Written by Jax Warner. Graphic by Ananya Panchal.
What exactly makes an A24 movie feel like an A24 movie? I started thinking about this because I kept having the same reaction to completely different movies: this feels like an A24 movie. Sometimes it was the way a scene looked. Sometimes it was an uncomfortable character choice or a story that seemed determined to go somewhere I did not expect. Eventually, I started wondering if there was actually something behind that instinct or if “A24” had simply become shorthand for a certain kind of movie.
The more I thought about it, the more I noticed the same patterns showing up across movies that have very little else in common. A24-ness is not really a genre or a specific visual style. It is more of a filmmaking philosophy: take something familiar, push it somewhere strange, and trust the audience enough not to explain everything.
Take “Tony,” for example. On paper, it is a biopic about Anthony Bourdain, but it does not follow the conventions of a traditional one. Instead of trying to summarize an entire life, the film focuses on one formative summer in Providence in 1976, when a young Bourdain is still figuring out what he wants. He lies to his family, lies to Nancy (his crush), and lies to his chef, all while spending as much time as possible on a hammock. Yet the small moments when he is in the kitchen reveal something different. The film is less interested in the celebrity Bourdain became than the person he was before he knew where his life was going. That focus on one messy, life-changing period is part of what makes it feel so “A24:” it finds something bigger in a very specific moment.
“The Green Knight” does something similar with a story that already exists. I knew the legend of Gawain going into the film, but the movie turns that familiar story into something strange, quiet, and almost dreamlike. Gawain is not the traditional fearless knight; he spends much of the film confronting his own fear and wondering what it actually means to be honorable. The film’s landscapes and interiors look almost like paintings, while its silence makes the journey resemble a nightmare more than a traditional fantasy adventure. A24 does not need to explain every symbol or give Gawain an obvious heroic transformation. It trusts the audience to sit with the uncertainty.
That same willingness to make familiar ideas uncomfortable appears in “Midsommar.” What begins as a breakup story becomes a film about grief, isolation, and the desire to belong. Dani is surrounded by people who seem to understand her in ways Christian (her boyfriend) never does, which makes the Harga’s manipulation of her much more complicated. The horror also comes almost entirely in daylight: bright flowers, colorful costumes, and beautiful landscapes make the violence feel even more disturbing. Instead of relying on darkness and jumpscares, the film turns beauty itself into something unsettling. It asks the audience to understand Dani’s transformation without necessarily agreeing with it.
“The Drama” takes an even more absurd premise and grounds it in a difficult emotional question: can someone ever truly escape their worst moment? Emma and Charlie’s wedding week slowly falls apart after Charlie discovers Emma’s hidden past, and the film moves between dark comedy, romance, psychological thriller, and drama without settling comfortably into one genre. Much of the movie’s tension comes from simply watching these two people try to understand each other. It spends nearly two hours sitting in that discomfort, asking questions about forgiveness, trust, and whether one terrible action should define a person’s entire life. Even the film’s most visually striking moments, like Charlie standing in his suit covered in blood, are beautiful and horrifying at the same time.
“Primetime” takes that discomfort into the world of television and the internet. Its fictionalized version of “To Catch a Predator” uses the familiar Chris Hansen formula but turns the camera into something more threatening. Robert Pattinson’s performance stays close enough to the real Hansen to feel recognizable without becoming an imitation, while the framing often makes it seem as though we are the ones being caught. The film is interested in voyeurism, performance, and what happens when disturbing things become entertainment. Even if its humor does not provide much relief. Like “Midsommar” and “The Drama,” it keeps the audience on edge rather than offering an easy way out.
Then there is “Uncut Gems,” perhaps the clearest example of A24 turning a simple premise into an endurance test. Howard is constantly convinced that one more gamble will fix everything, even as every decision makes his situation worse. The movie throws us directly into his world through overlapping dialogue, crowded frames, bright screens, and constant movement. There is barely room to breathe, making the entire film resemble an anxiety attack. Howard is not particularly likeable, but A24 does not seem interested in making him likeable. Instead, the film immerses us in his increasingly desperate decision-making, capturing what it is like to be trapped inside his own cycle of self-destruction.
Looking at these movies together, I started noticing another pattern. Their characters are often caught somewhere between who they were and who they might become. Bourdain is trying to find out what he wants, Gawain is trying to understand what it means to be honorable, Dani is searching for somewhere to belong, Emma and Charlie are questioning whether they actually know each other, and Howard keeps convincing himself that his next decision will change everything. The central event in each movie becomes a turning point, even if the characters do not understand it at first.
That might be the closest thing to an A24 formula: take a recognizable story and make the audience experience it differently. The genre can change, the visual style can change, and the characters can change, but the willingness to unsettle its audience remains. A24 is willing to make a biopic about one summer instead of an entire life, turn a medieval legend into a quiet psychological nightmare, transform a breakup into a horror movie, and make a gambling story two hours of panic.
There is also something uniquely cultural about A24. The name itself has become shorthand for a certain kind of moviegoing taste. You can recognize the brand before you even know what the movie is about. “A24” has become less of a label and more of an expectation, one that audiences have learned to associate with movies that are strange, visually distinctive, emotionally complicated, or just a little disconcerting.
Maybe that is what “A24-ness” actually is. It is not one look, one genre, or one formula. It is the feeling that a movie will take something familiar, make it stranger, and refuse to tell you exactly how you are supposed to interpret it. I did not notice it because I was looking for a formula. I noticed it because, across completely different movies, I kept recognizing the same feeling.
