science fiction we see now is directly inspired by Star Wars or other projects that were inspired by the original 1977 film. The original movie presented a rusty, lived-in, and beat-up universe filled with broken robots and old bases. It’s main hero wasn’t a suave, chiseled man clad in a silver suit who punched people and always knew what to do. Instead, Luke is a young farm boy, lost, looking for guidance, and unaware of his power and future.

And if you only watch A New Hope, you’ll be treated to a completely self-contained story of that young man meeting a scoundrel, saving a princess, leading a scrappy rebellion against an evil empire’s big weapon, and stopping the bad guys before they can kill more people. Sure, there are many more movies after this, but you don’t need to watch them to enjoy A New Hope. — Zack Zwiezen

We can debate forever about which Star Wars films are good and which are bad, but regardless of the endless loops those conversations can mire us in, I think it’s clear The Empire Strikes Back revealed that this galaxy far, far away was worth revisiting, that its tales could be the stuff of both grounded, human intimacy and epic mythmaking. Here, the fairly shallow archetypal characters introduced in the original Star Wars (or, if you must, A New Hope) become far more defined and real. It may be the “slowest” entry in the original trilogy but to me this is its greatest asset, as it’s in its most lowkey moments that we really see the bonds these characters have forged.

It’s the fact that we get this time to grow attached to them as people who do things like navigate romantic longing or risk it all for a friend (“Then I’ll see you in hell!”) that makes it so painful when they find themselves betrayed in the end, that makes Han Solo’s “I know” one of the all-time great movie lines, that makes Vader’s revelation of Luke’s identity so shattering. Its ambiguous ending, which finds our heroes in dire straits and staring down an uncertain future, is deliciously bold for a major franchise film, and the visual design of that climactic lightsaber battle in the carbonite facility on Cloud City is second to none. Okay, I’ll say it: Star Wars doesn’t get any better than this. — Carolyn Petit

Starship Troopers is a cult classic sci-fi satire flick that lambasts the military industrial complex, nationalism, and humanity in general. In the 23rd century, Earth is ruled by a singular force: the United Citizen Federation, a regime of which you can only become a fully fledged citizen (and be able to vote or have children) if you serve. Humans are colonizing the galaxy, but in their quest for galactic domination, they encounter highly intelligent insectoid aliens they call “bugs.”

The ensuing war is full of gory deaths and absurd patriotism. Yes, this film heavily influenced Helldivers, and yes, many people miss the point of it, but you can’t deny the hilariously dark and twisted power that is Starship Troopers—even if it bombed at the box office. — Alyssa Mercante

Misunderstood and maligned upon its 1995 release, it’s been gratifying in recent years to see Kathryn Bigelow’s Strange Days find the fans it so richly deserves. An audacious, go-for-broke film, Strange Days has a fascinating sci-fi concept (people relive the recorded memories of others as illicit entertainment), amazing performances from an exceptional cast, and a healthy hatred of cops. The film is a direct influence on more recent cyberpunk media including Cyberpunk 2077 (compare this film’s opening scene with that game’s braindance tutorial, an obvious homage), but it also feels like a true original, something uniquely its own. Much of Strange Days is bleak and depressing, but I think it only probes the darkness in order to find a realistic basis for hope, which it finds, beautifully, in its transcendent final moments. Watch on New Year’s Eve for maximum effect. – Carolyn Petit

With a stellar ensemble cast (Cillian Murphy, Chris Evans, Rose Byrne, Michelle Yeoh, Benedict Wong, Mark Strong, and Hiroyuki Sanada) and a proven director (Danny Boyle), Sunshine is well-deserving of a spot on this list. It follows the story of the Icarus II, a spaceship on a mission to drop a nuke into the sun in order to “re-ignite” it as it’s dying several billion years too soon. Sunshine’s scientific merit has long been a point of contention, but they call it science fiction for a reason guys, so sue me if I don’t want to think about the inevitable heat death of the universe and just want to stare at Cillian Murphy’s pretty eyes.

But Sunshine offers so much more bizarre beauty beyond Murphy’s baby blues—a gorgeous, awe-inspiring scene of the Icarus II crew seeing Mercury for the first time, the eerie vision of the sun’s terrifying power, sweat beading on a brow as they work on the ship in the vicinity of the sun. The sci-fi thriller will dazzle you in one moment and worry you the next, keeping you on the edge of your seat throughout. It’s not perfect, but Sunshine does what all good sci-fi should do: inspires you to wonder, to worry, to ask questions about the nature of the universe and man within it. — Alyssa Mercante

Christopher Nolan’s best film is not The Dark Knight, Dunkirk, or even Oppenheimer—it’s 2020’s Tenet. That might sound absolutely bonkers if you’ve never seem the director’s time-bending action masterpiece, but it is the truth. In an early scene, a character literally tells John David Washington, who plays a character known only as The Protagonist, “Don’t try to understand.” That goes for the audience as well. If you try to wrap your head around the logic of inverted entropy and bullets moving backwards through time then you will make your brain hurt, but if you just watch a 747 get blown to hell both forward and backwards, you’re in for a great ride.

Still, even with a somewhat nonsensical premise, everything Nolan excels as a director is present in Tenet. The action set pieces are unparalleled and almost entirely practical, and they’re connected by solid performances from the cast. Washington is exceedingly charismatic as The Protagonist and gets a solid co-star in Robert Pattinson. The script is minimal thanks to how much the action speaks for the characters but every line packs a punch. There is even a thematic throughline about the horrors of war and humanity’s obsession with destroying ourselves—we even get an Oppenheimer name drop. Tenet is a film made by a director at the peak of his career, a gorgeously shot and excellently acted flourish of cinematic mastery that refuses to be anything but original. — Willa Rowe

Given what a lavish, expensive production its sequel was, it can be surprising to go back to the original Terminator and remember that this was a pretty low-budget affair, a somewhat grungy film that nonetheless thrillingly captured director James Cameron’s capacity for visual flair. In fact, I love that grungy quality, and for my money the club scene in this original film remains the most cinematically exciting sequence in the franchise. The moment when Arnold walks by Sarah’s table in slow motion just as she’s out of sight, the glimpse of Reese (who Sarah still thinks may be the killer stalking her) in the mirror, it’s all so purely visual and effective, cinema at its most stripped down and elemental. And man, what an effective use of Arnold. Robert Patrick’s T-1000 in the sequel is incredible, don’t get me wrong, but nothing beats the way Arnold’s physique, accompanied by that ruthless, calculating gaze, fills the frame, the way he moves not like a man but like a thing compelled. Terrifying and unforgettable. – Carolyn Petit

A towering entry in the action genre, Terminator 2 has so many sequences—the truck chase down the L.A. River, the Cyberdyne building infiltration, the climactic steel mill face-off—that viewers will never forget. Its most brilliant element, however, might be James Cameron’s decision to have the same actor who played the first film’s terrifying, relentless hunter become this film’s beleaguered savior, pit against a villain even more formidable and terrifying than himself. Made when the limits of CGI in cinema were still constantly being tested and pushed, Cameron used those limits to his advantage, giving the T-1000 the kind of silvery shine and formlessness that top-of-the-line effects of the time could believably handle. In the hands of a perfectly cast Robert Patrick, the T-1000 invokes a very different kind of fear than the first film’s T-800 did, all smooth confidence (“Say, that’s a nice bike”) and abuse of power.

And this was by design. As Cameron said in an interview for the 2010 book The Futurist: The Life and Films of James Cameron, “The Terminator films are not really about the human race getting killed off by future machines. They’re about us losing touch with our own humanity and becoming machines, which allows us to kill and brutalize each other. Cops think of all non-cops as less than they are, stupid, weak, and evil. They dehumanize the people they are sworn to protect and desensitize themselves in order to do that job.” What makes this theme shine through all the stronger is the way that, contrasted with this profoundly inhuman machine in the guise of an authority figure who we expect to dehumanize others, we also see a machine learn to be more human, and the scene in which that machine must sacrifice itself for the sake of the future is genuinely moving. The world arguably grows more dehumanizing and desensitizing every day. Let this big, bombastic sci-fi action movie be a reminder: stay human. — Carolyn Petit

Ridley Scott’s adaptation of the novel of the same name could easily have been a bleak, harrowing look at the unforgiving nature of space. The film follows Matt Damon’s Dr. Mark Watney, who gets stranded on Mars and must survive long enough for NASA to stage a rescue. That premise may sound like the makings of a distressing thriller. Instead, The Martian is a rollicking, funny, and cheer-worthy depiction of people coming together for a common goal. It has its moments of despair, darkness, and high stakes, but I look back fondly on the 2015 film as a hopeful jaunt to the stars and back, carried by excellent performances from its stacked cast. — Kenneth Shepard

The Matrix, the Wachowskis’ crown jewel, is a cultural touchstone in the science fiction genre. The opening sequence in which Keanu Reeves’ Neo chooses to question his reality and awaken from a simulation could be its own short film with plenty of symbolism and allegory to dissect and project onto. But the film continues to expand upon the ideas of liberation and ushering in a new era for humanity after it’s reckoned with its hero’s self-concept and society’s contentment to conform comfortably. The Matrix is the origin point of memetic concepts like choosing between two colored pills, action scenes like Neo leaning back to dodge bullets in slow motion that would go on to be referenced and parodied across media in the decades that followed. It is embedded in the culture of film, but also in the science fiction genre in a way few works can claim. — Kenneth Shepard

1979’s Mad Max kicked off the franchise that, decades later, would give us Fury Road, but it was this 1981 sequel that elevated George Miller’s guzzoline-starved apocalypse to the stuff of myth. Called simply Mad Max 2 outside the U.S., this bigger and better sequel has some of the most indelible images in all of sci-fi filmmaking, really establishing that quintessentially Mad Max look that would influence so many visions of the post-apocalypse in the years that followed. Miller directs scenes of violence with wonderful energy, like this unforgettable scene that has to have the greatest boomerang-related carnage ever in a movie, but he also knows when to slow down and deepen our connection to the characters, like in this simple but effective scene in which Max and the “feral child” share a fleeting moment of something resembling human connection in the wasteland. And, of course, it all culminates in one hell of a car chase. “I’ll drive that tanker,” indeed. – Carolyn Petit

John Carpenter’s The Thing is one of those movies I force my friends, lovers, and family members to watch—because many of them, especially older people in my family, only know it as the 1982 film that was critically panned for what critics said was an over-reliance on gore and shallow characters. Nowadays The Thing, which follows a group of men living on a remote Antarctic outpost after encountering the “Thing,” an alien life form that subsumes and then becomes other organisms, is considered one of the best sci-fi movies of all time, and rightfully so.

Carpenter’s effective establishment of place—an icy, remote outpost and its cold, industrial interiors—makes you feel as alone as the researchers, and the incredible yucky and tactical practical effects are still effective today. Then, of course, it’s led by two of the most iconic actors of the time: Kurt Russell and Keith David, who turn out stellar performances as two men unsure of who to trust, as any one of them could be the Thing. An absolute masterclass in sci-fi horror filmmaking, from perhaps the best to ever do it. — Alyssa Mercante

Before The Rock and John Cena made the jump from the wrestling ring to the big screen, there was Rowdy Roddy Piper. John Carpenter, a huge wrestling fan, had seen the heel perform at Wrestlemania III and was enraptured by his uneven gait and his physical presence, and thus a silver screen star was born. It was a match made in heaven: in They Live, Piper plays a drifter known only as Nada who’s made his way to LA looking for work. He discovers a pair of Ray-Bans that, when worn, let him see the true nature of the world: a near-constant barrage of consumerism peddled by scary aliens who have been controlling us for years. Keith David also stars and, along with Piper, gives us one of the most batshit crazy fight scenes ever filmed for a movie—more than five minutes of the two beating the piss out of each other.

They Live is a hilariously scathing take on consumerism and hypermasculine ‘80s action movies that only Carpenter could pull off with such a deft hand. — Alyssa Mercante

Paul Verhoeven followed up RoboCop with this equally inventive sci-fi film, cementing himself as one of the most exciting directors in the genre at that point in time. Total Recall delivered all the action an Arnie fan could hope for, wrapped in some mindblowing questions of the sort that sci-fi is so great at posing. How well do we really know ourselves? How much do our memories matter? Does it matter if what we experience is real? “That’s a new one, blue skies on Mars” seems like a throwaway line when uttered by an attendant at Rekall, the memory implant service Douglas Quaid (Arnold Schwarzenegger) visits in the film, but it winds up being a reason for us to question everything that follows, a twisty, identity-bending odyssey that sees Quaid going to Mars and killing the corporate tyrant who has the planet in his grasp.

That’s all great, but what really makes the film exceptional is how fully realized the film’s vision of Mars is, packed with the kinds of unforgettable little details that suggest the production designers and filmmakers really thought through what Mars was like as a place. The fact that it all thrums with that signature, biting Verhoeven satire makes it endlessly enjoyable, and that stuff—like this scene in which Quaid must deal with an obnoxiously chipper, entirely useless taxi-driving robot—only feels more relevant as we find machines increasingly doing the work once done by people in ways that only make our lives worse. Oh, and if you think you remember a remake of this film starring Colin Farrell from 2012, you don’t. That was just a false memory we were all implanted with. —Carolyn Petit

Jonathan Glazer’s very loose adaptation of the novel by Michel Faber is one of the most haunting science fiction films ever made. It’s also a film that defies appreciation-by-blurb, demanding closer attention and deeper exploration of what it’s doing than I have the time or space for here. In short, it stars Scarlett Johansson as an alien who assumes the appearance of a human woman and seduces men, luring them back to a place where they meet their demise in the most stunning and unsettling way imaginable.

Very short on dialogue, the film never explains what the larger purpose is behind these seductions, but through the visual language it cultivates, we see the protagonist develop a kind of connection with this species she’s come here to harvest. All too soon, as the skin she’s wearing makes her, for all appearances, a human woman, she finds herself suffering as so many human women do. It’s a profound exploration of the nature of identity, and of what it is to inhabit a body and all the baggage that comes with it. One of the best films of the 2010s in any genre, Under the Skin is another masterpiece from the maker of Birth and The Zone of Interest. – Carolyn Petit

Though Tom Cruise is mostly known for his starring roles in action flicks these days, I think his best movie is easily the sci-fi drama Vanilla Sky. The thing is that I cannot give away exactly why it is such a moving sci-fi movie without spoiling tons of it. I can at least set you up though: Cruise plays David Aames, a typical New York socialite playboy whose life comes together and falls apart as two major events happen, his meeting with Sofia (Penélope Cruz) and a car accident that disfigures his face and sense of self. As he reels from the impact of both, David begins to question himself and the reality around him.

Vanilla Sky is deeply sentimental and low-fi by all measures, which are not typical merits of what folks might deem the absolute best sci-fi movies, but I think the way that it manages to wrap up its psychological thriller trappings in the larger genre work. It also gave us one of the best movie soundtracks of all time and introduced me to one of my favorite songs, Spiritualized’s “Ladies And Gentlemen, We Are Floating In Space.” But ultimately, I think it just uses sci-fi to tell a story anyone can relate to: how do you deal with the loss of the love of your life? — Moises Taveras

It’s been 16 years since Pixar released its post-apocalyptic romance film and WALL-E feels more apt than ever. The movie’s titular little robot hero starts the movie wandering a desecrated Earth and trying to clean up the mess humanity left behind. Humans have completely abandoned the planet as it became uninhabitable for all the reasons environmentalists are still warning us about today. Corporate interests are prioritized over the health of the planet, and eventually, that will catch up to all of us who aren’t even benefiting from it in the short term. WALL-E’s space-faring robot romance is full of adorable moments and humorous takes on the apocalypse and is still gorgeous to look at nearly 20 years later, but perhaps what keeps it resonating after all this time is the knowledge

that we are still barreling toward its dystopian future. But at the center of its story is a hope that not all is lost, and that is a message that carries just as much weight. — Kenneth Shepard

Some of the most fascinating science fiction comes out of collective cultural trauma. Godzilla, for instance, clearly emerged as a kind of fictional symbol of Japan’s experiences in World War II. Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds, meanwhile, is an explicitly post 9-11 film, and while the sight of imagery in movies that deliberately recalls the September 11 attacks may feel cliche all these years later, to see this movie in 2005 was to see the first mainstream work from a major filmmaker that was clearly trying to process the event and its lingering trauma. Spielberg frames the action masterfully (no surprise, of course), keeping us among the masses of terrified, struggling people, both so that we know that this struggle is a collective one, and so the alien threat remains larger than life.

I’m not sure if, as more time passes, the film’s power will grow, with people appreciating it more and more as a remarkable cultural artifact that offers insight, through the lens of art and fiction, into the psyche of a reeling nation, or if it will fade as the moment that shaped it gets ever further away and the film starts to seem obvious and clunky in its attempts to process something of such magnitude. I just know that it was remarkable to see this movie in a theater in 2005, to hear Dakota Fanning shriek, “Is it the terrorists?” when the aliens start attacking, to see people vaporized in an instant and know they were never coming back, to see Spielberg engage with how the real terror was the way that people, in their fear and desperation, could turn on each other. War of the Worlds is a rough, imperfect movie but I think perhaps a work like this should be rough and imperfect. There is no “perfect” way to process a tragedy through art, just as there’s no perfect way to move on from tragedy or carry it with us. Somehow, though, turning them into the stuff of movie monsters or extraterrestrial attacks always seems to help in some way. – Carolyn Petit