Every year, we at Greater Good give “Greater Goodies” to movies that illuminate human strengths and virtues. For us, the film of the year was Inside Out 2, which you won’t see listed here because we’ve already published multiple articles and organized an event about the Pixar film. Even so, this year’s is our longest list ever, highlighting 14 documentaries and feature films from around the world. Does that mean that 2024 was a great one for goodness in movies? Well, maybe; it’s hard to say. What we can say is that we saw a wealth of intensely meaningful films that we hope you’ll check out.

The Connection Award: All We Imagine As Light

The Grand Prize winner at this year’s Cannes Film Festival follows three women who migrated from small Indian villages to work at a busy Mumbai hospital, as they navigate loneliness, longing, and connection.

The main character is Prabha (Kani Kusruti), a nurse who is longing for intimacy from her estranged husband, who disappeared in Germany shortly after their arranged marriage. Her roommate and fellow nurse is the younger Anu (Divya Prabha), who is in a steamy relationship with a Muslim man, which she’s keeping secret from her Hindu family. Finally, there is Parvathy (Chhaya Kadam), who has worked as a cook at their hospital for decades—but she decides to retire alone to her village after being threatened with eviction from her long-occupied apartment in the city.

All We Imagine As Light is interspersed with stunning night scenes of rainy dense Mumbai streets and the voices of migrants we never see, talking in multiple languages, about their relationship with the city of 20 million. As one voice says, “Some people call it the city of dreams. I think it’s the city of illusions. You have to believe the illusion or you’ll go mad.”

In the end, it’s the friendship among the three women that helps them to find the strength to face their challenges. Filmmaker Payal Kapadia shines a tender light on migrant nurses, who are usually invisible in India—and in the process shows us the breathtaking power of connection. — Sahar Habib Ghazi

The Solidarity Award: Anora

It’s hard to say what a healthy work-life balance looks like these days, but Ani clearly doesn’t have it. 

Ani is a 20-something sex worker who lives in Brooklyn. Early in Anora, she is hired by Vanya, the son of a Russian oligarch, and after they have sex a few times, he makes a proposition: He’ll pay her $15,000 to serve as his live-in girlfriend for a week. In effect, Ani goes beyond taking her work home: She moves in with it. 

After a few days, impulsively, she marries Vanya. But it doesn’t take long for Ani’s Cinderella story to collapse. Once word of the marriage reaches Vanya’s parents in Russia, they sic their henchmen on the couple.

The film provides sharp commentary on class and work. While wealthy Vanya spends his days doing drugs, playing video games, and avoiding any responsibilities, the many types of workers depicted in the film, including the henchmen, are “always on,” with few boundaries between their work and private lives. The relationships in the film seem inescapably transactional and exploitative.

This may all sound bleak, and at times it is. But Anora does offer hope for a better way: In the bond Ani forms with Igor—one of the henchmen who, like Ani, is trapped in an often-dehumanizing job that he performs with a mix of playfulness and ambivalence—we see expressions of solidarity and compassion. In their unlikely connection, the film suggests it’s still possible to have relationships based on empathy, respect, and being truly seen. — Jason Marsh

The Purpose, Compassion, and Awe Award: Billy & Molly: An Otter Love Story

I assumed this was a love story between two unbearably cute otters—but I quickly discovered that it’s instead a charming tale of a man falling in love with an otter.

Billy is a waste management worker in the picturesque Shetland Islands, who is troubled by existential angst and a lost sense of purpose. One morning, he discovers a scrawny, helpless otter on his dock and names her Molly. Through care, attention, and an ungodly amount of fish, he nurtures Molly back to health while simultaneously bringing himself a sense of purpose and compassion for another being.

Research shows that awe profoundly impacts the human psyche, and this film delivers it in boatloads. Resplendent scenes of Molly playing both above and below the surface give us a glimpse into her watery world. Watching Billy lovingly build a tiny otter home—complete with shutters and a cozy bed—reminds us of the deep fulfillment that comes from finding purpose and extending compassion to those in need.

As Billy’s wife says, “He was lost for a while, until beauty found him.” — Kia Afcari

The Empathy Award: Daughters

This poignant documentary highlights the lives of girls and their incarcerated fathers who attend a father-daughter dance held in a Washington, D.C., jail. The story focuses on a handful of inmates, including one father named Murdock. “This is called the father-daughter dance,” he lightheartedly says at one point. “What if I don’t know how to dance?”

We discover that both dads and daughters deeply yearn for the small moments in each other’s lives that could nurture the bonds between them. “I miss him being here,” says 15-year-old Raziah. “It don’t feel like home. . . . I come in here sometimes, wanting to talk to him, tell him about my day, and I remember he’s not here.”

It’s hard to fathom not being able to hold our children, but the film explains that in recent years, hundreds of prisons have stopped in-person—“touch”—visits. But hearing incarcerated fathers speak about what it means to be with their children inspires a sense of shared humanity and dismantles dehumanizing stereotypes.

“I got back to my cell and cried, you know?” says Keith after the father-daughter dance. “Just trying to picture her in my mind there in front of me, talking to me, so I could get back in happy spirits.” 

Daughters left me broken-hearted and wondering, “Is this the best we can imagine for far too many fathers and their families?” No, it cannot be. Approximately half of the 1.8 million people incarcerated in the United States are parents, and they are not disposable in the eyes of their children—nor should they be for all of us. — Maryam Abdullah

The Intellectual Humility Award: Heretic

Heretic is more than your run-of-the-mill indie horror flick.

Writer-director duo Scott Beck and Bryan Woods tell a tale of a pair of Mormon missionaries, Sisters Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) and Paxton (Chloe East) who happen upon the doorstep of Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant).

Barnes and Paxton soon learn that this is no ordinary home visit when Reed traps them in his house and gives them a sort of speed run through arguments in favor of atheism. As the hours pass, it becomes clear that Reed’s fixation with disproving their religion is obsessive and even dangerous.

But what Reed soon learns is that Barnes and Paxton are far from your naïve religious fundamentalists; their religious beliefs are well-considered, and they’re no strangers to doubt. If anything, he might be the zealot among them.

What makes Heretic stand above your typical Hollywood fare is that it takes religious belief seriously. It doesn’t tell the audience to ridicule religion or abandon atheism. Instead, it treats believers and nonbelievers with respect, acknowledging the gray areas between belief and doubt where so many Americans reside.

Intellectual humility isn’t always an easy thing to achieve, but Heretic encourages us to reconsider not only our own beliefs but what we believe about the beliefs of others. — Zaid Jilani

The Gratitude Award: My Old Ass

Elliott (Maisy Stella) is celebrating her 18th birthday with two friends in their idyllic Canadian town by the lake. They eventually saunter off into the woods to experiment with a stash of magic mushrooms.

And that’s how Elliott ends up sitting by the campfire with her 39-year-old self (Aubrey Plaza). Older Elliott dispenses the expected sage observations (wear your retainer; time goes by “so fast”), but also a warning: Avoid anyone named Chad. She leaves her number on her younger self’s phone under the name “My Old Ass,” then disappears.

In Younger Elliott’s last few weeks before heading off to college, she does her best to heed her older self’s advice—playing golf with her brother, actually having conversations with her mom. But when a cute guy by the name of Chad (Percy Hynes White) surfaces, she’s thrown into a tizzy.

In the process, Younger Elliott discovers feelings of gratitude that she didn’t realize she had. But she also isn’t the only one who grows. As it turns out, she has a thing or two to teach her older self, as well. It all comes to a head in one memorable scene, where both Elliotts learn that maybe sometimes it’s OK to be a little reckless—and perhaps youth isn’t always wasted on the young. — Joanne Chen

The Humility Award: Perfect Days

Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) wakes, folds his futon, brushes his teeth, trims his mustache, waters his plants, and goes to work cleaning toilets in Tokyo. He endures the humiliations that come with his job—the invisibility and disregard and filth—with patient acceptance. Hirayama epitomizes humility, and Perfect Days emerges as a nuanced study of both this character and humility itself.

There’s another film on this list, Heretic, that Zaid Jilani uses to highlight “intellectual humility,” which is the knowledge that you could be wrong about something. In Hirayama, we see another kind of humility: the freedom that comes from giving up pride, and the focus that arises from letting go of the self as something important.

However, Perfect Days doesn’t settle for an easy story about its protagonist or humility, for it’s possible that Hirayama is too humble. He doesn’t have enough pride to resist people who take advantage of him, and one senses that he was once a man with a large life who made it smaller in order to cope with emotional damage. We discover late in the film that he comes from an affluent family—but he makes it clear that they will have to get along without him even as they struggle, an act that leaves him weeping. Though kindly and helpful, his sense of self cannot be expanded to hold a family, to be part of a “we.” His perfect days come at a cost, to himself and others.

Thus, this superficially simple story comes to seem quite complicated. I’m giving Perfect Days an award for humility, but the reader should know that the film gently explores its topic from multiple, critical points of view. As the story ends, the camera straightforwardly focuses on Hirayama’s face as a hundred conflicting emotions pass through it, showing us the fraught deeper pattern underneath the monastic purity of his life. — Jeremy Adam Smith

The Healing Award: A Real Pain

Two American cousins, David (Jesse Eisenberg) and Benji (Kieran Culkin), decide to take a “heritage tour” of Poland to honor their deceased Jewish grandmother, a Holocaust survivor. High-strung David must endure the gregarious Benji—who, at least initially, seems like “a real pain” to David.

But, while this setup leads you to expect a typical odd-couple, road-trip comedy, the film detours quickly into something else—a treatise on coping with emotional pain.

Benji suffers from grief and crippling mood swings, and displays emotion without restraint. David is embarrassed by Benji, but still wishes he could be like him: emotionally freer and unencumbered. Their attempts to manage their difficult feelings—over-identification, lashing out, repression, and self-medicating—are clearly unhealthy and lead to some mayhem.

But, as the tour progresses and the cousins become more vulnerable with each other and their tour companions, their struggles become clearer, as do everyone’s. These people are experiencing real pain—some inherited, some not—and need healing. Sharing their cultural and emotional connections helps some of them recognize the nature of their suffering and move forward.

One tour member survived the Rwandan genocide, moved to Winnipeg, and converted to Judaism. “In Winnipeg, I found a connection there with the Jewish community,” he says. “And when I learned about the Jewish story, I felt at peace for the first time since the war.”

The lesson here is that experiencing empathy and compassion heals us and makes us feel less alone—which, ultimately, saves us. With genocide as the looming backdrop to this story, it’s clear this lesson bears repeating. — Jill Suttie

The Friendship Award: Robot Dreams

This animated fable about a dog who “makes” a robot buddy starts out seeming like one kind of story about friendship—and then pivots to reveal a truth about friends and life that somehow, magically, is both deeply unsettling and profoundly comforting.

Dog lives alone in an alternate-history East Village of the 1980s. In the background loom the Twin Towers, a visual suggestion of loss that becomes more and more haunting as the story progresses.

Despite the flat 2D animation, or perhaps because of it, this NYC is vibrant and filled with fun period details, from disco on boom boxes to Ginsu knife ads on TV to the red LED numbers on digital clocks. These are things that Dog has stopped seeing in his lonely routines, but the newly born Robot’s sense of wonder helps Dog to take new delight in his home and the city.

Dog brings Robot to life in one way, and then Robot returns the favor. Thus, the first half of Robot Dreams becomes an explication and a celebration of the power of friendship. But then…life happens, and their world is revealed to be crueler than it at first appeared to be. As fate pushes Dog and Robot apart, the characters take what they learned from each other to adapt and grow, heal and move on.

In the end, this no-dialogue tale has something to say about change, memory, and friendship that defies easy articulation. We leave with a feeling that is as wordless as the film, with hearts that have been simultaneously broken and mended. — Jeremy Adam Smith

The Resilience Award: Simón

Simón follows a young Venezuelan activist (Christian McGaffney) who migrates to Miami after being imprisoned and tortured for protesting against his government. As he navigates the asylum process, he wrestles with trauma and guilt as he must decide whether to start over in the U.S.—or return home to protest for his country and loved ones.

Directed by Diego Vicentini, the movie highlights solidarity as a source of resilience. Simón becomes part of a community of fellow Venezuelans who have also fled their homeland. Their shared experiences of persecution, loss, and displacement create a bond that helps them navigate their new realities. The film suggests that healing and empowerment can arise from individual perseverance and from the connections people build with those who understand their struggles.

Mental health among Venezuelan exiles”>Research into the Venezuelan diaspora indicates that perceived social support from family is positively associated with adaptive Coping strategies, while longer duration in a receiving country without adequate support can lead to maladaptive emotional suppression. Indeed, throughout the film, Simón draws strength from his relationships and his inner drive to move forward—even when it seems impossible. — Criss Cuervo

The Radical Acceptance Award: Thelma

In the first leading role of her career, Jane Squibb plays the title character Thelma, a feisty nonagenarian. She enjoys living independently, keeps up with technology thanks to her grandson Daniel (Fred Hechinger), and fiercely embraces routine.

That gets disrupted when someone scams Thelma out of $10,000—and Thelma becomes a hilariously unorthodox revenge caper. 

She enlists the help of a gentleman admirer and friend, Ben (played amazingly by the late Richard Roundtree), and his mobility scooter. Let the most unlikely and amusing chase scene begin! Thelma refuses to accept defeat, and the audience cheers for her version of Mission Impossible: to hunt down the scammers and take back what’s rightfully hers.

In the end, this movie is about radical acceptance. The film reminds us that acceptance isn’t just about enduring hardship; it’s about knowing when to stand alone and when to lean on others. Thelma acknowledges the challenges of aging without letting them define her. Ultimately, Thelma is a heartwarming reminder that life’s adventure doesn’t stop with age—it simply changes course. — Aurelia Santos

The Other Significant Other Award: Wicked

Wicked is the multi-colored blockbuster musical inspired by author Gregory Macguire’s upside-down take on L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz universe. It tells the story of two promising young witches-in-training—popular, blond Glinda and green-skinned social outcast Elphaba—who grow up to become the Wicked and Good witches of Oz.

Amid propulsive music, joyful flash-mob dancing, and visually spectacular cinematography, Wicked explores several prosocial themes and their opposites: empathy for others’ suffering and jealousy of a rival; standing up to authoritarian power and how mob mentality can create a villain. But most powerful is Elphaba and Glinda’s relationship, forming the movie’s central narrative tension, as it evolves from initial loathing to grudging respect and then deep friendship, despite falling in love with the same prince.

Ultimately, their unselfish commitment to each other’s well-being and growth lies at the heart of several key plot twists. As they sing together in the final song, “Defying Gravity”: “Together we’re unlimited. Together, we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been.” In her 2024 book, The Other Significant Others, Rhaina Cohen describes this kind of relationship: friends who become more akin to life partners.

If you like your fables with a dollop of ice cream, sparkly sprinkles, and a few dozen cherries on top, Wicked is just the confection to move, challenge, and entertain you. We could all stand to learn altruistic love from the example of Elphaba and Glinda, whose story concludes when Wicked Part 2 premieres in November. — Katherine Reynolds Lewis

The Love Award: Wild Robot

Based on a children’s novel by author and illustrator Peter Brown, this beautifully animated film follows a robot, Rozzum Unit 7134 (voiced by Lupita Nyong’o) after she’s shipwrecked on a remote island. Designed to serve others, she instead finds only wild animals that have no use for her. After she falls into a goose nest and smashes all but one egg, she seizes on a new purpose: keep the egg safe until it hatches.

Soon, Roz finds herself the adoptive parent of a gosling runt she eventually names Brightbill (Kit Connor). Like countless parents before her, Roz learns that her logical mind only gets her so far in raising a chick—that completing “tasks” isn’t the only thing that Brightbill needs. While teaching him to eat, swim, and fly, she realizes that for him to really thrive, she must develop empathy, compassion, and eventually altruistic love, so that Brightbill can join the larger community of migrating geese and learn to overcome his own difficulties as a slightly undersized goose.

The Wild Robot explores both the joy of being alive and the realities we face while navigating life’s challenges—and in the process, we experience the transformative power of love in the relationship between Roz and Brightbill. The movie asks us to reclaim the inherent goodness of our “wildness” and lean into our intrinsic loving nature. — Margaret Golden

The Curiosity Award: Will & Harper

Will & Harper is a documentary film, directed by Josh Greenbaum, that follows comedian Will Ferrell and writer Harper Steele as they test the strength of their decades-long friendship, which first began on the set of Saturday Night Live.

Newly self-named Harper has come out as a transwoman to her friends and family. Initially stunned by the news, Will approaches the situation with curiosity and pitches the idea of a cross-country road trip to rediscover and redefine their friendship. But underlying the laughter and adventure is the question: Are we really as close as we think we are? And what does it mean to fully show up for a friend when their world is shifting?

One of the movie’s most striking themes is authenticity—the courage to reveal one’s true self and the challenge of being accepted. It’s not always a smooth journey. In Indiana, Harper navigates being misgendered while Will wrestles with the fear of saying the wrong thing. In Texas, a harsh moment in a steakhouse leaves Harper vulnerable, and Will, despite his usual comedic ease, struggles to respond in the moment. His later admission—“I feel like I let you down”—is a raw acknowledgment of how allyship is a learning process.

The documentary doesn’t shy away from discomfort, showing that being a good friend isn’t about having the perfect words but showing up, listening, and learning. The desire to learn and stay curious challenges viewers to examine our own relationships. Will and Harper affirm that true connection isn’t just about shared history—it’s about supporting each other in every stage of life. — Aurelia Santos