2007 / Frank Durabont > I assume this was meant to be some sort of a conceit upon humanity, but it’s effectively a well-directed, technically apt version of an average Twilight Zone episode. The fact that it’s executed well doesn’t excuse its weak foundation and an ending that’s downright shameless. Apparently it deviates slightly from the ambiguous version that Stephen King originally penned, but it does make me wonder just how much better a film it would have been.

2007 / Andrew Dominik > I’ve never seen Chopper, but if this is what Dominik is capable of, then Cormac McCarthy’s Cities of the Plain is in great hands. The term “lush” isn’t one you would usually use to describe a Western, but somehow Dominik and cinematographer-extraordinaire Roger Deakins brings that sort of vibrancy to the era heretofore unseen. For its 160 minute running time, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is an immensely watchable picture that rarely tires, and in fact accelerates into the final 20 minute homestretch. Much of this is driven by the awkward and solemn performance by Casey Affleck in his Oscar-nominated role for Ford. He outshines Brad Pitt at every step, though one could argue this was not an acting film. It was about the mood, the feeling, the drama and the mythology.

2008 / David Zucker > This was a chance for the right to satirize the left in the mainstream market. It had over 1,600 theatres in its widest release, a number generally saved for moderately marketed studio pictures and often guaranteeing superior exposure to the rest of the industry. And opening right before the elections was the best timing it could have gotten to give McCain that slight edge. But no, leave it to Zucker to shit the can once again. It can now be understood that Airplane! was a fluke (and BASEketball was more Trey Parker and Matt Stone than him). He, Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer have become the bane of Hollywood. But we can only blame them so much if the tickets continue to sell. Unfortunately, there’s a market for those who find Judd Apatow to be too highbrow, and there’s not much anyone can do about that. Nonetheless, An American Carol is lazy and insulting. It makes Uwe Boll’s Postal look like a modern day Jonathan Swift work. Ignore it, and leave Zucker to wonder why the film did so bad at the box office. Leave him wondering so he never releases another film again.

2008 / Darren Aronofsky > Over the years, I’ve not been a huge fan of Aronofsky. Requiem for a Dream has aged worse than almost any film (with arguably the exception of The Matrix) in the past decade. The quick cuts and screeching sounds have been done and done again, and once you remove all that, so much of what made that film work goes away. But in The Wrestler, he’s come forth to show that he can create a work of emotional resonance, one that knows how to tell a good story without the gimmickry and flashes. It’s impressive, especially when you realize that wrestling is a “sport” that’s mocked and doubted, but somehow the film makes us feel for both the rookies and veterans of the game. Lives have dreams, and while not every dream matches our individual expectations, they are valid, fulfilling dreams nonetheless.

And who better to bring all of this to life than Mickey Rourke? Actually, most people would have had a million other preferences beforehand, but Rourke’s performance should set all of that to bay. Aronofsky took chances with his casting here (especially after the potential debacle this may be been with role originally going to Nicolas Cage), but it’s obviously paid out in spades. It’s hard to gauge how much of this is acting, and how much of it is Rourke dipping into his soul, trying desperately to redeem himself in his own eyes and those of the world. It’s a spectacle of sorts. The long shot of him walking into the deli is easily one of the best scenes in 2008 cinema. With all due respect to Sean Penn in Milk, no other performances this year dominated a film as Rourke here and Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight.

2008 / Courtney Hunt > So glad to see Hunt and lead Melissa Leo get proper acknowledgment from the Academy. Slipping under the radar of most moviegoers, Frozen River is a surprising and equally as effective drama with an element of crime that does an excellent job of objective storytelling. The script deals with morality and ethnic boundaries in the most delicate manner while holding no punches. The characters are fleshed out, the plot developed and the tension builds steadily. I can only imagine how much better a film Gran Torino would have been if it had taken some notes from this instead of hurling heavy-handed stereotypes and amateur acting onto the screen. In a year where studio films have dominated, this is a proud accomplishment from the indie scene.

2008 / Kelly Reichardt > Michelle Williams gives a terrific performance in her portrayal of a twenty-something in search for a new life, but with complications of love and loss in between. But this love and loss is more specifically symbolized by her dog, Lucy. Whether you own a dog or not, the metaphor works on many levels, but unfortunately what doesn’t work for me is the final punch. It’s tender but unlike the pull that Gran Torino had, where I’d become entangled with the characters (regardless of the film’s fundamentals), here I just couldn’t care by the end. Maybe I’ve become a bit cynical with this style of filmmaking, but it tends to be very hit or miss for me. It is a style that should get its due of respect, but nobody should be forced into liking it.

2008 / Clint Eastwood > Eastwood’s farewell to acting is as polarizing a film he’s ever made. His portrayal of a seemingly racist Korean War veteran is reminiscent of his gritty facade in Dirty Harry, in ways that Gran Torino essentially becomes Finding Forrester with a shotgun. The story isn’t innovative nor is it particularly well-written, and a lot of the supporting actors are mediocre at best. The dialogue often seems elementary in its cultural naivety, though it does try to educate. (And there’s absolutely no reason the young Hmong brother should have any accent at all.) But whatever regurgitated parable about race relations and family life this is supposed to be, somehow, someway, Eastwood succeeds in packing in the kind of punch where it’s hard not to be affected by the end, even if you feel deftly manipulated.