The 5 Best Movies of 2025!

 

Let’s talk movies! With hundreds of films released in 2025, narrowing my list down to just five feels a little like being asked to pick only one dessert at an all-you-can-eat buffet. From horror and fantasy to animation and heartwarming stories, these are my picks for the five best movies of 2025. Now, before anyone starts throwing popcorn at me, remember: this is completely based on my personal opinion. Your favorite movie may not make the list—and that’s okay. No hard feelings and no cinematic grudges. So grab that stale popcorn, get comfortable, and let’s take a look at five movies that made 2025 a year worth watching!

#5 (Rosemead) 

A Mother’s Desperate Race Against Time: Some movies entertain you, some make you think, and then there are movies like Rosemead–probably, the most underrated film on this list. This movie will leave you sitting quietly after the credits, wondering, "What would I have done?" I found myself asking that question repeatedly while watching this deeply unsettling and heartbreaking story. Inspired by Frank Shyong’s 2017 Los Angeles Times article, Rosemead follows Irene (Lucy Liu), a Taiwanese American mother battling terminal cancer while desperately trying to protect her teenage son, Joe (Lawrence Shou), who is living with schizophrenia. Joe was once a star student and champion swimmer, but after losing his father, his mental illness becomes increasingly difficult to manage. As his hallucinations, paranoia, and emotional outbursts intensify, Irene is fighting two battles at once: trying to keep her son safe while knowing she may not be alive much longer to care for him. And that reality hit me hard. Imagine knowing your child needs you, knowing you are running out of time, and still not knowing what will happen to them when you’re gone.

What makes Rosemead especially uncomfortable is how it connects mental illness to one of America’s most frightening realities… the rise of mass-shootings. Joe becomes increasingly fascinated with school shootings, and after an active-shooter drill sends him into a terrifying episode, the people around him begin viewing him through the lens of fear rather than understanding. I appreciated that the film doesn’t simply turn schizophrenia into a convenient explanation for violence. Instead, it forces me to confront the dangerous assumptions society can make when someone is struggling with a serious mental illness. Dr. Hsu (James Chen) repeatedly reminds Irene that most people with schizophrenia are not violent, yet fear has a way of drowning out facts. Schools, social services, neighbors, and even family members seem more concerned with protecting themselves than figuring out how to help Joe. And honestly, that’s one of the most frustrating aspects of the film. Irene isn’t simply fighting her son’s illness; she’s fighting a system that seems to have very few answers once a person becomes difficult to categorize.

By the time Rosemead reaches its final act, I was emotionally exhausted. Irene’s terminal cancer, Joe’s worsening schizophrenia, his approaching 18th birthday, the fear surrounding mass shootings, and the possibility that he could eventually be left without anyone to care for him all collide into one devastating question: What would a parent do if they truly believed they were running out of options? The film’s conclusion is difficult to watch because Irene’s desperation leads her toward an irreversible decision involving her son. I won’t pretend the ending is easy to process, because it isn’t. What stayed with me wasn’t simply the tragedy itself, but the circumstances that brought Irene to that moment… a mother who believes she is trying to protect her son from a future she will not be around to help him navigate. Rosemead isn’t a feel-good movie, and it certainly isn’t an easy watch. For me, it’s a painful reminder that mental illness cannot be reduced to fear, headlines, or stereotypes, and that families dealing with it often need compassion and support long before they reach a crisis. Sometimes the most heartbreaking tragedies aren’t caused by a lack of love… They happen when love, fear, illness, silence, and desperation collide, and a person can no longer see a way out.

#4 (Zootopia 2)

Tackling Social Issues: Nine years after Zootopia introduced us to a city where animals somehow managed to mirror nearly every quirk, prejudice, and social problem found in our own world. I was curious to see whether a sequel could recapture that magic. Thankfully, Zootopia 2 wastes very little time getting back into the action. Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) and Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman) are now partners and celebrities—but fame doesn’t exactly make them better cops. Judy is still determined to prove herself, while Nick is understandably less interested in charging headfirst into danger just to satisfy Judy’s need to save the day. Their differences begin creating cracks in their partnership, and I actually enjoyed watching their relationship become the emotional center of the story. The mystery begins when Gary De’Snake (Ke Huy Quan), a blue pit viper, suddenly appears in a city where reptiles aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms. What follows is a conspiracy involving Zootopia’s history, its climate walls, a powerful family, and the uncomfortable treatment of an entire group of animals. And yes, the movie gives us plenty of ridiculous animal names along the way.

What I enjoyed most about Zootopia 2 is how much more of this world we get to explore. The first movie gave us a fascinating city divided into distinct environments, but this sequel expands beyond what we’ve already seen and introduces new neighborhoods, species, and cultures. The animation is absolutely gorgeous, and there is so much happening in the background that I could easily see myself watching this again just to catch jokes I missed the first time. The movie throws visual gags, animal puns, pop-culture references, and clever one-liners at the audience almost nonstop. Some of them are obviously aimed at kids, while others had me thinking, “Okay, Disney, I see what you did there.” Gary is also a terrific addition. Ke Huy Quan gives the character warmth and personality, and Gary’s story about wanting to reunite with his family and simply be treated like everyone else gives the movie an emotional anchor.

That said, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the sequel occasionally falls victim to what I like to call “sequel overload.” The filmmakers clearly want to make everything bigger, faster, and more elaborate, and sometimes the movie becomes so busy that the story gets a little messy. There are moments when characters from the original feel squeezed into the plot simply because, well, they’re from the original. Some jokes are hilarious, while others feel like they wandered in from an entirely different movie. I also found the geography of Zootopia a little confusing. Characters can travel what appears to be an enormous distance in one scene and then somehow arrive somewhere else five minutes later. At one point I started wondering whether Zootopia has some kind of secret teleportation system that nobody bothered to tell us about. The biggest issue for me, however, is that the movie introduces some genuinely interesting ideas about prejudice, discrimination, displacement, power, wealth, and rewriting history… but it doesn’t always explore them as deeply as it could. The message about accepting differences and communicating honestly is there, and it’s a worthwhile one!

#3 (Good Boy)

A Loyal K-9 Friend: My love for dogs and horror films has made quite the debut! Who knew a genre known for jump scares, supernatural forces, and sometimes bloody confrontations could blend so perfectly with “man’s best four-legged friend” to create such an unforgettable film? The film follows Indy, a loyal Nova Scotia Retriever, and his sick owner, Todd (Shane Jensen), as they retreat to Todd’s late grandfather’s isolated home in the woods. Todd is already struggling with a serious illness, but once they arrive, Indy realizes there is something else wrong with the house. He sees shadows, hears things Todd cannot, and senses a supernatural presence closing in. The frightening part isn’t simply that Indy can see the danger; it’s that he has absolutely no way to explain what he’s seeing. He can bark, whine, hide, stare, and desperately try to protect Todd—but he can’t say, “There’s something in this house, and it wants you.”

What makes Good Boy work is the relationship between Indy, Todd, and the supernatural forces haunting the property. The haunting doesn’t feel like something randomly dropped into the story just to give us a few scares. There is a connection between the entity, Todd’s grandfather, the house, and the dogs who have lived there before. Indy gradually becomes caught in a disturbing chain of events that seems to stretch across generations. One of the most fascinating elements is the connection between Indy and the ghost of Bandit, Todd’s grandfather’s loyal Golden Retriever. Through visions, dreams, and strange encounters, Indy begins to understand that he may not be the first dog to experience whatever is lurking within this house. Bandit becomes more than a ghostly presence; he feels like a bridge connecting Indy to the history of the home and to the fate that may be waiting for Todd. The supernatural forces aren’t simply haunting a location—they appear tied to the family, its history, and ultimately Todd himself.

And then there’s Indy, who completely won me over. What makes his performance so effective is that the filmmakers never turn him into a cartoon version of a human. Indy behaves like a dog. He doesn’t suddenly understand everything happening around him, and he certainly doesn’t possess some convenient supernatural ability that allows him to solve the mystery. Instead, I experience the story through his confusion, fear, loyalty, and determination. The low camera angles, obscured human faces, strange sounds, dark corners, and lingering shots put me almost directly at Indy’s eye level. Some of my favorite moments involve Indy simply reacting—hiding underneath the bed, cautiously exploring the house, sitting in a puddle in the basement, or desperately trying to reach Todd. Those moments become surprisingly emotional because I understand exactly what Indy wants: he wants his person to be okay. Watching him repeatedly put himself in danger to protect Todd made the horror feel much more personal. This isn’t just a dog trapped in a haunted house; it’s a dog watching the person he loves deteriorate while something unseen seems determined to take him.

Ultimately, Good Boy surprised me because beneath the supernatural horror is a genuinely touching story about companionship, loyalty, illness, and unconditional love. The mystery surrounding the house and the supernatural forces may leave some questions unanswered, but for me, the emotional connection between Indy and Todd is what lingers. Indy doesn’t understand cancer, death, curses, ghosts, or whatever dark force has attached itself to his owner and his family. He only understands that Todd is his human, and that means he stays. Even when Todd pushes him away, even when Indy is terrified, and even when the supernatural presence seems impossible to fight, he keeps trying to protect him. That is what makes the film’s ending so bittersweet. Good Boy reminded me that sometimes the most powerful horror stories aren’t about defeating the monster. Sometimes they’re about loving someone so completely that you stay beside them even when you don’t understand what is happening. And Indy… He really is a good boy!

#2 (The Woman In The Yard)

Depression and Despair say “Hello” to Psychosis: A psychological thriller has a way of making the viewer think twice about what they’ve just watched. Playing tricks on the mind is the key to a successful psychological thriller and The Woman in the Yard delivers that concept tenfold. Ramona (Danielle Deadwyler) loses her husband in a terrible car accident, one that she initially blames herself for. Soon after his death, Ramona begins observing a mysterious woman dressed entirely in black, sitting silently in a chair in her front yard. Her appearance coincides with Ramona’s increasingly fragile mental state as she struggles with depression and grief.

The Woman (Okwui Okpokwasili) appears to be a physical representation of Ramona’s lack of interest in continuing her life. But is she actually there, or is she a figment of Ramona’s dark imagination? The film deliberately blurs the lines between reality and the psychological manifestation of a mother who is slowly losing her will to live. These blurred lines become even more apparent when Ramona’s son, Taylor (Peyton Jackson), angrily confronts the Woman in the yard, seemingly seeing her as a genuine threat. Yet the film never gives us a definitive answer as to whether Taylor can actually see the Woman or whether his outbursts are an indirect result of watching his mother descend further into madness and paranoia. If the latter is true, Ramona’s deteriorating mental state isn’t affecting only her—it’s beginning to affect her children as well. As the film progresses, supernatural occurrences caused by the Woman become increasingly disturbing. She seems capable of manipulating Ramona’s perception of reality while simultaneously exploiting her deepest fears and insecurities. The Woman isn’t simply a mysterious supernatural entity tormenting a grieving widow. She represents something much more personal—Ramona’s depression, grief, guilt, and suicidal ideation given physical form.

The Woman convinces Ramona that her children would be better off without her. Ramona enters the barn with her husband’s rifle. The Woman is there waiting for her. She helps Ramona position the gun beneath her chin, essentially guiding her toward suicide. For a moment, it appears that Ramona has completely surrendered to the darkness. Ramona appears to resist the Woman, and the Woman’s shadow merges with Ramona’s. The film then cuts away, leaving us without hearing the gunshot. When the story resumes, Ramona seemed to have emerged from the barn alive and reunited with her children, on the other hand Ramona’s signature appearing backwards could signify that she indeed killed herself and that her ideal life is played out in mirrored images - that Ramona herself becomes The Woman in the yard… leaving viewers to draw their own conclusions.

#1 (Avatar Fire and Ash)

Welcome Back to the Magic of Pandora: For me, watching Avatar Fire and Ash felt less like sitting down to watch another movie and more like stepping through a doorway into another universe. Since the original Avatar arrived in 2009, I’ve watched this franchise evolve from a technological spectacle into something much bigger: an expansive story about family, grief, survival, identity, nature, and the complicated relationship between different cultures. And with Fire and Ash, comes the introduction of the Mangkwan, or Ash People, a Na’vi clan shaped by volcanic devastation, as well as the nomadic Wind Traders who travel through Pandora’s skies.

What immediately stood out to me was how much this chapter is driven by grief. The film picks up shortly after the devastating death of Neteyam, Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) and Neytiri’s (Zoe Saldaña) eldest son. That loss hangs over the entire Sully family, particularly Neytiri, whose anger and pain begin to affect her relationship with Jake and her feelings toward Spider (Jack Champion). Lo’ak is also forced to confront guilt and the enormous responsibility that comes with losing his older brother. What makes this surprisingly relatable is that beneath all the blue skin, flying creatures, alien landscapes, and giant battles is something very human: a family trying to figure out how to keep moving when someone they love is no longer there. Spider’s struggle is equally compelling because he continues to wrestle with where he belongs—human or Na’vi, outsider or family. Those emotional conflicts give the movie a heart that exists beneath all the visual spectacle.

And then there’s Pandora itself. Honestly, I could probably spend an entire movie just exploring this world without needing anyone to explain the plot to me. From the lush forests and breathtaking oceans to volcanic landscapes, airborne creatures, strange new wildlife, and the mesmerizing cultures of Pandora’s different clans, Fire and Ash continually gives me something new to look at. The introduction of Varang (Oona Chaplin), leader of the Mangkwan, adds another fascinating dimension because this isn’t simply another group of humans invading Pandora. The conflict becomes more complicated when Na’vi are divided against Na’vi. The Ash People have suffered devastating volcanic destruction and have turned away from Eywa, creating a culture fundamentally different from the clans we’ve previously encountered. The action is enormous, too, with aerial battles, breathtaking journeys across Pandora. At times, I was exhausted just watching it—but it was a good kind of exhaustion.

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