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

So you’re stuck in scrolling purgatory again, huh? Endlessly thumbing through Netflix, 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.

What We Leave Behind (2022)

This one’s quiet in the best way. What We Leave Behind follows director Iliana Sosa’s grandfather, Julián, as he builds a house in rural Mexico—slowly, methodically, brick by brick. It’s a home he may never live in, but that doesn’t seem to matter. The act of building is the point. And the film, much like Julián, takes its time, unfolding like a long conversation you don’t want to end.

There’s no big drama here, just moments—his long bus rides to visit family in Texas, the way he talks about the past, the space he holds for what’s unsaid. Sosa stays mostly behind the camera, but you can feel her presence in every frame. It’s a love letter to her grandfather, yes, but also to memory, migration, and the quiet dignity of aging.

If you’re into films like Time or The Farewell—ones that sit with you long after the credits—you’ll want to carve out space for this one. It’s tender. It’s deeply human. And it reminds you that legacy isn’t always loud.

Descendant (2022)

Descendant doesn’t just tell a story—it helps uncover one. The film follows the residents of Africatown, Alabama, as they fight to preserve the memory of the Clotilda, the last known slave ship to arrive in the U.S. It’s about a community reclaiming its history, even when the country would rather forget it.

Director Margaret Brown lets the people lead here. It’s their voices, their grief, their pride that shapes the narrative. We hear from descendants of the survivors, local historians, activists—and we watch as the literal remains of the ship are pulled from the murky water like buried truth. It’s not just about a discovery. It’s about recognition, and what it means to finally be seen.

If you were moved by 13th or Time, this is in that same lineage—urgent, personal, and impossible to look away from. History isn’t in the past. It’s still breathing.

Sr. (2022)

This one’s a tribute, but not in a sappy, over-glossed way. Sr. is Robert Downey Jr.’s documentary about his father, the late Robert Downey Sr., and it’s as much about their complicated relationship as it is about art, aging, and the weirdness of watching someone fade while their work lives on.

It’s messy, heartfelt, and kind of meta—Downey Jr. interviews his dad while also making a film about making the film, if that makes sense. But what really sticks is the vulnerability. You feel the love between them, but also the regret, the chaos, the jokes they tell to keep things from getting too heavy. It’s not about fixing anything. It’s about honoring what was.

If you’ve ever tried to understand your parents through their stories—or their silences—this one will hit you. It’s raw, a little strange, and absolutely worth sitting with.

El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie (2019)

If Breaking Bad ended with a bang, El Camino is the long exhale after. This is Jesse Pinkman’s epilogue—a slow, tense road trip through trauma, guilt, and whatever “freedom” means after everything he’s been through. It doesn’t try to outdo the show. It just gives Jesse the space to finally run.

Aaron Paul slips back into the role like no time has passed. He’s quieter now, but you can still see the rage and panic flickering under the surface. Vince Gilligan keeps things tight and stylish—there are flashbacks, familiar faces, and a few classic Breaking Bad set pieces—but it’s mostly just Jesse, trying to get out in one piece.

If you were all in on Breaking Bad, this is a satisfying send-off. Not essential, maybe. But deeply earned. It’s like one last nightcap with a character you weren’t ready to let go of.

Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping (2016)

This one’s ridiculous—and absolutely knows it. Popstar follows Conner4Real (Andy Samberg, going full himbo) as he spirals from chart-topping fame to PR disaster, all while being trailed by a documentary crew. It’s This Is Spinal Tap for the Instagram age, and every joke lands because it’s only half exaggerating.

The Lonely Island guys know this world too well—boy bands, solo acts, fake feuds, awkward brand partnerships—and they skewer it all with love. The songs are absurd (“Equal Rights,” anyone?) but also genuinely catchy, and the celeb cameos come fast and wild. But beneath the autotune and spectacle, there’s a surprisingly sweet story about friendship and getting back to your roots.

If you missed this when it came out (a lot of people did), it’s absolutely worth doubling back. It’s sharp, hilarious, and weirdly heartfelt for a movie with a song called “Finest Girl (Bin Laden Song).” You’ve been warned.

Barry (2016)

Barry doesn’t try to mythologize young Barack Obama—it just follows him. Before the presidency, before the campaign speeches, he was a college kid in New York, figuring out where he fits. The film tracks him through dorm rooms, classrooms, parties, and long walks through Harlem, as he starts wrestling with race, class, and identity in real time.

Devon Terrell plays him with this quiet intensity—smart, observant, always a little removed from the moment he’s in. He’s not delivering any grand monologues. He’s listening, absorbing, trying to make sense of the contradictions around him. It’s subtle, and it works. There’s no big political reveal here, just a portrait of a guy trying to understand who he is and where he belongs.

If you liked Southside with You or Boyhood, this is in that zone—personal, contemplative, full of small moments that say more than speeches ever could. It’s not about where he ends up. It’s about how he started.

The Book of Clarence (2024)

This one’s wild—in the best way. The Book of Clarence drops you into biblical Jerusalem, but with a twist: LaKeith Stanfield plays a down-on-his-luck hustler who sees Jesus doing miracles and thinks, “I could do that.” So he does. Or at least, he tries to. What follows is a bold, messy, genre-bending ride that plays like Life of Brian with swagger and a killer soundtrack.

Director Jeymes Samuel (The Harder They Fall) isn’t playing by the usual rules here. This is part satire, part spiritual journey, part street-level parable. It jumps between tones—funny, reverent, chaotic—but somehow holds together, mostly thanks to Stanfield anchoring it with this mix of charm, grief, and genuine yearning. He’s not trying to be a savior. He just doesn’t want to feel invisible anymore.

If you like your faith stories weird, loud, and full of surprises, this one’s worth the trip. It’s not about religion—it’s about belief. In yourself, in something bigger, in second chances. And honestly? It’s a vibe.

Unicorn Store (2019)

Unicorn Store is what happens when a grown-up still kind of wants to live in a glittery Lisa Frank dream—but also has to pay rent. Brie Larson directs and stars as Kit, an art school dropout who’s floundering through life until a mysterious man (Samuel L. Jackson, in full sparkle mode) offers her a chance to adopt a real unicorn. Yes, really.

It sounds ridiculous, but it’s actually about something very real: that ache to feel special in a world constantly telling you to grow up and settle down. Kit isn’t delusional—she’s just holding onto wonder in a world that trades imagination for corporate jobs and muted tones. It’s sweet, a little messy, and completely earnest, in a way most movies are too cool to be anymore.

If Amélie met Frances Ha and wandered into a toy aisle, you’d get something close to this. Not for everyone, but if you’ve ever felt like you were out of place in your own life, this might hit harder than you expect.

Death to 2020 (2020)

This one is part roast, part therapy session. Death to 2020 is a fake documentary with real footage, recapping a year that felt like five crammed into one. Think talking heads, stock footage, and sarcastic voiceovers from Samuel L. Jackson, Hugh Grant, Lisa Kudrow, and more—everyone playing heightened caricatures of political pundits, “regular citizens,” and misinformed experts.

Created by the folks behind Black Mirror, it doesn’t hold back. From COVID to elections to Tiger King, it’s all in there—played for laughs, sure, but with an edge. Some jokes land harder than others, and yeah, it occasionally feels like Twitter with a production budget. But at its best, it captures that collective “what even was that?” vibe we all felt watching the news unravel every day.

If you lived through 2020 (and you did), this is like watching your brain try to process it all with a drink in hand and one eyebrow permanently raised. It’s not deep, but it knows it isn’t. Sometimes, that’s enough.

Inside (Bo Burnham, 2021)

Inside isn’t just a comedy special—it’s a breakdown with songs. Bo Burnham locked himself in a room during the pandemic and made something that’s part performance, part existential spiral, part brilliant self-portrait. No audience, no crew, just Bo, a camera, and every anxiety we all tried to suppress for a year and a half.

It’s funny, sure. But the laughter comes with a wince. One minute he’s singing about white women’s Instagram posts, the next he’s breaking down in a dimly lit corner while the camera just… sits there. The whole thing plays like a fever dream—edited with precision, but emotionally raw in a way that doesn’t feel staged. It’s art about isolation made in isolation, and you feel it.

If Black Mirror had a musical episode—or if your brain made a scrapbook of 2020’s emotional rollercoaster—it would look like this. Not easy to watch, but impossible to forget.

And That’s a Wrap

So yeah, that’s your Netflix lineup—ten films that actually say something. No filler, no background noise disguised as storytelling. Whether it’s a slow-burning family doc like What We Leave Behind or Bo Burnham spiraling into song in Inside, every one of these titles has a pulse. They’ve got something to show you, or say to you, or maybe just sit with you for a minute when you need it most.

You’ve got stories about legacy (Sr.), reinvention (The Book of Clarence), wild satire (Death to 2020, Popstar), and quiet identity shifts (Barry, Unicorn Store). Some will crack you up. Some will hit way too close. All of them are worth more than just a passive scroll-by. They’re the kind of picks that remind you why you love movies in the first place.

So if your queue’s been feeling a little stale, go ahead—refresh it. There’s something here for the thinkers, the feelers, the late-night watchers, and the emotionally fried. Pick one. Hit play. And let it land.