The 10 Best Movie Performances Of 2025 (So Far)

Countless obstacles have faced the film industry in the 2020s. An ongoing global pandemic upended theatrical moviegoing habits and which films got made. Streaming’s impact on the industry continues to impact which projects get greenlit. In America, movie studios refusing to pay livable wages to artists inspired a pair of strikes that put large chunks of the country’s film industry on pause. But despite all of that, the art and artists persist. Just look at 2025: Even with so much chaos happening in the real world, new movies keep coming out and featuring richly human performances that we all need now more than ever.

2025 has been rife with many great movies from all kinds of genres and a slew of different countries. These projects are populated with detailed performances from newbie performers, esteemed acting veterans, and everybody in between. Just look at the 10 best movie performances of 2025 so far, which all share an enthralling variety that reflects the movies themselves. Some of these performances were housed in extraordinary genre outings, while others anchored challenging arthouse dramas that reflected real-world societal ills.

Whatever these 10 actors were tasked with realizing, they succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. These glorious peaks in 2025 cinematic performances are extraordinary to explore and epitomize how nothing can keep movies from captivating audiences.

Those who saw David Jonsson’s excellent work headlining 2023’s “Rye Lane” knew well before the release of “The Long Walk” that this man has incredible acting chops. However, this 2025 Stephen King film adaptation offered Jonsson a chance to display his talents in a mainstream, wide-release project with outstanding results. Jonsson plays Peter “Pete” McVries, a contestant in the titular grisly challenge. His character quickly bonds with Raymond “Ray” Garraty (Cooper Hoffman), with the pair becoming friends despite their sharply contrasting personalities. 

Garraty is a quiet revolutionary with a vengeful spirit lurking just beneath his exterior. McVries, meanwhile, is a more optimistic soul who looks out for distant rainbows and connections with other people to encourage him to keep going. In Jonsson’s assured hands, the hopefulness of McVries echoes the upbeat pragmatism of Ke Huy Quan’s Raymond Wang from “Everything Everywhere All At Once.” Like that multiversal beacon of kindness, McVries isn’t oblivious, but rather refuses to produce more cruelty in a world that’s relentlessly grim.

There’s a gripping, richly human quality to Jonsson’s warm performance, made extra compelling by the film’s chillingly harrowing ambiance. McVries offering soft but firm reassurances (“You didn’t fail, you made a couple of friends and made it this far”) to Art (Tut Nyuot) before he drops out of the race epitomizes Jonsson’s transfixing tenderness in unspeakable turmoil. David Jonsson is a mesmerizing and eventually heartbreaking force in “The Long Walk.” “Rye Lane” was no fluke, he’s unquestionably a movie star.

Aunt Gladys (Amy Madigan) simply shouldn’t work. Eventually revealed as the villain of “Weapons,” she’s a vicious witch who doesn’t exactly practice the art of stealth. After all, she wanders around town in a bright red wig, massive glasses, and lots of makeup. Yet in the hands of Madigan and writer-director Zach Cregger’s creative vision, the character becomes an instant horror cinema legend. Part of what’s ingenious about Madigan’s work is how she roots Gladys in discernible reality. The way Gladys just invites herself into places, constantly oversteps her boundaries, or is cruel to her adolescent nephew Alex (Cary Christopher) echoes the behavior of that one aunt you hated to see at holiday parties when you were a kid.

Rooting Gladys in that reality bolsters the more hysterical touches of Madigan’s performance. Impressively, she channels that universal ambiance without sacrificing palpable intimidation. Gladys never loses her cool (at least before the finale), even when horrible events are transpiring, like when she remains level-headed while Marcus (Benedict Wong) bashes in the brains of his husband. This chillingly captures the power of a woman with so much experience controlling others and exerting misery that the grisliest displays of violence don’t remotely faze her. 

Madigan’s also a hoot in the part, particularly in her understated line delivery of “oh no” when she realizes Alex has used her stick-based magic against her. Whatever this “Weapons” character called for, Amy Madigan delivered tremendously.

What’s important in this world varies from person to person. To many souls, a baseball game played by largely middle-aged men in Massachusetts is the opposite of essential. For dedicated spectator Franny (Cliff Blake), however, the baseball game at the heart of “Eephus” — between the Adler’s Paint team and the Riverdogs — is incredibly important. Seated in his lawn chair, Franny scrawls down all the statistics and details of the game unfolding before him. When a crisis emerges on the baseball diamond, he can be an impartial deliverer of steadiness with all of his knowledge and records.

Much like Amy Madigan’s “Weapons” performance as Aunt Gladys, Cliff Blake’s Franny is rooted in personalities and body language we’ve all observed out of the corners of our eyes at sports events. There’s always one older, dedicated onlooker who knows this game better than any of their loved ones. Blake beautifully epitomizes this soul without an ounce of condescension. Rather than caricaturing this sports scene fixture, Blake imbues Franny with an endearing aura and lived-in chemistry with any character (particularly the ball players) he chats with.

Blake’s also exquisite at emphasizing the wistfulness in Franny as the movie progresses. “Eephus” is a yarn about men playing one last game on their beloved baseball diamond before it’s demolished. Thus, it’s also a tale of how everything in life is finite. Blake’s eyes alone movingly communicate that inescapable fact during some of the most unforgettably contemplative moments in “Eephus.”

Horror cinema is often undervalued as a place for true artistry, but this genre has always been as reliable a home for craftsmanship as any other cinematic realm. Case in point: “The Ugly Stepsister,” writer-director Emilie Blichfeldt’s marvelously warped yet thoughtful take on “Cinderella.” The twist here is that the saga is told from the perspective of one of those “ugly stepsisters,” Elvira (Lea Myren), as she’s groomed by her single mother, Rebekka (Ane Dahl Torp), to marry a wealthy man and solve their family’s financial problems. 

In the eyes of Rebekka and general society, Elvira is “hideous,” requiring endless operations to make her “presentable.” Given that this is the 1800s, such operations consist of lots of chiseling, tapeworms, and gruesome body modification. Despite this bloody chaos, Lea Myren is utterly glorious, portraying Elvira as a complicated individual trapped within patriarchal society’s rigid demands for what “proper” women look like. Myren’s engaging portrayal of Elvira’s more wistful, romantic side (chiefly exemplified by dreamy, recurring fantasy sequences) is rife with humanity, ensuring that there’s more to this character than just being a vessel for body horror. 

When it comes time for gross-out spectacle or deranged behavior, Myren commits wholeheartedly to the gruesome mayhem. A scene where Elvira pulls a seemingly endless tapeworm out from her stomach is a tour de force of dedicated acting alone. What other genre could produce a performance this thematically fascinating and rivetingly icky?

As “On Becoming a Guinea Fowl” begins, Shula (Susan Chardy) stumbles onto her Uncle Fred’s corpse. Afterwards, her extended family gathers to celebrate this man who inflicted sexual trauma on various young girls in the family. This is nothing new: The family norm is to stigmatize women, especially sexual abuse survivors, and lionize men. Why upset the status quo? Traditional patriarchal society instills the idea that women don’t matter, which writer-director Rungano Nyoni shines a light on in this riveting drama.

Anchoring the proceedings is a tremendous turn from Chardy that consumes every inch of your attention with the subtlest details. Just with the tiniest piece of body language or vivid life in her pupils, Chardy communicates how tiring it is to live in this reality. Having your pain constantly erased and witnessing the erasure of other women’s humanity is an exhausting status quo. Chardy’s exterior stance depicts Shula behaving as her mom and other relatives want (docile, stiff, obedient). Those subtler performance details, though, constantly reflect the character’s complicated, weary interior existence. 

Chardy even leaves an impression in strikingly-realized scenes where Nyoni intentionally keeps part of Shula (like the front of her face) off-screen. Her physical acting is just that masterful. Chardy’s depiction of Shula’s complicated dynamic with her cousins, like Nsansa (Elizabeth Chisela) — each grappling with sexual trauma differently — is similarly outstanding. In every respect, Susan Chardy is a revelation here.

“April” protagonist Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili) lives a double life in the country of Georgia. Her proper, public job is working as an obstetrician. But on the side, she helps rural citizens secure abortions, which are illegal in her country. Writer-director Dea Kulumbegashvili and cinematographer Arseni Khachaturan realize her story through very patient camerawork and long, unbroken takes of ordinary life. There are also unusually framed shots where significant portions of characters (like their faces) are kept off-screen during seemingly critical sequences. These exquisite visual flourishes upend cinematic imagery standards and ensure that “April” looks like no other movie.

Just as memorable as the unorthodox staging and unhurried camerawork is Ia Sukhitashvili’s central performance, which conveys Nina’s quietly undaunted personality. Sukhitashvili is also terrific at communicating physical specificity, even in wide shots where she’s framed far away from the camera. Even within images where so many other objects and entities could command one’s attention, Sukhitashvili ensures all eyes remain plastered on Nina. Her performance also delicately captures the grueling emotional urgency fueling this character’s forbidden medical visits without changing the subdued atmosphere or overshadowing the specific visual motifs.

Most impressive is how Sukhitashvili refuses to sensationalize her “April” performance. She makes Nina intentionally ordinary, a reflection of how Georgian society has failed women so profoundly that everyday individuals are forced to help the marginalized. Making normalcy so transfixing renders Sukhitashvili’s performance as impressive as the movie she’s headlining.

Among the endless joys of Ryan Coogler’s masterpiece “Sinners” is witnessing Miles Canton’s star-making turn as Sammie. It’s staggering to consider that this is Canton’s first feature film acting role. He’s so effortlessly magnetic and powerful as the musically-inclined son of a preacher. One of Canton’s greatest accomplishments in the part is his heartbreaking portrayal of Sammie’s evolution over the course of the film. Originally withdrawn thanks to his religious upbringing and strict father, Sammie grows more open and outgoing as his cousins “Smoke” and “Stack” (both Michael B. Jordan) encourage him to sing and provide him with sexual advice. 

Watching Sammie come into his own at the siblings’ juke joint, including his intimate moment with Pearline (Jayme Lawson), is a wonderful experience, He finally gets to be himself and live. Then, of course, the Irish vampires attack, and Sammie’s vulnerability returns as he becomes the primary target of these undead intruders. From the moment he walks on-screen, it’s impossible not to get invested in Canton’s Sammie, as the actor keeps you captivated for the next two hours with finesse and transfixing emotional weight.

There’s also the small detail of Canton having an extraordinary voice, which makes already beautiful musical numbers like “I Lied to You” even more astonishing. “Sinners” hinges entirely on Sammie, and Miles Canton steps up to this challenge and delivers a debut film performance for the ages.

Willa (Chase Infiniti) didn’t ask for this. The daughter of ex-revolutionaries Bob Ferguson (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor), 17-year-old Willa is thrust into the ripple effects of her parents’ actions when the vengeful Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn) reappears and relentlessly pursues her. There’s an underlying tragedy to “One Battle After Another,” as Willa navigates larger conflicts and obstacles no teenager should have to contend with. Unpredictability seeps into every inch of her journey, but the one constant for viewers is that Chase Infiniti excels with whatever material writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson throws at her.

As with many great performances, Infiniti especially excels at handling paradoxical material. Willa’s traditional exterior is very aloof and subversive. She has no trouble challenging or lying to any authority figure, including Lockjaw. However, in scenes where Willa’s alone, such as her first night in a compound maintained by nuns, Infiniti heartbreakingly depicts this girl crying. Only alone, separated from the wider world trying to tear her down, can she afford to be vulnerable. Infiniti superbly handles both sides of Willa.

The film’s chase-heavy finale, meanwhile, features a lengthy stretch of runtime largely devoid of dialogue. Skipping monologues doesn’t hinder one iota of Infiniti’s performance. She remains equally compelling portraying Willa’s frantic, desperate physicality in her race to stay alive. Whether it’s silent acting or instantly iconic line deliveries, Chase Infiniti is sensational.

For decades, Delroy Lindo has been astonishing audiences with his profoundly lived-in roles in films ranging from “Crooklyn” to “Bound by Honor” to “Da 5 Bloods,” among many other projects. However, Ryan Coogler’s ambitious “Sinners” provided him with a high-profile opportunity to excel as grizzled harmonica player Delta Slim. Lindo’s performance is extraordinary on many levels, including how he kills every comedic beat he’s asked to deliver. His little “woah woah woah” when Stack opens up a bottle of enticing beer, for instance, is masterfully timed.

But all the humorous line deliveries or amusing physical qualities in Lindo’s performance don’t transform Delta Slim into merely a comic relief sidekick. They feel like organic extensions of the man’s personality. Lindo’s ability to conjure up caked-in decades of experience also informs some of the most dramatically compelling “Sinners” sequences, namely a harrowing scene in which Slim recounts a former performer friend who was lynched. Lindo’s facial expressions and haunted recounting of this story vividly communicate the pain of this traumatic event. 

Later, Lindo gets one of the very best “Sinners” lines as he explains the power of blues music to Sammie. “Blues wasn’t forced on us like that religion,” Slim explains, “Nah, son, we brought that with us from home.” Lindo’s voice here perfectly captures the momentousness of these words. There’s simply no end to the achievements Delroy Lindo delivers in his “Sinners” performance.

Struggling literature professor Agnes (Eva Victor) lives alone and has spent the last few years recovering from being sexually assaulted. Writer-director Victor takes audiences through Agnes’ life in a non-linear fashion, leaping across various points in this woman’s quest to just exist in the wake of unspeakable trauma. Coping with being violated is a messy process, and Victor’s lead performance beautifully captures that reality.

Their ability to subtly depict how Agnes changes over the years is alone an immense feat. The intricate ways in which Agnes’ gait or the way she sits modulate, depending on where her psyche is, is quietly heartbreaking. Eva Victor uses these tiny details to provide perceptible insight into what’s going on inside this character’s head. “Sorry, Baby” also has several sparse, dialogue-heavy scenes that lean heavily on Victor’s shoulders, such as Agnes first telling best friend Lydie (Naomi Ackie) about the sexual assault. In these sequences, Victor keeps viewers glued to the screen based on their authentically jagged line deliveries. 

Given how often “good acting” is codified as meaning excessive prosthetics or “Method” nonsense, Victor relying on intimacy and raw vulnerability is extraordinarily welcome. With minimal tools, they render Agnes as a three-dimensional human being who’s funny, a sucker for cats, traumatized, and literature-fixated. All these nuances and more come through in Victor’s unforgettable work, particularly in the film’s quietly devastating ending.

If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual assault, help is available. Visit the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network website or contact RAINN’s National Helpline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673).