[Thanks to LHB for the heads-up on this TNR article]

The list below leaves out worthy pictures like A History of Violence (the year's best English-language picture), The Squid and the Whale (the year's best indie), and Grizzly Man (the year's best documentary)--films that don't need the help.
Funny Ha Ha follows the romantic misadventures of Marnie an aimless 23-year-old just out of school. Set among a cluster of recent grads in Boston, the film lovingly nails the details of that twentysomething limbo--apartments are still furnished with Salvation Army finds, daily routines are remarkably amorphous, and temping is practically a rite of passage. Resolutely DIY and refreshingly uncontrived, it has an unassuming quality that's evinced in its refusal to make grand pronouncements: It's less a generational statement than stutter. Redolent of the best of the indie tradition--Linklater, Jarmusch, Cassavetes--it carries itself with the kind of modesty that disappeared long ago from the careerist post-Sundance scene.
Tony Takitani. The movie tells the story of a lonely Japanese man who, unexpectedly, finds love in middle age. Although once comfortable with his solitude, the man begins to dread its return--which, Ichikawa and Murakami suggest, is an inevitability. Murakami's prose is spoken over the spare images, narration that's occasionally interrupted by the characters, a device that keeps the movie from becoming excessively hermetic.
Tropical Malady. Forsaking plot for ellipses, the movie depicts the budding romance between a rakish soldier and a shy farmer. It's an obstinate movie, forcing the audience to piece together a story from seemingly incidental moments. Confounding though it may be, it casts a bewitching spell--the absence of inflection mesmerizes as much as it bewilders.

The Holy Girl. Argentine Lucretia Martel seems to have entered filmmaking fully formed. Like her debut La Cienaga, The Holy Girl is populated by addled souls who crowd into Martel's bustling frames. The movie focuses on the adolescent daughter of a provincial hotel owner in northern Argentina. Amalia, a devout Catholic schoolgirl, discovers her vocation when a doctor attending a convention at the hotel rubs up against her on the street. The epiphany hits--she must save the poor frotteur's soul. Interrogating the link between sexual ecstasy and religious fervor, Martel is far too sophisticated to draw facile conclusions.

Kings & Queens. The queen of the title is Nora, a single mother seeking to define her relationship with the kings in her life--her dying father, a departed first love, a manic ex-husband, and a current fiancé. Desplechin constructs a mercurial character study that eschews the glib expositions of narrative. What we get instead is a freewheeling tour de force of ecstatic experimentalism, in which elegant dissolves bump up against jarring cuts, flashbacks fuse with dreams, and high emotion veers into low comedy.
UPDATE: Film Threat offers a few more...
