On the Merits of List Culture.
The end of the year season is a peak time for lovers of culture. It’s award show season, yes, but more importantly it is best of the year Lists. Films, books, video games, music, board games. On every site, in every mag, and I eat them up. I’m not only limited to “best of” or “top of all time” Lists that can vary by medium, genre, and more. Lists can be as eclectic as “Ranking all 200+ Mega Man Robots” and “American Girl Dolls Ranked by Betchiness.”
Lists serve a similar purpose to some criticism, exposing me to new art I haven’t heard of so I can seek it out. Because of these curated Lists and their quick blurbs, I will play more music, put books on hold at the library (or even order them!), add films to my watchlist in the hope that they will make it to theaters in Augusta, knowing that in reality I will be watching online, since so many films sadly never screen in Augusta (here’s hoping for Anora!).
But the real joy in consuming these “Best Films of 2024” articles comes when you have skin in the game. The more films from 2024 you’ve seen, the higher the chance you have at experiencing validation or outrage. There’s a little part of me that does a fist pump whenever I see Challengers atop a List. It’s basic sports team joy, yes, but also a darker sense of fulfillment, the satisfaction that yes, my taste is correct, and I am the best film watcher.
And lists aren’t limited to literal Lists. An Oscar ballot is a List. The top box office is expressed in List form. Those bizarre categories on Netflix are lists. Any curated collection of items: List. Your four favorite film spots on a Letterboxd profile make a List.
With consuming Lists, one inevitably turns to creating. I started first with “My top 25 favorite musicals” and “My top 10 favorite television shows,” both working documents. As I consumed more and more culture, they grew. “Best films of [insert year here],” “Books that changed my life.” Lists also got creative, like, “A woman teaches two boys how to love” or “Films I want to remake keeping only the lead actress the same, fulfilling the promise of the premise to become modern feminist masterpieces.”
I know I am not alone in this tendency, as my social media feeds are full of friends and influencers sharing their favorites from the year. Most random accounts on Letterboxd will have best of the year Lists, and most random readers on Goodreads will have a shelf marked “favorites.”
I don’t think most of the users of Letterboxd, or Goodreads, or social media their “best of” post truly consider themselves influential critics for whom others need to listen to. They don’t view themselves in the same vein as a critic for the Times. There is certainly a public perception component when posting lists. A list is a declaration of taste, a desire to stand behind a piece of art, and say, “I like it,” and take with it all the possible implications. That’s why so many celebrities panic in those Letterboxd top four interviews. What four films do you pick to show the general public that you’re cool, have unique taste, are interesting, but also aren’t trying too hard. A delicate balance indeed (I’m now racked with fear that my current four, while honest, are a little too basic).
But the real value in List making (and comparing yours to others) comes from giving you the space to sort out your feelings about works of art. To carefully consider and catalogue them. On the Keep It podcast, Louis Virtel explains, “For a certain kind of brain… it [list-making] satisfies an urge to organize feelings in the brain in a way that feels comprehensive and feels like you’re just in charge of everything you feel.’” (Louis Virtel, Keep It “Golden Globes, Luigi Mangione & Best of 2024 with Cat Cohen & Jodie Turner-Smith”). Joan Didion might “write entirely to find out what I’m thinking,” but I make Lists entirely to find out what I’m thinking.
Of course, you could argue that a need to pit works of art against each other and definitively declare some better than the other is hyper capitalist or masculine or reductive. Totally fair! But who says the List has to be ranked! Let it just be a collection alphabetically if you care. There is merit in the act of curation. If one is to develop a taste, they must be able to articulate what they like and why. Lists are merely a simple structure upon which to build. Plus, if you already have a List of the best movies of all time, you’ll never be stumped when asked on a date, “so what’s your favorite movie?”
So much of my film watching is explicitly formed by Lists. I would pick which TV show to watch next in high school based on “Best of” lists on the AV Club. I’ll tackle a scratch-off poster of classics, try to watch through “The New York Times list of best 25 films of the 21st century (so far).” These journeys through list have led me to some of my very favorite television series, like The Americans and The Leftovers. Lists introduced me to masterpieces like Yi Yi and Timbuktu and films that provoked extreme negative reactions like L’Enfant, both experiences equally valuable. Some of my most treasured film watching eras were in college, curated by a professor in class or by peers in a film club. In 2024 alone, of my 192 screenings, 103 were covered by the podcast Blank Check. What is my deal with using lists to control my watching? One element is trust. I have watched many a horrid film so I can listen to an episode of Blank Check, but I trust the judgements of the hosts (David Sims and Griffin Newman). I know that even if I don’t care for the filmmaker being covered, their work is worth diving into anyways. But this fascination and adherence to Lists goes beyond just appreciating criticism. I want to be told what to do.
There are too many movies! I sit down to watch something, and through streaming, the possibilities are endless. Even the library or more curated services like Mubi or the Criterion Channel seems overwhelming. How do I pick what I want? Following a list makes it easier. In its most base adherence, a list can tell you step by step to watch in order. There is no longer a question of what to watch, merely when and what list to move to when you’ve completed. But even a narrowing of scope can help from the overload of content. Picking from a smaller list seems much less daunting. Do you want to pick from 200,000+ films? Or from the 96 Best Picture winners? Plus, you get a nice little boost of satisfaction and pride when you finish a List, like filling every page in a journal or getting a star from your teacher.
I think Fleabag (as written and performed by Phoebe Waller-Bridge) said it best:
“I know what I want. I know exactly what I want. Right now… I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about. What to listen to, what band to like. What to buy tickets for. What to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and who to love and how to... tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life.” (ep 2.4)
I read Lists to be told what to do. I make Lists to make sense of what I’ve done. I’ll keep reading, and I’ll keep Listing.
Published February 10, 2025 | Edited by Chandler P. Jorgensen