The Best Sci-Fi Movies of 2020
    
By Paste Movies  |  December 12, 2020  |  2:28pm
    
  
  
    
The havoc wreaked upon studios by the pandemic pileup of 2020 has
 landed on some genres harder than others. After all, the bigger the 
budget, the more relied upon the traditional box office return. Warner 
Bros.’ controversial “to HBO Max we go!” decision
 aside, that’s meant many a likely blockbuster involving secret agents 
and superheroes have been delayed until 2021 (and plenty of 2021 films 
pushed back to 2022). Science fiction movies—especially ones aspiring to
 blow minds and inspire repeat theatrical viewings—are up there when it 
comes to production and promotion outlays, so it shouldn’t come as a 
surprise that a roundup of the best sci-fi of 2020 comes in rather 
sparse and indie-centric. That’s especially the case if one excludes 
movies that technically could be argued as sci-fi when they’re really pretty much not. (We see you, Palm Springs.)
 That doesn’t mean there aren’t a few movies on this list that might be 
excluded on core genre grounds in other years, but, in general, if you 
want to make sure you’ve supped on the best sci-fi movies 2020 had to 
offer, we’ve got you covered. (And if you’d like to tackle the genre as a
 whole, Paste’s 100 Best Sci-Fi Movies of All Time would be a good place to start.)
    

      Here are our picks for the best sci-fi movies of the year:
    

    

    


    

      9. A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
The second Aardman film featuring the smirking, chuckling lil’ scamp Shaun the Sheep, A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon takes all the painstakingly lovely claymation of the studio’s previous film and its Wallace and Gromit and Chicken Run-filled
 filmography (which see cameos over the course of the media-stuffed 
movie) and gives it a broad coat of sci-fi paint. The resulting 
slapstick, which sees cute baby alien Lu-La stumble onto Mossy Bottom 
Farm, traverses territory familiar to any fan of the genre while making 
it accessible to everyone—think of it like a hilarious silent comedy 
giving young kids a piggyback ride through the likes of E.T., Close Encounters, and The X-Files.
 Helmers Richard Phelan and Will Becher keep things lively and sharp, 
with a rollicking pace and diverse antics that are as timeless, 
hilarious, and age-agnostic as the work of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. 
Just fluffier.
    

      Farmageddon even taps a bit into a Pixar-esque message 
system (albeit a simpler theme targeted towards a younger set) about 
kindness and empathy regardless of differences. It’s a soft and simple 
movie, with much more in common with the easygoing vibe of kid’s 
animated TV rather than the sharpest of British comedy, but it’s one 
that’s completely enjoyable—and that’s a rarity for any film, let alone 
one basically guaranteed to put at least one livestock-driven smile on 
your face. —Jacob Oller
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      8. Vivarium
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
A quirky real estate story, where first-time homeowners Tom 
(Jesse Eisenberg) and Gemma (Imogen Poots) get a lot more than they 
bargained for, Vivarium is a low-key sci-fi nightmare of the 
mundane in the vein of early David Cronenberg. Director Lorcan 
Finnegan’s film also functions as a relationship allegory, where Tom and
 Gemma find themselves stuck in a trendy neighborhood of cookie-cutter 
homes where starting a family isn’t just an expectation but something 
foisted upon them. It isn’t as grisly as something like Shivers, 
but more affecting in its surreal design and hopelessness. Eisenberg and
 Poots own the screen as a disintegrating couple coping in distinct ways
 to their newfound terrarium where they are observed, manipulated, 
and—perhaps most disturbingly of all—objectively provided for by unseen 
and undefinable forces. Its 2020 release feels especially fitting as 
repetition and hopelessness become permanent residents of the couple’s 
home. Genre elements seep into the film, accelerating in hiccups and 
starts that are as arresting as the film’s intentionally artificial 
design. Startling sound dubbing, odd colorizing, and a few genuine “Oh 
shit” moments make Vivarium a tight, nasty fable that would fit in with the best Twilight Zone episodes. —Jacob Oller
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      7. Bill & Ted Face the Music
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
Our enjoyment of Bill & Ted Face the Music may only be
 the direct result of living with a kind of background-grade dread for 
what feels like the whole of our adult lives. Those of us who will seek 
out and watch this third movie in the Most Excellent Adventures of Bill 
S. Preston, Esq. (Alex Winter) and Ted (Theodore) Logan (Keanu Reeves) 
are bound by nostalgia as much as a desire to suss out whatever scraps 
of joy can be found buried in our grim, harrowing reality. Sometimes, 
death and pain is unavoidable. Sometimes it just feels nice to lounge 
for 90 minutes in a universe where when you die you and all your loved 
ones just go to Hell and all the demons there are basically polite 
service industry workers so everything is pretty much OK. Cold comfort 
and mild praise, maybe, but the strength of Dean Parisot’s go at the 
Bill & Ted saga is its laid-back, low-stakes nature, wherein even 
the murder robot (Anthony Carrigan, the film’s luminous guiding light) 
sent to lazer Bill and Ted to death quickly becomes their friend while 
Kid Cudi is the duo’s primary source on quantum physics. Because why? It
 doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. There may be some symbolic heft to 
Bill and Ted reconciling with Death (William Sadler) in Hell; there may 
be infinite universes beyond our own, entangled infinitely. Cudi’s game 
for whatever. 
    
A sequel of rare sincerity, Bill & Ted Face the Music 
avoids feeling like a craven reviving of a hollowed-out IP or a cynical 
reboot, mostly because its ambition is the stuff of affection—for what 
the filmmakers are doing, made with sympathy for their audience and a 
genuine desire to explore these characters in a new context. Maybe 
that’s the despair talking. Or maybe it’s just the relief of for once 
confronting the past and finding that it’s aged considerably well. —Dom Sinacola
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      6. The Invisible Man
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
Aided by elemental forces, her exquisitely wealthy boyfriend’s 
Silicon Valley house blanketed by the deafening crash of ocean waves, 
Cecilia (Elisabeth Moss) softly pads her way out of bed, through the 
high-tech laboratory, escaping over the wall of his compound and into 
the car of her sister (Harriet Dyer). We wonder: Why would she run like 
this if she weren’t abused? Why would she have a secret compartment in 
their closet where she can stow an away bag? Then Cecilia’s boyfriend 
appears next to the car and punches in its window. His name is Adrian 
Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), and according to Cecilia, Adrian made a 
fortune as a leading figure in “optics” (OPTICS!) meeting the 
self-described “suburban girl” at a party a few years before. Never one 
to be subtle with his themes, Leigh Whannell has his villain be a genius
 in the technology of “seeing,” in how we see, to update James 
Whale’s 1933 Universal Monster film—and H.G. Wells’ story—to embrace 
digital technology as our primary mode of modern sight. Surveillance 
cameras limn every inch of Adrian’s home; later he’ll use a simple email
 to ruin Cecilia’s relationship with her sister. He has the money and 
resources to peer into any corner of Cecilia’s life. His gaze is 
unbroken. Cecilia knows that Adrian will always find her, and The Invisible Man
 is rife with the abject terror of such vulnerability. Whannell and 
cinematographer Stefan Duscio have a knack for letting their frames 
linger with space, drawing our attention to where we, and Cecilia, know 
an unseen danger lurks. Of course, we’re always betrayed: Corners of 
rooms and silhouette-less doorways aren’t empty, aren’t negative,
 but pregnant with assumption—until they aren’t, the invisible man never
 precisely where we expect him to be. We begin to doubt ourselves; we’re
 punished by tension, and we feel like we deserve it. It’s all pretty 
marvelous stuff, as much a well-oiled genre machine as it is yet another
 showcase for Elisabeth Moss’s herculean prowess. —Dom Sinacola
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      5. Sputnik
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
The good news is that, three years later, at least one of Alien’s
 descendants have figured out that borrowing from its forebear makes far
 more sense than lazily aping Scott, which explains in part why Egor 
Abramenko’s Sputnik works so well: It’s Alien-esque, 
because any film about governments and corporations using unsuspecting 
innocents as vessels for stowing extraterrestrial monsters for either 
weaponization or monetization can’t help evoke Alien. Abramenko has that energy. Sputnik’s
 style runs somewhere in the ballpark of unnerving and unflappable: The 
movie doesn’t flinch, but makes a candid, methodical attempt at making 
the audience flinch instead, contrasting high-end creature FX against a 
lo-fi backdrop. Until the alien makes its first appearance slithering 
forth from the prone Konstantin’s mouth, Sputnik’s set dressing 
suggests a lost relic from the 1980s. But the sophistication of the 
creature’s design, a crawling, semi-diaphanous thing that’s coated in 
layers of sputum equally audible and visible, firmly anchors the film to
 2020. Let the new pop cultural dividing line be drawn there. —Andy Crump
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      4. Bacurau
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
Brazilian directors Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelle’s Bacurau
 begins with a woman named Teresa (Bárbara Colen) being driven down a 
winding mountain road with sweeping swathes of lush greenery below. 
Suddenly, a splintered wooden casket appears in the middle of the 
asphalt. After the driver swerves to avoid it, there is another one. And
 another. Soon, broken caskets litter the entire road. The cause of the 
coffin calamity is revealed when Teresa sees that an open-back truck 
transporting caskets has collided into the mountainside, killing its 
passengers. The scene is oddly pleasant, though, as opportunists have 
quickly begun selling off the least damaged goods to a line of 
passersby, both seeming giddy about the exchange. Death is pervasive in 
the film, but it is often funny, and coincidentally Teresa is on her way
 to a funeral. Her grandmother—the beloved matriarch of Bacurau, a small
 Brazilian village where she grew up—has died. The entire town mourns 
her death, oblivious to the fact that their little village is slowly, 
literally, being erased from the face of the earth. Here, what has 
seemed like a horror film morphs into a weird Western that incorporates 
psychoactive flora, a seemingly benign history museum, and even an 
apparition or two. That’s not even counting the UFO. Bacurau is 
wildly creative, and its hilarious, Dadaist aura provides an uncanny 
comfort despite ample bloodshed. This is not to say that it’s without 
heart-wrenching loss and tearful contemplation of a world on fire. It’s 
clear that there is no space for moral ambiguity in this film. In 
reality, the Amazon is ablaze, rampant inequality festers and indigenous
 populations are displaced all for the net benefit of the ruling class. Bacurau is a long overdue neo-colonial revenge fantasy. —Natalia Keogan
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      3. Possessor
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
The barren, lonely, modest urban landscapes of Brandon Cronenberg’s Possessor
 reflect a familiar perspective. Brandon is, as you either already know 
or have surely guessed, David’s son; he shares his father’s interest in 
corporeal grotesquery, physical transformation representing mental 
transformation, and an unnerving, topical preoccupation with viruses. 
Brandon cuts deeper than daddy, though, if not (yet) with the same 
incisiveness, then with a clinical precision that only intensifies the 
oneiric oddness coursing intractably through Possessor.
    
This disturbing horror/thriller follows Tasya (Andrea 
Riseborough), an assassin working for a shady organization that carries 
out its hits via remote cerebral link between assassin and unwitting 
host—in this case Colin (Christopher Abbott). Cronenberg charts a 
horrific journey from mind to mind, plotted along neural pathways but 
predictably expressed along physical routes. It veers off into an 
arterial journey, the narrow vessels containing the stuff of life—and 
death—in a larger body. The film has the feel of a grand sci-fi 
spectacle shrunk down to a dark, dingy miniature; its crude efficiency 
belies the potency of Cronenberg’s ruminations on the theme of a foreign
 invader corrupting a wayward soul in a poisonous society.—Paddy Mulholland
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      2. Tenet
    

    

    


      

      
    
    
A classic Christopher Nolan puzzle box, at first glance Tenet is a lot like Inception.
 The central conceit that powers it is both cerebral and requires 
copious on-screen exposition. There’s nothing inherently wrong with 
this. Nolan’s films always have at least one person trying to get their 
head around what exactly is going on, and it makes sense the audience 
would be as confused as the Protagonist (John David Washington), 
especially early on. Also, as with Inception, Tenet is 
basically a series of heists—smaller puzzle boxes within the larger 
one—which means while the viewer may not understand exactly what’s going
 on big picture, they will find the immediate action briskly 
paced and compellingly presented. Still, despite a compelling 
performance from Kenneth Branagh as antagonist Andrei Sator, the 
cerebral underpinnings and and even as the exact mechanics of this 
particular puzzle may demand more from the filmmaker than the audience, 
no amount of painstakingly crafted “time-inverted” action sequences nor 
Ludwig Göransson’s sweeping score can fill that hole occupied by a 
sympathetic main character, which Tenet lacks. None of this rests on Washington. Past Nolan protagonists like McConaughey (Interstellar), Pearce (Memento) and DiCaprio (Inception)
 not only had actual names, they had relatable motives and discernible 
emotional arcs. And though personal growth and emotional depth are 
hardly necessary ingredients in a spy thriller—just look at Bond, 
classic Bond—with so much else about Nolan’s script a mental exercise 
made real, some emotional stakes would be helpful to bring it alive. 
That might keep Tenet from the #1 slot on this year’s Best Sci-Fi
 list, but it shouldn’t keep lovers of the genre from seeing the only 
big budget science fiction to debut in theaters in 2020. —Michael Burgin
    
      
        
      
    
    

    

      1. The Vast of Night
    

    

    


      

      
    
    

      The Vast of Night is the kind of sci-fi film that seeps 
into your deep memory and feels like something you heard on the news, 
observed in a dream, or were told in a bar. Director Andrew Patterson’s 
small-town hymn to analog and aliens is built from long, talky takes and
 quick-cut sequences of manipulating technology. Effectively a ‘50s 
two-hander between audio enthusiasts (Sierra McCormick and Jake Horowitz
 playing a switchboard operator and disc jockey, respectively) the film 
is a quilted fable of story layers, anecdotes and conversations stacking
 and interweaving warmth before yanking off the covers. The 
effectiveness of the dusty locale and its inhabitants, forged from a 
high school basketball game and one-sided phone conversations (the 
latter of which are perfect examples of McCormick’s confident 
performance and writers James Montague and Craig W. Sanger’s sharp 
script), only makes its inevitable UFO-in-the-desert destination even 
better. Comfort and friendship drop in with an easy swagger and a 
torrent of words, which makes the sensory silence (quieting down to 
focus on a frequency or dropping out the visuals to focus on a single, 
mysterious radio caller) almost holy. It’s mythology at its finest, an 
origin story that makes extraterrestrial obsession seem as natural and 
as part of our curious lives as its many social snapshots. The beautiful
 ode to all things that go [UNINTELLIGIBLE BUZZING] in the night is an 
indie inspiration to future Fox Mulders everywhere. —Jacob Oller