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

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

Downwind (2023)

This one’s infuriating—in the best, most necessary kind of way. Downwind pulls back the curtain on decades of U.S. nuclear testing in the Nevada desert, showing the very real, very human cost of what’s been swept under the rug. Cancer clusters. Contaminated land. Families decimated. And guess what? A lot of them were never told the truth.

Narrated by Martin Sheen, the doc brings in voices like Michael Douglas and survivors from the Shoshone Nation and beyond—people who didn’t volunteer to be part of history but got drafted into it anyway. There’s no dramatic score or flashy graphics. Just the haunting reality of what it means to live “downwind” from government experiments and lies.

If you’ve seen The Fog of War or The Devil We Know, you’ll feel that same tightness in your chest here. It’s sobering, but not hopeless. And it might make you want to scream—or do something.

The Booksellers (2019)

This one’s catnip for anyone who loves the smell of old books, and yeah, that’s a real thing. The Booksellers takes you inside the ultra-nerdy, ultra-specific world of rare book dealers in New York City. You’ve got obsessives, eccentrics, auction sharks, and dusty little shops that feel like time machines. And you want to hang out with every single one of them.

The doc doesn’t just celebrate the past—it wrestles with the future, too. What happens when no one under 40 wants a first edition? When Amazon eats your entire business model? There’s something kind of beautiful (and a little sad) about watching these collectors cling to physical objects in a world that keeps pushing toward digital everything.

If Helvetica or Obit hit you in that niche-documentary sweet spot, this one’s got your name written in the margins. It’s a love letter to stories—not just the ones we read, but the ones we hold in our hands.

Broken Memories (2017)

Broken Memories doesn’t reinvent the wheel—it just spins it with a little more heart. It’s about a man slowly losing himself to Alzheimer’s and the son who comes back to care for him, even though they’ve never really figured each other out. The story is simple, but the emotion hits deep. And not in a manipulative, cue-the-sad-piano way.

Rance Howard, in one of his final roles, brings this quiet dignity to the father character—equal parts warmth and confusion. It’s the kind of performance that sneaks up on you. Ivan Sergei plays the son with a mix of guilt, love, and frustration that feels incredibly lived-in, like someone who’s been showing up every day and still doesn’t know if he’s doing it right.

If Still Alice made you cry or Away from Her broke your heart, this one will sit with you. It’s small, sincere, and gently devastating.

California Typewriter (2016)

Yes, a whole movie about typewriters. And somehow, it’s kind of magic. California Typewriter is part tribute, part eulogy for a machine that once ruled the world—and still has a cult following among artists, writers, and the occasionally obsessive hoarder. (Looking at you, Tom Hanks.)

What makes it sing is the way it connects past and present. You’ve got old-school repairmen keeping the machines alive, and creatives like John Mayer and Sam Shepard talking about what the clack of keys means to them. It’s not nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake—it’s about the physicality of making things, of slowing down, of putting thought into every word.

If you loved Jiro Dreams of Sushi or Pressing On, you’ll vibe with this. It’s tactile, thoughtful, and weirdly emotional. A love story told in ink ribbons and bell chimes.

The Place of No Words (2019)

This one’s a fairy tale—but the kind that kind of hurts. The Place of No Words mixes fantasy with real-life grief as a father helps his young son make sense of death through an imagined world of sword fights and glowing forests. It’s ethereal, dreamlike, and yes, it’s going to break you a little.

What’s wild is that Mark Webber directed it, stars in it, and cast his real-life partner Teresa Palmer and their actual son Bodhi as the family onscreen. So when the emotions hit, they don’t feel acted—they feel felt. It’s a story about parenting in the face of something you can’t explain. About how we build myths to survive the truth.

If you liked A Monster Calls or The Tree of Life, this is in that same gentle, heartbreaking orbit. It’s about love, loss, and the language we invent to make the hard parts bearable.

Man from Reno (2014)

This one’s a slow-burn mystery that plays like a quiet page-turner. A Japanese crime novelist goes on the run from her own life and crosses paths with a small-town sheriff in Northern California. Then a mysterious man disappears, and things get twisty fast—but in that moody, atmospheric way that rewards patience over flash.

It’s noir, but not in the fedora-and-cigarette sense. More like lonely motels, cryptic clues, and characters who keep everything close to the chest. Ayako Fujitani is fantastic—cool, curious, a little haunted—and Pepe Serna, as the aging sheriff, brings this lived-in melancholy that gives the whole thing weight.

If Brick or The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo are your kind of jam, Man from Reno should be on your list. It’s got that vibe: mystery not just for the sake of plot, but as a way into identity, memory, and the stories we tell ourselves to feel safe.

11:55 (2016)

11:55 is a modern-day Western dressed up as a gritty street drama. A Marine comes home from war, hoping to go straight, but his past won’t let him. He’s got until the end of the day to figure out who he’s going to be—and whether he can outrun the people waiting for him to mess up again.

Victor Almanzar carries the whole thing with a kind of quiet intensity that makes you hold your breath. He’s not trying to be the hero—he’s just trying to survive, to do the right thing when that’s never been easy or clear. And the clock’s ticking. Literally.

If A History of Violence or Training Day hit you hard, you’ll vibe with this one. It’s tense, spare, and grounded in a very real kind of moral exhaustion. What happens when redemption means facing the thing you fear most? That’s the question here.

James White (2015)

This one’s rough—but in a raw, necessary way. James White follows a young guy spiraling through grief, rage, and emotional shutdown while caring for his terminally ill mother. There’s no sugar-coating, no character makeover, no Hallmark moment where it all comes together. It just hurts—and that’s what makes it real.

Christopher Abbott is a revelation. He plays James like a fuse that’s always half-lit—grieving, self-destructing, and completely overwhelmed. Cynthia Nixon, as his mom, is just devastating in the quietest way. Their scenes together feel like intrusions on something private and unbearably tender.

If Manchester by the Sea knocked the wind out of you, this one will too. It’s about how we show up when we have nothing left to give—and how sometimes that’s enough.

Ms. Purple (2019)

Ms. Purple is one of those small, deeply personal films that says more in a glance than most movies say in a monologue. Set in LA’s Koreatown, it centers on a young woman working in karaoke bars while caring for her dying father. When her estranged brother comes back into the picture, everything starts to shift—slowly, painfully, honestly.

Tiffany Chu is magnetic. Her character, Kasie, barely says what she feels, but you see it all—the guilt, the exhaustion, the flickers of hope. And Justin Chon directs with this soft, empathetic eye that lets everything breathe. There’s no manufactured drama. Just life, in all its beautiful and messy contradictions.

If you liked Columbus or The Farewell, you’re in the right neighborhood. It’s about family ties, unspoken grief, and the kind of love that never says the right thing—but still shows up.

Never Rarely Sometimes Always (2020)

This one hits like a gut punch in slow motion. Never Rarely Sometimes Always follows a 17-year-old girl who travels from rural Pennsylvania to New York City to get an abortion. She’s quiet, determined, and way too young to be dealing with this alone—but that’s the point. The film doesn’t preach. It just shows you.

Sidney Flanigan is incredible in her debut. She barely speaks, but every expression is loaded. There’s one scene—if you’ve seen it, you know—where she answers a series of questions in a clinic. That scene alone should’ve won every award. No music. No edits. Just truth.

If 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days or Wendy and Lucy left you emotionally wrecked, this one’s in that same lane. Quiet, honest, unflinching. It doesn’t ask for your opinion. It just tells a story—and it stays with you.

And That’s a Wrap

So here’s the thing—none of these films are flashy. You won’t find capes, car chases, or three-act redemption arcs tied up with a bow. But what you do get? Real people. Real stakes. Stories that live in the in-between spaces—the stuff most movies skip over because it’s too quiet, too messy, too hard to sell.

You’ve got a grieving son trying not to implode (James White), a Korean American caretaker clinging to dignity in the face of silence (Ms. Purple), and a teenager navigating a broken system with nothing but grit (Never Rarely Sometimes Always). Even the genre pieces (Man from Reno, 11:55) are more about the emotional cost of choices than the thrill of the setup.

The thread running through all of them? Intimacy. These films don’t shout—they sit with you. They ask you to listen, to look closer, to stay a little longer. And honestly, if you let them in, they don’t leave. So yeah, your queue just got deeper—and maybe a little heavier. But trust me: it’s worth it.