The 10 most misanthropic movies in cinema history
Some films leave you with a profound sense of dread and misery, weighed down by their nihilistic outlook and pervasive hopelessness. After spending hours watching characters treat each other in the worst ways imaginable, it’s hard not to feel like everything is doom and gloom. These stories can strip away the veneer of optimism, leaving you questioning whether there’s any redeeming quality to humankind at all.
While other movies try to restore a sense of hope, some intentionally work to obliterate any fragment of positivity; the director wants you to dwell on the worst parts of humanity and to reflect on our complicity with the evils of the world. It is a cruel goal but somewhat necessary in a world that prefers to turn a blind eye to the horrors happening on our doorstep.
In today’s entertainment landscape, where quick, easily digestible stories dominate to appease mass audiences, the ability to make viewers feel genuinely awful has become a rare and distinct skill. Some directors have built their reputations on this trait, crafting films that leave you feeling drained and disillusioned, as though hating everyone might just be the easiest response.
So, let’s delve into the darkest corner of cinema and look at the ten most misanthropic movies ever made.
The 10 most misanthropic movies ever made:
Festen (Thomas Vinterberg, 1998)
For anyone preparing themselves for the chaos of festive celebrations and the inevitable interactions with family members who always say the wrong thing, then Festen might be the film to get you in the holiday spirit. Vinterberg is not a filmmaker known for light-hearted stories, and his 1989 film is no exception, following a family party that descends into chaos as the eldest son makes a speech that reveals a disturbing secret and threatens the facade of upper-class respectability.
Festen captures a unique family dynamic that relies on things remaining unspoken in order to keep the peace, with people preferring to stick to the surface of each interaction to avoid anything that could cause upset or disagreement. A family like this resembles a bandage being stretched over a wound, and it’s only so long before it will snap and expose the ugliness underneath.
The film is shot within the constraints (or freedom?) of the Dogme 95 movement, with Vinterberg opting for a cheap handheld camera as he follows each family member through the party and the many interweaving variables that lead the family to implode, no longer able to repress their pains and secrets. It creates a viscerally suffocating effect, only adding to each character’s forced frivolities and repressed inner worlds as they desperately try to ignore the problems raised to the surface. The film is arguably one of the best from the Danish filmmaking movement. It is deliciously misanthropic in its portrait of the wealthy elite and their inability to confront reality, even when it’s right in front of their eyes.
You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsay, 2017)
Joaquin Phoenix’s performance in You Were Never Really Here is nothing short of haunting, becoming a living embodiment of the trauma that plagues his character as an ex-war veteran who attempts to find redemption by using his violent tendencies for good. Ramsay beautifully toes the line between brutality and delicacy, creating a juxtaposition between Joe’s bloody history and the purity of the mission he now devotes himself to.
As he attempts to block out his past, he slowly realises that he cannot outrun his memories, leading him to finally confront the skeletons in his closet as he discovers new ones through a horrific mission. Ramsay is incisive in her portrayal of trauma, creating this through minimal dialogue, meticulous editing and a heartbreaking score that only exaggerates the devastation of such a pure-hearted person being broken in this way. As a character, he is both deeply empathetic and monstrous, consumed by a frenzied anger that strips away his softness as he responds reactively to each new danger and threat.
It is a devastating portrait of the effects of trauma and our inability to confront our own experiences, which is only intensified by the ending and the inevitable loneliness that Joe is left with after failing to deal with his demons.
The Elephant Man (David Lynch, 1980)
David Lynch allegedly only directed this film because he needed the money, and after being presented with a pile of scripts from his agent, he picked The Elephant Man purely because of the title, despite having no idea what it was about. You would not be able to sense this spontaneity within the film, which is a devastating and carefully crafted story about human exploitation and the innate cruelty of people.
The Elephant Man follows a disfigured man who is forced into a circus to be mocked and ridiculed, being treated like an animal and never shown any kindness. Lynch blends his trademark surrealism within the fable-like tale to explore the idea that this character is more human than anyone else in the story despite the fact that no one else is able to see this. It feels like an emotional punch to the gut that hammers in just how awful people really are and our inability to accept those who are different. The horror-like genre tropes and dark colour palette only add to the horrific hypnotic quality that wakes us up to the horrors within us and who the true monsters are.
Kinds of Kindness (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2024)
While this film was disliked by many after its release, I feel as though it was somewhat misinterpreted and judged too quickly. Yorgos Lanthimos‘ body of work is an enigmatic beast that twists and evolves before your eyes and is not made to be described in neat and concise ways – it is meant to be puzzled over and picked apart. After doing so myself, I realised how much I enjoyed the miserable core of the film, which might just be his most misanthropic.
Kinds of Kindness is a collection of three short stories, each following a group of characters who play the part of kindness in order to exploit others for their own personal gain. It presents a miserably cynical view of humanity and the idea that we use kindness as a mask to fulfil our own desires, with no one being truly ‘good’.
Through each story, we watch as people resort to increasingly extreme lengths to be loved and accepted, with the central character in each vignette devoting their blood, sweat, and tears to be truly seen, sacrificing lucrative freedoms and sometimes body parts to be deserving of this. It’s completely sick and twisted and ends on a jarring note as we realise that there are some people who will always be chasing this ideal, while some will always be lauding its possibility over others.
Naked (Mike Leigh, 1993)
Naked is the kind of film you can only watch once and bear to think about very few times after. It follows the ramblings of a pseudo-intellectual madman who walks around an apocalyptic-looking London for an evening, venting at unsuspecting strangers during his unhinged nocturnal quest. It is grotesque and extremely uncomfortable to watch, unflinching in its portrayal of misguided anger and a man who is completely disconnected from any sense of compassion or humanity.
After opening with a scene in which he sexually assaults someone in a dark alleyway, the film only hurtles towards new heights of depravity, with David Thewlis showing the depths of his talent with a relentless performance that doesn’t stop for one moment, feeling like one long monologue.
Throughout the evening, he encounters many people who slowly give us more insights into his life. Still, none of them are reassuring truths, and they only add to a final mood of resigned acceptance that this character will never change his ways. It’s truly awful to live in his world for over two hours, and it leaves you feeling disgusted by the full spectrum of human behaviour in a way that only Leigh could achieve.
First Reformed (Paul Schrader, 2017)
As we try to survive the horrors of the modern world, one of the few ways we can find hope is through the people in our lives and those that we love. However, Paul Schrader’s 2017 film First Reformed goes against this very idea, showing a priest who becomes so burdened by all the pains in the world due to not having anyone to share them with. Because he cannot find hope or joy in the people around him, I would argue that this makes it inherently misanthropic because he closes himself off to something so fundamental to the human spirit.
Ethan Hawke is devastating in the film, capturing a person who was once unjaded by life but became downtrodden by personal tragedies that he couldn’t recover from, retreating from love altogether. It’s an exhilarating and slow-burning portrait of dread and unshared despair, subverting the image of someone who is supposed to be hopeful by showing his resignation towards nihilism.
Each character in the film is attempting to deal with their own pains, but ultimately, Schrader implies that pain creates loneliness and that loneliness is inescapably destructive. While we desperately want Pastor Toller to cling to his faith and find a reason to continue living, by the end, we also cannot see a reason for doing so, which is perhaps the cruellest ending of all.
Irreversible (Gaspar Noé, 2002)
In his exploration of gendered violence and misogyny in Irreversible, Noé was labelled as a misogynist and booed off stage during the Cannes premiere. While it remains a controversial piece of work and is viscerally hated by many, I think the message is incredibly powerful despite how confrontational it is.
Irreversible follows a woman over one evening in Paris and the events that lead to a devastating act of violence. It is an incredibly bleak piece of filmmaking that is not meant to be enjoyed in the slightest – it is made to be repulsive and nearly impossible to watch, waking us up to the horrors that women all over the world experience as we allow misogyny to go unchecked and unpunished.
The titular scene in the red tunnel is painted as this hellish underworld, with Noé not allowing us any respite from the horrors that happen there, punishing the viewers who enjoyed her image even slightly by forcing us to see the consequences of objectification. It is an unforgiving nightmare, but when you unwrap yourself from the initial shock, you begin to see the genius beneath and Noé’s brutal criticism of male desire, leading to a testosterone-fuelled journey of revenge and retribution that is ultimately futile because this type of violence is irreversible.
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1974)
Fassbinder has a knack for highlighting the innate selfishness and greed of humanity, whether in his 1975 film Fox and His Friends or The Marriage of Maria Braun. However, this is perhaps most obvious in Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, a devastating story about a woman who remarries a younger man and is slowly ostracised by her community for beginning a relationship with a person of colour. However, after her community realises that they miss the benefits of her kindness and what they gain from the relationship, they welcome her back, causing her partner to leave her for associating with people who deny his humanity.
Fassbinder is ultimately saying that all relationships are completely self-serving and not motivated by love, but by the prospect of gaining something from the relationship. When Emmi first begins dating Ali, her local shopkeeper denies her entry to the store, and her colleagues don’t let her eat lunch with them. Through her relationship, this otherwise privileged woman begins to experience oppression for the first time and becomes devastated by the lack of kindness in the world. But after some time, the shopkeeper realises that he benefits from her business, and her colleagues begin to miss her labour, so they welcome her back and exploit her desperation to be included.
When Emmi is asked to sacrifice her community for the man she loves, she cannot do it, and is lured back to the comforts of acceptance instead of standing by her husband. It is an incredibly bleak look at the exploitative nature of human relationships and how they ultimately attempt to fill a void, posing the idea that love is not motivated by true compassion and, ultimately, is the pursuit of selfish desire.
Dogville (Lars von Trier, 2003)
Lars von Trier has always been one of the most cynical voices in cinematic history, and his stories never fail to make your stomach churn as you reckon with the most depraved characters that leave you wanting to rock yourself to sleep in the corner of a room. Dogville is about a small town that is surprised by the arrival of a young woman who is seeking refuge. They allow her to hide in their town, but only on the condition that she completes chores for them in return.
In return for her safety, this poor woman becomes so heavily exploited and mistreated, with Von Trier implying that evil is innate to humanity itself and goodness does not exist. Grace, played by Nicole Kidman, is shown to be a pure spirit who is extremely kindhearted by nature and willing to do anything to help others. But after being tested and used to such a violent extent, her character eventually snaps and commits a terrible act herself, leading us to believe that kindness is only ever shown in anticipation of being rewarded for it, and that all people are inherently self-serving and incapable of goodness.
It is one of Von Trier’s most misanthropic films, with not a single redeeming quality to any of the people in the town, leading us to believe that none of us are safe from each other and the evils that exist in everyone, even those we believe to be good.
Happy as Lazzaro (Alice Rohrwacher, 2018)
There is nothing more soul-destroying than watching a pure-hearted person having their kindness exploited by the world around them, and Alice Rohrwacher’s 2018 film is a devastating story about a beautiful spirit who is slowly destroyed by a harsh modern world.
Happy as Lazzaro follows a young man called Lazzarro who is unknowingly being exploited on a tobacco farm with his family, believing themselves to be free. However, after they are freed by the authorities, they are sent to the city to fend for themselves. But when away from the imagined freedom of the farm, Lazzaro struggles to adapt to the real world, and the people around him exploit his naivety.
It is unbelievably painful to watch the spark that makes Lazzaro so special being snuffed out by the cruel world around him. While he is blissfully ignorant of what is happening, it is clear to everyone else that he is being exploited, lending his trust to those who do not deserve it. Rohrwacher is a poet to people living on the margins of society and provides a voice to those who are rarely seen but does so in a way that completely crushes your heart and obliterates any faith in humanity.
