For years, Pauline Kael refused to release an end-of-the-year "best list." The reasons why were numerous, but basically they boiled down to: 1) It wasn't her style; and 2) Top 10 lists undermined the relatively "serious" critiques she was writing in The New Yorker. Lists emphasize a number over the content of the argument. They attempt to summarize, in just one line, what are sometimes complex criticisms with many contradictions and caveats. They put apples and oranges on the same scale where, in many cases, it's simply not appropriate or logical to do so. And worst of all, they present an air of objectivity where—in reality—very little can be found. Essentially, "best-of" lists defy everything that makes good art criticism… good.

I guess that's why I'm not Pauline Kael.

Below you'll find my horrendously belated list of the top 10 films released in 2005, along with some additional categories like "Honorable Mentions." I present this list not because I want to dumb-down the overall level of discourse on cinema, but because I think best-of lists can serve a valuable purpose. For one, lists are a great way to find out about movies you might have missed during the year. This reason becomes particularly compelling as studio profits fall and the Netflix Army™ grows stronger by the day. The second reason—to borrow from Andrew Sarris, a "list queen" himself—is with a best-of list, a critic puts his or her tastes on the line. Want to know how my evaluations match against someone more famous? My choices are right here, in convenient numerical order, for everyone to see.

So do your worst.

10. Henry Rubin and Dana Shapiro's Murderball

There's a general resistance among the viewing public to see documentaries, even in light of the recent success of a film like The March of the Penguins. This probably stems from bad memories of the Discovery Channel, or the oft-repeated desire for movies to provide "an escape" from the real world—I'm not exactly sure. What I am sure of, however, is that Murderball is a very good film. The array of characters is vast, the individual stories are fascinating, and the filmmakers never pander to the audience with easy stereotypes about people with disabilities. There are heroes, villains, and everything in between in this film. Even the most open-minded viewers will never see a person in a wheelchair the same way again. Sometimes the truth is more entertaining than fiction; Murderball proves this to be true.

9. Judd Apatow's The 40-Year-Old Virgin

While not all of the jokes hit their mark, there are enough to keep you laughing during The 40-Year-Old Virgin, even when the film gets a little too concerned with its own plot. Steve Carell hits all the right notes as Andy Stitzer, the lovable man-child who likes women "so much that [he] doesn't even talk to them." And it's the sympathy we feel for his character that makes the film work, and keeps the audience caring. That writer/director Judd Apatow had the good sense to save his best joke for last is a testament to just how smart he really is.

8. Woody Allen's Match Point

It's true: Woody Allen's best film since [insert your favorite Woody Allen film made after Hannah and Her Sisters]! While the skeleton of the plot is essentially cribbed from Allen's own Crimes and Misdemeanors, the dramatic emphasis has been shifted enough make this film work on its own. While this is certainly the least "Woody" of all the Allen films I've seen, make no mistake—all the hallmarks are there, from Dostoyevsky to the use of subtle, grainy music on the soundtrack to highlight character functions and actions. What's more, there's a level of eroticism in Match Point that Allen has steered clear of in the past; the scenes with Scarlett Johansson steam with a passion that makes the main character's infidelity truly feel wrong. And yet so right.

P.S., I love you, Scarlett.

7. Sam Mendes' Jarhead

Directed by Sam Mendes, Jarhead is one man's account of nine months spent in the Persian Gulf, completely isolated from the outside world. Isolation is what feeds the screenplay, and yet, one of the reasons why the film works is because it doesn't isolate itself from other war films: references to everything from Full Metal Jacket to Paths of Glory infuse Jarhead with intelligence, and help it steer clear of boot camp-to-battle clichés that make even the best war movies a rather predictable experience. If there's one thing Jake Gyllenhaal can do as an actor it's portray a brooding loner—and as a result, he's perfect for the lead role. Peter Sarsgaard, one of the most interesting actors working in this country today, gives a strong supporting performance, showing range that hasn't been present in most of his previous work. Meanwhile, cinematographer Roger Deakins captures the vastness of the desert with clarity and awe. This is the best film of Mendes' career, and like no other "war" film I've ever seen.

6. David Cronenberg's A History of Violence

Click here to read my original review of A History of Violence.

5. Peter Jackson's King Kong

Click here to read my original review of King Kong.

4. Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale

The best ensemble performance of the year comes from the cast of The Squid and the Whale, a complicated film about how complicated families can be. While Noah Baumbach's screenplay is predictably quirky, there's a depth to his characters that reaches deep and rings oh-so-true. Yes, the symbolism gets a little heavy-handed at times, but how can you not love a film that makes such good use of a Baldwin brother?

3. Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man

Where The March of the Penguins embraced and anthropomorphized nature—turning a biological imperative into a story about love—Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man shows the darker side, with cold, calculating objectivity. What at first feels like yet another liberal-humanist yarn about a man who finds peace in the forest turns quickly into the ultimate cautionary tale. Timothy Treadwell died, in no small part, because he underestimated the power of the beasts he swore to "protect." There's a lesson here, and it's as clear as the Alaskan air in the summertime. Herzog reserves his judgment on his subject till late in the film, giving the audience ample time to make its own decisions about Treadwell's true nature as a person. The film is fair, evenhanded, and utterly engrossing—and perhaps the best film on nature, in all its forms, that I've ever seen.

2. Phil Morrison's Junebug

Can you ever go home again? This is just one of the themes explored by Phil Morrison's Junebug, a film with an uncommon eye for detail and a playwright's taste for symbolism. Academy Award-nominated Amy Adams gives perhaps the best performance from any actor this year in her turn as the jittery, insecure, very pregnant Ashley, who can't wait for her new sister-in-law to visit the family home in North Carolina for the first time. What ensues can only be described as a mess—but Junebug is hardly the Marx Bros. The editing is often choppy, and director Morrison plays with the soundtrack at different points, letting the dialogue drop away while he cuts to empty rooms filled with plastic-wrapped furniture. All of this opens up the story, however—Morrison's controlled mess is affecting because it takes what could easily be a simple narrative about going home and turns it into so much more.

1. Michael Haneke's Caché (Hidden)

Caché (Hidden) is like no other film I saw in 2005, and is equaled only by the greatest efforts from Hitchcock. It's a unique, enthralling experience that challenges the audience to be an active participant in the film by transforming itself into the most patient of voyeurs. On one level Caché (Hidden) is a simple story about the disruptive force of simply being watched, and how a bourgeois family is forced to deal with lies that have been hidden in their past. On another, deeper level, it's a comment on how racism still pervades Western culture, and the rage that still brims just below the surface of civility for some groups. And on yet another level, it explores the meaning of being a viewer, and what assumptions come with inhabiting that role each time we step into the theater. While Caché (Hidden) lacks the type of resolution that will satisfy most people, it allows the film to breathe, and embraces the potential for humans to forgive as time passes on.

Or does it?

Addendum (02/23, 11:23 p.m.): While many critics have done a superb job of deconstructing the underlying themes in Caché (Hidden), I've found Chiranjit Goswami's analysis of the film over at notcoming.com to be the most thorough and thought-provoking of anything published on the Web. Check it out if you've got the time; it's absolutely first-rate.

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Honorable Mention:
Capote, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Last Days, Millions, Serenity, Sin City, Syriana, Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

Generally Overrated:
Batman Begins, Brokeback Mountain, Cinderella Man, Crash, Me and You and Everyone We Know, Walk the Line

Generally Underrated:
Flightplan, In Her Shoes, Jarhead

Ryan Wilkins is a freelance writer living in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can contact him via e-mail by clicking here.