Top 10 Movies To Watch This Week on Apple TV | June 8-14, 2025

So you’re stuck in scrolling purgatory again, huh? Endlessly thumbing through Apple TV, hoping something jumps out. We’ve been there. That’s why we pulled together the Top 10 Movies you would actually want to watch this week—no fluff, no filler. Whether you’re into thrillers, rom-coms, or indie gems, there’s something worth hitting play on. Here’s your movie cheat sheet for June 8-12, 2025—because your time is too valuable for another “meh” movie night.

A Bit of Light (2022)

Anna Paquin plays Ella, a woman trying to put her life back together after losing custody of her kids, and the whole film sort of breathes in that quiet in-between space. She’s sober now, technically “doing better,” but the damage is fresh—and complicated. Her dad (Ray Winstone) wants her to snap back into shape, while an unexpected connection with a neighbor’s kid slowly pulls her toward something resembling hope.

It’s all very still, very subtle. There aren’t any big, dramatic confrontations—just a woman waking up every day and trying not to fall apart. The performances do most of the heavy lifting here. Paquin gives Ella this raw, unvarnished honesty, and Winstone plays a father who clearly cares but doesn’t always know how to show it without making things worse.

If you’re into stories about second chances that don’t come wrapped in sentimentality—more Mike Leigh, less Lifetime drama—A Bit of Light might really work for you. It doesn’t beg for your sympathy. It just earns it, little by little.

A Most Beautiful Thing (2020)

This doc sneaks up on you. On the surface, it’s about the first all-Black high school rowing team in the U.S., born on the West Side of Chicago. But within the first few minutes, you realize it’s about so much more—trauma, resilience, brotherhood, and what it means to break cycles without breaking yourself.

Director Mary Mazzio lets the men tell their own stories, and it’s hard not to be moved by the way they reflect on their pasts—some were in gangs, some in prison, most raised in environments that didn’t exactly promote trust or teamwork. And then they start rowing. Together. The metaphor isn’t subtle, but it works. Common narrates with just the right amount of presence—never overbearing, always grounded.

If you liked Hoop Dreams or The Work, this is in that emotional neighborhood. It’s not just a sports movie. It’s a survival story.

Notice to Quit (2024)

Notice to Quit is a mess—in a good way. Michael Zegen plays Andy, a washed-up musician who suddenly finds himself full-time parenting a child he barely knows. It’s not a sentimental “learning to love again” arc. It’s chaotic, awkward, funny in that “please don’t look at me while I cry” kind of way.

The movie doesn’t try to make Andy lovable. He’s overwhelmed, underprepared, and constantly saying the wrong thing. But there’s something honest about the way he stumbles forward anyway. Kasey Bella Suarez is great as Anna, the kid in question—smart enough to see through him, kind enough not to say it out loud. Their dynamic isn’t precious. It’s prickly, with just enough warmth to keep you hopeful.

Think Kramer vs. Kramer by way of Atlanta. If you like your family dramas rough around the edges and allergic to cliches, this one’s worth watching.

The Evening Hour (2020)

The Evening Hour doesn’t come in loud—but it lingers. It’s set deep in Appalachia, where Cole works as a health aide by day and quietly slings pills on the side. He tells himself it’s not a big deal—just helping folks get by, not getting rich or anything. But you can feel that tension building under the surface, even when no one says a word.

What makes it hit is all the gray. Cole wants to be the good guy, the one who’s holding it together while everything around him falls apart. But when an old friend shows up and the opioid crisis closes in, that whole illusion starts to crack. Philip Ettinger nails the role—he’s smart, sad, and always looks like he’s carrying too much without ever saying so.

If Winter’s Bone or Leave No Trace hit you in the gut, this one’s in that same emotional zip code. It’s slow, heavy, and honest—less about what people do, more about what they live with.

Smoking Tigers (2023)

 

Smoking Tigers doesn’t shout—it whispers. And somehow, that hits harder. It’s about Hayoung, a Korean American teenager caught between two worlds: a prep school full of pressure and polish, and a home life that’s messy, splintered, and full of things no one really talks about. There’s no big meltdown, no perfect resolution. Just the quiet, constant tension of trying to be everything for everyone.

Ji-young Yoo absolutely crushes this role. She holds so much in—every glance, every pause, every forced smile feels like it’s carrying ten years of bottled-up stuff. The film doesn’t over-explain. It just sits with her, watches her drift, lets the loneliness speak for itself. It’s full of those tiny moments—missed calls, silent dinners, a kid figuring out how to disappear in plain sight.

If The Farewell or Aftersun hit you in that tender, too-close-to-home kind of way, this one’s going to stay with you. It’s quiet, aching, and deeply real—the kind of story that doesn’t need to yell to leave a bruise.

Holler (2020)

Set in a crumbling Ohio town, Holler is about a girl named Ruth trying to claw her way out. She takes a job scrapping metal with her brother to afford college—illegal work, dangerous work—but what else is there? It’s survival, not ambition. Jessica Barden plays Ruth with this sharp, restless energy, like she’s always vibrating with everything she’s not allowed to say.

What hits hardest is how matter-of-fact the film is about poverty. There’s no melodrama, no sweeping music cues telling you to feel something. Just fluorescent light, frozen dinners, and the grind of trying to do better when the world keeps handing you less. You don’t watch Holler for twists. You watch it for truth.

It sits comfortably next to films like American Honey or Frozen River—raw, regional, deeply felt. If you grew up in a place where dreams felt like luxuries, this one might stick with you.

All the World Is Sleeping (2021)

Melissa Barrera goes all in with All the World Is Sleeping, and the result is raw. She plays Chama, a mother battling addiction and the weight of everything she’s inherited—poverty, trauma, silence. This isn’t some redemption arc with a big third-act breakthrough. It’s messier than that. More honest, too.

The film blends naturalistic drama with surreal, dreamlike sequences—like you’re watching Chama’s memories and regrets collide in real time. Some moments are hard to watch, but that’s kind of the point. Barrera carries it with a quiet, simmering intensity that makes you root for her, even when she’s falling apart.

If Requiem for a Dream had more heart and less horror, or if you liked A Love Song for Latasha, you’ll feel this one. It’s not trying to fix anything—it’s just trying to be heard.

Girls State (2024)

Girls State is exactly what it sounds like—and also nothing like you’d expect. It drops you into a weeklong political bootcamp where teenage girls try to build a government from scratch. Think Model UN meets real-world stakes. It’s funny, chaotic, a little inspiring, and a little terrifying.

What makes it work is how seriously the film takes its subjects. These aren’t “future leaders”—they’re already sharp, frustrated, and politically engaged right now. Some are dreaming of office, others are just trying to be heard in a room full of louder voices. Directors Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss don’t push an agenda—they just let the girls speak, and it’s fascinating.

If you liked Boys State (same team) or Knock Down the House, you’ll love this. It’s hopeful and messy and refreshingly unfiltered. Watching these girls navigate power? Honestly, it might restore a little of your faith.

What You Wish For (2023)

This one’s a slow-burn thriller with a really dark heart. Nick Stahl plays a down-on-his-luck chef who takes on a dead man’s identity and ends up in a luxurious gig that quickly turns sinister. At first it’s all sharp knives and lavish dinner parties—but there’s something rotten under the surface, and you can feel it creeping in.

The vibe is slick but grimy, like The Menu met Parasite in a locked room. Stahl gives a quietly desperate performance that keeps you guessing—is he a victim, a villain, or just in way over his head? There’s tension in every scene, even when nothing’s technically happening. That’s how you know it’s working.

If you’re into thrillers where the dread builds by the minute, this one’s a hidden gem. It doesn’t scream—it just slowly tightens the screws until you can’t breathe.

Things Will Be Different (2024)

This is one of those sci-fi indies that sneaks up on you. It starts with a small-town heist gone wrong—two siblings on the run, desperate and out of options. And then, just when you think you’ve seen this story before, they find a time machine. Yeah. A time machine.

But Things Will Be Different doesn’t go full sci-fi spectacle. It stays grounded in the emotional fallout. Regret, guilt, the weird ache of getting a second chance and not knowing what to do with it. It’s lo-fi and moody, with a kind of stripped-down, analog vibe that makes the time travel stuff feel surprisingly intimate.

If Primer had feelings or Coherence took place in a cornfield, you’d get something like this. It’s about what you’d change if you could—but more importantly, why you might not.

And That’s a Wrap

So yeah, this batch isn’t playing it safe—and thank God for that. You’ve got teenage girls building a government (Girls State), a prep school outsider trying to keep it together (Smoking Tigers), and a washed-up chef wandering into a nightmare dressed like a dream (What You Wish For). Nobody’s coasting. Everyone’s wrestling with something.

There’s slow-burn heartbreak (All the World Is Sleeping), lo-fi time travel with real emotional teeth (Things Will Be Different), and small-town survival stories like The Evening Hour and Holler that feel like they’ve been lived, not written. Even Notice to Quit throws a messy, honest spin on fatherhood without trying to turn it into a Hallmark card.

The through-line? All of these are about people trying to figure out who they are in moments that don’t come with easy answers. Some fight. Some run. Some just keep waking up and hoping tomorrow feels different. So whether you want to feel seen, gutted, inspired, or just shaken out of autopilot—there’s something here that’ll land.