1962 / Stanley Kubrick > Say what you want about the Hays Code, but Lolita is a clear example of where it worked wonders: Kubrick was forced to adapt Nabokov's classic for the screen with a level of creative subtlety that allowed its sexual proclivity to be hidden in plain sight. As the word "Lolita" itself has become part of our everyday vocabulary, it's now nearly impossible to go into the film with any expectation of shock. Thus the film not doling around on the erotic and, instead, focusing on the madman-at-hand actually benefits the storytelling. Admittedly, it lacks the in-depth analysis of Humbert Humbert, played so tautly by James Mason, but what it leaves to our imagination is much more preferable. We're allowed to fill in the gaps of what kind of background forces upon an older man the preference of younger, so-called "nymphettes" instead of women of similar age.
Unlike the novel, which is written from the viewpoint of a highly unreliable, subjective narrator, the film takes a couple of steps back but still keeps us within arms' reach of the situation. Across from Mason, 16-year-old Sue Lyon's performance as the titular character is astounding in its sophistication. It's hard not to wonder if she's an older actress playing the part of the 14-year-old, but such is the effectiveness of her "range" that has the feel of anywhere from 13 to 25. All the while, there's something very contained in her sensibilities that makes us wonder how much of what we perceive in the film is morally apt. Nabokov was considerably more black and white about Humbert's nature of obsession, but Kubrick's not nearly as judgmental. And the film is better for it—even with Dr. Strangelove's forceful and unnecessary cameo.
2011 / J.C. Chandor > Actual Bloomberg terminals and financial terminology without explanations: Have we come this far in cinema? Can we actually approach Wall Street without caricaturing it? Chandor's one-night-before-the-crisis take of a fictional Bear Stearns-wannabe is a giant step in filmmaking. Finally, we have a thoughtful, deliberate film about the crisis without condescension or a moral high-ground. Amidst the cries of crowds at Occupy Wherever, we are charmed with a thriller that allows us to track the moment of discovery to the impending fallout, all while focusing on the humanity of the situation. It doesn't matter whether one is a socialist or a capitalist, the reality is that truth often gets pounded by hearsay as long as it serves a greater purpose. But every story has two sides, and Margin Call does its damnedest to tell both. Were it not for the gravely miscast Demi Moore and slightly heavy expository dialogue, this could really have been one for the books. Still, the film is a must-see for anyone trying to dig into the psyche of those who stood at the foundation of a crisis that some will never forgive.
1931 / Fritz Lang > How does M hold up to the test of time over similar cinema of the past (and recent times) that eventually fade from memory? Unlike others in the genre which have lost their luster due to overused plot twists, a simple sense of age or technical awkwardness, M stands firm because Lang's filming is claustrophobic but not overdone. His storytelling is imaginative but coherent. His treatment of the villain is respectful but not apologetic. In fact, it still supersedes most of its successors in terms of intelligence and overall composition.
Nowadays, tension in serial killer films seem necessary to be represented throughout the running time. However, in M, the great beauty is in its objectivity. The serial killer himself—and his capture—is only part of the game. The cops and robbers, the bystanders and victims, they all play a part in the total landscape without overshadowing the other. Moreover, it's impossible not to see what it's influenced (most notably, in my mind, was Sympathy for Lady Vengeance). Increasingly, this is one of the few classics where a modern remake would be interesting just to see if 80 years of technology and know-how could actually trump the original.
Originally posted on July 10, 2007 before inclusion into (Through Time).
#3: The Illusionist by Sylvain Chomet.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2010 / Sylvain Chomet > Charming. Heartbreaking. Wonderful. Chomet's follow-up to the brilliant The Triplets of Belleville isn't nearly as clever, but its story of lament and regret is equally as powerful. Originally written by iconic French filmmaker Jacques Tati in an attempt to reconciliate with an estranged daughter, L'illusionniste captures the kind of magic that cinema was always intended for. With almost no dialogue, Chomet is able to tug at our heartstrings with gorgeous, hand-drawn animation that transports us to a very different time and place. This isn't earth-shattering stuff, but there's something delightful in accompanying our magician in his twilight as he inadvertently becomes the guardian of a naive, young girl. His little tricks make us smile, but his inability to connect with the girl at a deeper level instills in us a tragic sense of eventuality. By not being explicit about their motivations, Chomet allows us approach the film how we choose. At a sparse 80 minutes, every scene is essential and none are heavy-hearted. Its beauty is in its simplicity, and it may be best watched on an overcast day as rain trickles down.
#4: White Material by Claire Denis.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2009 / Claire Denis > Cinema has rarely treated colonialism with an objective eye. Instant disdain has been nothing short of what's been expected in a society hellbent on correcting wrongs of the past by hurting the present and future. Everything from affirmative action in the United States to the black empowerment movement in South Africa has set us up for further clashes without actually understanding the roots of the troubles. Even the origins of something as ever-present as Islamic terrorism remain oblivious to much of society, but you can't always blame them for it. The job of the mass media is to enrich and educate the lives of those who come home from a hard day's work, but sensationalism has taken precedence in lieu of rational discourse.
So, where do we go from here? While PBS may be on its last legs, technological ease has paved the way for well-spirited blogs and open-minded films like White Material. Unlike the foundation of liberal guilt that pervaded Hotel Rwanda, Denis makes no apologies for what the white man has done to Africa. She accepts it as fact, but digs deeper into the mindset of those who stay behind when the proverbial revolution happens. How does one treat those who were born into colonial society? Do we look with contempt the second or third-generation offspring who've always considered the African soil their home?
White Material is rich with doubt: Will there be a tomorrow? Will we survive even if there is? Will we be wanted? It is Denis' elegy to colonialism and represents the darkest corners of The African Queen. Isabelle Huppert is magnificent as Maria Vial, a woman trying to keep her coffee plantation functioning while the world around her falls apart. The enemies are both within and without, with additional tension provided by Maria's disillusioned son (played by Nicolas Duvauchelle in one of the best supporting performances of 2010). This is a film that promotes understanding of a dying world, one that we've already been told is very, very bad. But not all people, even when part of a terrible injustice, are evil. Sometimes circumstance just kills.
#5: The Social Network by David Fincher.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2010 / David Fincher > Everything's been said about Fincher's take on Mark Zuckerberg and the birth of Facebook. Ambition, betrayal, Aaron Sorkin's biting dialogue—all these add to 8 Oscar nominations and near-universal acclaim. But sadly, The Social Network may be one of those films that feel so "important" that it's hard for any self-conscious viewer to admit in disliking it. It's technically sound filmmaking that lacks the heart which might propel The King's Speech to Best Picture. It's a film for those who thrive on competition and know, because of that drive, how easy it is to lose family and friends. It describes a culture all too common in upper academia of the northeast and Silicon Valley, where intelligence and wealth intersect in devastating fashion.
Jesse Eisenberg's Zuckerberg is cold, defensive. But what makes his Best Actor nomination worthy is the the vulnerability he shows throughout. It's amazing, in fact, how much one's insecurities actually work as a motivator. Whether the story's true or accurate doesn't actually matter, though. This is a movie; it's effectively fiction. And for that, Eisenberg, Andrew Garfield and Armie Hammer brilliantly bring to life the game's players with unique characteristics, often built on Sorkin's snarky writing. The much-lauded screenplay isn't perfect by any means. People don't talk in such witty quips, but thankfully Sorkin left out much of his liberal slant—there's a different kind of politics at play here.
Unusually, The Social Network works as a motivator as much as Rudy or Breaking Away. You watch these guys battle it out and wonder if you could have done the same. Maybe not everyone goes to an Ivy league school, but everyone has ideas. And it doesn't matter if you're in a small town in the corner of Idaho or at Harvard Square, these ideas can be put to work. The Internet has made anyone's ambition possible. And suddenly, in some way, in Zuckerberg, there's a bullseye to target.
#6: Blue Valentine by Derek Cianfrance.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2010 / Derek Cianfrance > A brutally honest dissection of a crumbling marriage. Young love, in and out of love. The process is painful, but what sets Blue Valentine apart from a pityfest is Cianfrance's ability to conjure the magical moments that made all the pain worth it. The cynic in me argues that romance is an ideal brought forth by the media for capitalist gain. But that's just silly: We all want to be loved, but it just so happens that we don't always know the best way to be loved. It's become a game of politics in the modern-age, driven at its core by the free flow of information and ease of physical travel: Twenty years ago, it was much harder to cheat on your husband. Now you can flirt all day as SxyGrl23 on a multitude of adult dating sites. And if someone catches your eye, Southwest Airlines will help you get away. Boredom punishes us and jealousy weakens our dedication. That's why relationships are hard work. That's why we should cheer for those who don't give up.
The film is founded on the incredible performances of Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling. The latter, by my count, is the best I've seen from 2010—though the Academy was quick to ignore him completely. They carry every scene with such raw beauty that it's hard not to believe in every simple act. Nobody's a villain. Everyone has their reasons, no matter how opaque. The brilliance of the script is its inability to judge people for being human. In fact, not since 2006's Flannel Pajamas have we experienced such objective adoration for the act of romance and its subsequent disenchantment. Alas, if there's another reason to cheer, it's that Blue Valentine and Winter's Bone have given us proof that independent cinema without pretension is alive and well in America.
#7: Mr. Nobody by Jaco Van Dormael.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2009 / Jaco Van Dormael > In the words of Lauryn Hill: "Everything is everything." That may be Van Dormael's message in Mr. Nobody, an ultracomprehensive look at living, decision-making and learning not to worry about the consequences. It can be argued that even on our deathbeds, we may not have the perspective to know if we've made an impact upon this world. But ultimately, our own happiness at the moment our eyes close may dictate how successful we've been. But while we're on this earth, it's impossible for our wandering minds not to second-guess our every decision. Fear not, however, as thanks to an angelic mishap, Nemo Nobody has a gift: He can live every life of every alternate universe that has ever been possible. And in our journey with him, we learn that the good can be bad, vice versa, and if anything, making the best of what you've got is really the only way to go.
Cinematically, Mr. Nobody is joy. Van Dormael's passion and energy is embodied in every sequence, keeping us guessing, excited and caring. At the center, Jared Leto's adult Nobody is an intriguing figure who we can't ever pinpoint because, frankly, we're not always sure which of his decisions we're following. But none fascinates more than the younger Nemo, played by Toby Regbo (who's soon-to-be the young Dumbledore in the second in installment of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows). His onscreen chemistry with Juno Temple evokes in the viewer a romanticized nostalgia about first loves. The strength of this carries itself throughout the film until it culminates in the purest of ways.
Always visually charming, Mr. Nobody is an emotional epic that's somehow failed to get U.S. distribution despite having brand name actors and superb (at a nearly $50mn budget) production quality. While it may be a conceptual film at its core, unlike forced-puzzles like The Prestige where it's more of a chore to connect the dots, there's actual human satisfaction in discovering Nemo Nobody's secrets. After all, the rationale for the film's discordant structure is based on our own realities.
#8: The American by Anton Corbijn.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2010 / Anton Corbijn > An action-packed trailer for The American destroyed the film's buzz on opening weekend. Filmgoers expecting George Clooney to be a James Bond-for-hire came out deeply disappointed when Corbijn chose to channel Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï and Fred Zinnemann's The Day of the Jackal instead. On the surface, a slowly-paced thriller, but in actuality, the film works as a metaphor for many of us: We strive to excel at our craft of choice in order to find solace in our lives. Often, that comes in the form of a significant other, but sometimes circumstances force the two to be mutually exclusive. While it's a seemingly obvious theme, it's Corbijn's photographic eye that compels us to remain transfixed on "Jack" and his intentions. A man of few words (which may shock those wanting Clooney's usual gregarious on-screen presence), there's a kind of obtuse seriousness that actually enhances the character's mystique. Additionally, the salacious Violante Placido works perfectly as the forbidden fruit who sets the story into motion. Uneasy at times, The American is a rewarding adventure for the patient. And while it won't necessarily teach any of us anything new, there's enough emotional resonance to warrant a viewing.
#9: Udaan by Vikramaditya Motwane.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2010 / Vikramaditya Motwane > If the astounding box office success of the glossy yet heartwarming 3 Idiots can be attributed to the Indian populace wanting to believe in a life outside strict academia and careers in medicine or engineering, Udaan takes it a step further by integrating reality into the mix. The former succeeded by broaching the subject in a comedic manner, but had a sizable mistake in having a central character of extraordinary talents that limited identification. But in Udaan, Rohan, a good-natured 16 year old boy recently expelled from school, is an everyman. And we soon find that his dreams of being a writer are to be quelled after reuniting with his estranged father.
Flight, as the title translates, is about Rohan breaking free from what society had made him believe was important and necessary. It's hard not to call his actions landmark in Indian cinema, especially for a film coming out of the Bollywood system (with both Motwane and writer Anurag Kashyap being successful with 2009's Dev.D). For an industry that still finds full-on kissing controversial, the themes expressed here should theoretically create absolute outrage. Unlike the birds and the bees, family relations are too entrenched and rarely discussed about in such a candid manner. What the Western societies have debated in mainstream cinema for ages is once again being pushed out into the wild in India, signaling many of the great local directors of the past (think Ritwik Ghatak or Satyajit Ray) whose works have been lost on the masses. The ideas in Udaan aren't particularly original, but how it approaches relations between fathers, sons and brothers is one worthy of discussion. Appreciation of the ending will depend on one's moral compass, yet there's something undoubtedly brave about it—for both the filmmakers to attempt such as well as the characters within.
#10: Boys on the Run by Daisuke Miura.In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I will be listing, in reverse order, my ten favorite films of 2010. They will each be accompanied by a custom Criterion cover inspired by Sam Smith's Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project. 2010 / Daisuke Miura > The paradox of the Twitter generation is its ability to be virtually social while being a physical recluse. This is life as we've come to accept it, but sadly clicking the "Like" button and posting on a girl's Facebook wall doesn't actually equate to understanding someone. And Japan, with its social hierarchy only moderately stretched by a few ostentatious rebels, excels in the most amusing of social phenomena—such as a telekura (short for "telephone club") where men set up "dates" with women who usually have more to offer. With such conveniences, it's no wonder that a telekura is where we find our lead character Tanishi, a virgin, on his 29th birthday.
Based on a manga by Kengo Hanazawa, Boys on the Run is effectively a delayed coming of age story. Mislabeled as a sex comedy, its laughs are more out of pity than joy. But it works wonderfully because there's a bit of us in all of Tanishi's misdirected actions. The way in which we see him mature is believable; it's more reminiscent of Rocky than The Mighty Ducks. Played straight by Kazunobu Mineta, who in real life is a punk rocker with a penchant for getting naked during shows, Tanishi's hope for sexual satisfaction provide the crux of the story. A lot can go wrong with such a simple goal, but unlike campy sex comedies, the finalities here are less conventional. It's not about shock or warmth, but the reality of aging. In some ways, the film is for everyone who's missing a piece of themselves, and it yells to the viewer that it's never too late to fight, even if you're going to lose, to make yourself feel whole again.
1983 / Nagisa Oshima > Oshima's take on love and sexuality in In the Realm of the Senses is equally as unforgettable as what he does with war in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence. The nuances of conflict have been touched upon in multiple ways, but there is something truly intimate here that doesn't really strike you until the very last second. It's easy to show the superficial nature of friendship for those on opposing sides, but Oshima manages to capture the whole gamut—from jealousy and hatred to love and respect—through rich cultural subtext and pointed camerawork. His exploration of the differences in mentality between the British prisoners and their Japanese captors is superlative to more heralded attempts such as The Bridge on the River Kwai.
Ryuichi Sakamoto's soundtrack is haunting, though its electronic sensibilities can feel a bit dated at times. Still, the title track remains one of my favorite instrumentals ever. Trickiest, no doubt, is Sakamoto's overacting which may have been caused by his mediocre grasp of English. (Sakamoto himself found his performance cringe-worthy.) On the other end, David Bowie picks up quite a bit of the slack opposite an incredible performance by Takeshi Kitano. In a film filled with memorable scenes, his last one takes the cake. It makes everything click at the end and confirms that you've seen something special.
1973 / Fred Zinnemann > Off-hand, I can't recall a better dissection of how an assassin goes from taking a job to completing it, especially with a target as high-profile as the President of France. Every minor step is detailed but not in a way that bores. Zinnemann's meticulousness pays off for the viewer who gets to enjoy a double-sided analysis of both the authorities hunting down The Jackal and how he himself constantly stays one step ahead. The dry, near-documentary style filmmaking may turn off some, but its beauty is in the way it lets us soak in the cat-and-mouse chase rather be forced to endure some in-your-face entertainment. But that may be underestimating the subtle character study of The Jackal himself, played so wonderfully by Edward Fox. Is he good or bad? Similar to Shohei Imamura's take on a serial killer in Vengeance is Mine, the answers are far from obvious.
2009 / Duncan Jones > When it comes to modern science-fiction, there’s nothing worse than predictability. Problematically, science-fiction, in itself, is a derivative art. It takes into effect what’s already around us and extrapolates those objects and ideas into the future. Unfortunately, cinematic conventions are often one of those things. You can argue that much of the last decade’s laziness can be attributed to the endings of The Usual Suspects and The Sixth Sense. Their success pigeonholed lesser-known directors into formulas that were known to work. This has led to a barrage of films, including many in the science-fiction genre, to become innocuous, even lame.
Once upon a time, someone told me the reason they loved Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was because it infused everything that Chinese cinema had been built on for the last half-century and refined it into one final product. And so enters Duncan Jones, mimicking that approach of Ang Lee and creating Moon as a appreciative hurrah for the genre. In the process, he does one thing very, very well: Playing with expectations. Everytime I thought I knew what was going on, one of two things happened: It didn’t, or it happened immediately instead of at the end as a final twist. Without going into plot details, Sam Rockwell has a run-in with another Sam Rockwell early in the film. Who is the second Sam Rockwell? Even if you think you know, you don’t. And that’s the beauty of it.
Aside from Jones, Rockwell stands out as one of the best performances of the year. He won’t get an Oscar nod, but cultists will appreciate this work for a long time to come. Add in Clint Mansell’s techno-tragic soundtrack and newcomer Gary Shaw's awesome cinematography, and you have the recipe for one of the best films of 2009.
2009 / Yang Ik-joon > Raw, brutal and absolutely beautiful. When the star/director Yang came out and said, “Fuck the Korean film industry,” he meant it. Since 2005, Korean cinema has forgotten what made it so fantastic. It dared to do things global cinema was failing at. Whether it was the entirely unconventional roots of Shin Ha-kyun’s alien catcher in Save the Green Planet, the magical romance in My Sassy Girl or the twist of a lifetime in Oldboy, it’s been a long time since the country’s put forth anything worthy of conversation. Well, this is it: Not since Gary Oldman’s underappreciated Nil by Mouth have we seen domestic violence treated with this kind of uncompromising passion. And while passion may not seem like a word to describe a film of unabashed violence, it’s hard to argue that the violence of man is founded on a kind of ignorant, blind intensity that leads him to do things that don’t always make sense. Sometimes he doesn’t understand it himself until it’s too late. Breathless is that kind of film, where things happens as you would expect them to, no holds barred. Its anger is saddening but organic. There is no sentimentality, just the force of raw energy that devours all of us. The heart stirs immensely in this one, and if it doesn’t, I’d be hard pressed not to send you to the doctor to make sure you’re still ticking.
1953 / Billy Wilder > Though he's not particularly known for layered works, Wilder definitely swings the bat hard when it comes to making the audience enjoy a movie. Together with William Holden in his Oscar-winning performance, he cooks up a rip-roaring adventure in what could be called the bachelor's version of The Great Escape. The comedy easily surpasses the drama in Stalag 17, as the latter is often predictable if simple and honest. A German POW camp during World War II shouldn't be something you laugh about, but give the writers of the original play some credit for giving us a reminder that laughter remains an alternative tool for vengeance.
1982 / John Carpenter > It doesn't matter how much the special effects in The Thing have aged, what stood out for me is the sheer ingenuity of its intentions. The creature from outer space is keenly unique, grotesque and memorable, but more importantly, the writing is taut, imaginative and the pacing fills every scene with tension. Color me absolutely surprised that I enjoyed this that much, as I was pretty much expecting some sort of kitsch fare that was good for a laugh more than a scare.
2008 / Matteo Garrone > Gomorra is a deeply rich film that lacks the sensationalist touches we often see in mafia dramas. Remember how Heat was a poetic version of cops & robbers? Well, this is what you get when you strip out the loud violence and criminal glamour. The multiple storylines seem a bit daunting initially, but they end up really impressing on the basis of their meticulousness. Based on the book by Roberto Saviano, Garrone's adaptation really works to stress the capitalist reaches of the modern Camorra, the Naples-based organization on which the works are founded upon. From the typical youngster wannabes to the world of waste disposal, the film is a nuanced treat into the daily ongoings. It's so real that Saviano himself has been forced into exile due to fear of death. This is impressive stuff for the patient viewer, and almost honorable because it doesn't build up the lifestyle, but rather puts it in perspective from both local and global viewpoints.
1992 / Richard Attenborough > Considering the spotlight on Robert Downey, Jr. post-Iron Man, it's shocking that more people haven't brought up his magnificent performance in Chaplin. Even now, watching Charlie's flicks, I can't help but substitute in Downey's face without a worry. At age 27, he mimicked the lives of one of the most magnetic performers in cinematic history yet it feels as if no one remembers. Some of this blame arguably goes to Attenborough for taking an unorthodox approach to a biopic by focusing on Chaplin's love affairs to progress the storyline, which led to slightly uneven pacing and treatment of his work as almost secondary. While this may have resulted in mixed critical response, there's no denying that his life did indeed revolve around women, and that the longing for his first love led to multiple marriages to younger and younger women. Furthermore, there was at least 12 minutes cut from the director's version and almost two hours left on the cutting floor altogether. Who knows how much better this would have made it, but even as it stands, it's an incredibly enjoyable piece about a fascinating icon of culture and is worth viewing to get a glimpse into him and his works as well as the ridiculousness of the McCarthy era.
1975 / Sidney Lumet > Bleaker than it initially comes off, Dog Day Afternoon is a scriptwriting achievement by Frank Pierson (who was rightfully awarded an Oscar for it). It head-on attacks society and the system in cleverly underhanded ways (i.e., who could have imagined a gay rally challenging the likes of Harvey Milk?) without being whimsical or, more importantly, impractical. It's harsh but loving, and Lumet's direction is nothing short of just right. Nothing really feels forced, and the phone call between Chris Sarandon and Al Pacino (fully improvised, amazingly) is a testament to the heart of the film.
1923 / Fred C. Newmeyer & Sam Taylor > Often forgotten amongst Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin is silent comedy master Harold Lloyd who, a year before Keaton's special effects bonanza in Sherlock Jr., created a comedy of lively proportions in Safety Last! Most famous for the image of him dangling from a clock atop a Roaring Twenties skyscraper, the film is an entertaining comedy that centers around Lloyd trying to make his girlfriend back home believe that he's become a successful store manager in the big city. This simple act, which has worked as a story basis for hundreds of films afterward, leads to all kinds of hilarity and stunts by the actor. Personally, I found that it barely aged, and that a film of such a nature could not benefit from the addition of sound or color. It feels honest and authentic, and with a running time of roughly 70 minutes, it also packs in quite a punch without testing one's patience.
2008 / Jonathan Demme > As I watched the Oscars, my quiet, secret hope for a coup lay in Anne Hathaway. Our princess with a diary who created havoc while breaking mountains had somehow ended up at her sister's wedding, half-broken, trying to be resilient and drawing attention to herself in an effort to not do so. Hathaway plays the role with such tact. Her character isn't particularly likable, yet by the end, it's nearly impossible not to feel some level of empathy, because we've all been in situations where we've been misunderstood, been misguided or simply didn't know better. Along with Hathaway, Rosemarie DeWitt (the Rachel in question) and Bill Irwin (their father) hold up their own ends with simply excellent performances that puts Rachel Getting Married near the top of best ensembles of the year.
For Demme, this is a nice, flowing, rhythmic piece, and arguably his finest since 1991's The Silence of the Lambs. (Yes, it's been that long.) The direction seems so hands off, with organic angles, lively dialogue and an actual band being cast to provide the music for the film, some sort of homage to Dogme 95. To top it off, TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe plays the groom and even has a bit of a vocal solo that fits in seamlessly.
This is the kind of family drama that is completely hit or miss for most viewers. Some will find it cynical, contrived and downright boring, but many, like myself, found it true-to-life uplifting. (Sure, the actual wedding is a bit new age, but the family troubles are as bread and butter as they come.) But let me be fair: This is not the kind of uplifting that makes you think you can go and conquer the world. It's more about hope in people, and that family can work even with a few very large kinks.
1951 / Alfred Hitchcock > As much as I enjoyed Vertigo and North by Northwest, neither of them gripped me in the traditional sense of a suspense the way Strangers on the Train did. From the get-go, you know something is going on, something sinister, but you just can't get the hang of it. And then when you realize that you may have underestimated Bruno Anthony (played impeccably by Robert Walker) just a bit, the real shock arises. Too often, we want the bad guy to win because we're bored, but here, in the face of what is a human evil, I found it easy to bind myself to the good guys and hope for victory.
Sadly, Walker passed away soon after filming, leaving behind one of the best portrayals of a villain I've ever seen. In contrast, Farley Granger is wooden as the leading man. One could argue he balances Walker, but that would be giving the casting director too much credit.
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.
2007 / Fatih Akin > For a while, I thought this was going to be Babel-lite. But Akin, having shown his ability to mesmerize and churn the human heart in the fantastic Head-On, tempered his storytelling technique so that it doesn't reek of emotional manipulation. Sure, it's got some points where he heavily tests Murphy's Law, but eventually you can see a mechanism for him to examine how we grieve, how we find solace in a world of tragedies and how there's always hope. There's an emotional intelligence to the whole show that sticks. The icing on the cake may be the performance of Turkish beauty Nurgul Yesilcay, who comes off raw yet tender and steals every scene she's in.
2008 / Hong Sang-soo > For Hong, this is beyond return to form: It's an impressive work that shoves aside much of the quirkiness of his previous stories and focuses on the loneliness faced by a Korean in Paris. Once again, we deal with themes of love, longing and faithfulness, but the plot devices are much more identifiable this time around. Instead of abstract meetings on trains, we have introductions and rekindling of past relationships. But beyond that, it's hard to describe. It's so layered that it's nearly impossible to reach an emotional consensus upon the first viewing. But what it does do is stay with you afterwards, nagging, making you wonder if the decisions made in the film are akin to decisions you would make yourself. That's definitely Hong's hook, though—reveling in our self-doubts about life and the opposite sex. We watch his films to learn more about ourselves, and this is no exception.
2008 / Andrew Stanton > It's truly a testament to Pixar's ability to make an animated film where the lead character barely utters a word. In its quiet repose, WALL·E evokes emotions that are all within us, of abject loneliness and wanting to be understood, though never sensationalizing either. Face it: This isn't a kids movie. The ideas within the film are not easily understood beyond the surface level by anyone who hasn't experienced a degree of heartache.
The first half is sheer brilliance. While its minimalist approach isn't a rarity in the current film market, the unpretentious manner in which it unfolds is. It works for almost everyone who watches it because it doesn't insult anyone's intelligence or patience. The second half, however, becomes problematic for me. To begin with, the treatment of obesity is something I had a hard time looking past. In a country where weight is such an issue, it almost hurts to see it treated as a joke. More importantly, I felt that nearing the climax, the story lost its footing. It became symptomatic of a typical animation flick than something special. Finally, the ending was too easy. I just couldn't find solace in its outcome. I felt cheated. Maybe that makes me cynical, but sometimes too much hope is a bad thing. But these points withstanding, WALL·E makes a strong case for the spirit and future of Western animation.
2007 / Wes Anderson > Anderson knows how to seduce me. Emotionally, visually, with music and wonderment, the man has a certain style that gets me at the core. Even now, several months after having seen The Darjeeling Limited for the first time, I can't forget the The Kinks' "This Time Tomorrow" and the opening sequence it accompanies. It has, in this short time, become one of the most memorable film moments of my life. But unlike The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, the thematics presented here are considerably more universal.
We're all in search of something, always. After we find one thing, we realize we're missing something else. The brothers in the film search for ways to deal with loss, love and redemption using their own paths. But one thing leads to another, and things are never as simple as they seem. Ironically, this leads to my primary qualm about the film: Several times the movie seems to end only to continue on. Pacing becomes an issue until we realize we're like that too. Sometimes the journey is the solution in itself, and sometimes it doesn't end when you think it ought to. The Darjeeling Limited is an experience that sticks, moreso than any Anderson film, in those small spaces in your mind that keep hope alive.
2008 / Danny Boyle > Boyle's really hit me from left field on this one: Boasting one of the most impressive and varied filmographies in cinema today, I imagined this to simply be a heart-warming tale of rags-to-riches and romance. Well, that it is, and so much more. Slumdog Millionaire is conscious of the modern-day India, crisscrossing from the slums to India's upper class while still approaching the shady underground gangsters and their counterparts (and every American's favorite) the call center operator. Stylistically, it borrows as much from Boyle's own Trainspotting as it does from City of God. The vibrant colors and sharp editing energize the film's pacing so that the viewer's journey is a non-stop feast of entertainment. And a soundtrack cutting M.I.A.'s beats and vocals only support that foundation. There are a couple of things to be understood, though: The story is fairly conventional, the "plot twist" happens in the beginning, so the viewer isn't being suckered on, and it's a bit predictable. But none of that keeps it from being arguably the most incredible, enjoyable film of the year. The whole experience is a crescendo that culminates with the kind of gritty satisfaction that no straight-edged family film can offer.
2005 / Stephen Gaghan > It's hard not to appreciate the way in which Syriana unfolds, slowly, meticulously and filled with a sense of legitimacy. It's neither partisan nor apologist, two qualities that are very hard to find in films that tackle geopolitical issues like oil, terrorism and espionage. In contrast to the recent Body of Lies, Gaghan doesn't try to wrinkle out emotions out of every nook and cranny, but rather works with the audience to connect dots that are far from obvious. The plot's complexity mirrors the real world in ways that never feels forced. Even when dealing with the topic of American imperialism, there's a silver lining of sorts as oilman Tim Nelson Blake tells prosecutor Jeffrey Wright: "Corruption is our protection. Corruption keeps us safe and warm. Corruption is why you and I are prancing around in here instead of fighting over scraps of meat out in the streets. Corruption is why we win." Yes, it's blatantly ironic, but that's fine. The tone is a undoubtedly pessimistic because unfortunately that's the kind of world this has become. And because we live in it, a film like this is easy to digest and even easier to appreciate.
2006 / Bong Joon-ho > Much like Cloverfield is an episode of The O.C. with a monster in it, The Host is effectively a family dramedy with a monster in it. The difference between the two, thankfully, is that there is no Marissa Cooper. (If you want to throw in the fact that there are also no backstabbing stepmothers, drunk biological mothers and workaholic adopted mothers, that's also positive, but there is one bad ass archer sister you must yield for.)
Coming on the back of Bong's Memories of Murder, which I believe in some ways is objectively the finest Korean film of the decade, The Host's US$11 million budget was daunting and created enough hype in itself to make people curious what was in tow (especially after Kwak Kyung-taek's miserable failure with Typhoon's US$15 million budget). It didn't disappoint. Featuring a strong cast of Memories of Murder's Song Kang-ho, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance's Bae Doo-na (the bad ass archer sister) and Rules of Dating's Paek Hae-il, the film brought forth much praise from its premiere at Cannes. How?
It goes back to the premise of being a family dramedy with a monster in it. This, in itself, creates a plot that isn't dependent on the monster, which, much like special effects, should sometimes be a device to further character development and storyline rather than be the focus. Along the way, Bong makes some social commentary on pollution and the American occupation (arguably the movie's weakest points), but tries his best not to forget about the little girl who's sharing the sewer with the monster itself. And the family that pulls together to save her.
The special effects are adequate and not distractive enough to bring into question its quality. The casting/acting is spot on, with every character equally contributing to the problems and solutions (which is key, since family is about sharing). The pacing is just right, the script is often hilarious (such as the brilliant funeral scene), and the resolution works in a manner that satiates viewers without insulting them. And so lamentably, I've haven't seen Korean cinema of this caliber since first catching this at the 2006 New York Film Festival.
2006 / Hitoshi Yazaki > As a story of four women in the anonymous city of Tokyo, Strawberry Shortcakes paces itself like life, with a steady unraveling while interjecting jolts of reality. Yazaki's direction is meticulous and endearing, streamlining his own craft's sensitivity to the existence of the women he's portraying. By themselves, none of the stories are necessarily special, but rather simple slices of life with which the viewers should be able to find some sort of commonality. There are some balancing issues: For example, Akiyo the escort is a complex character and almost all her scenes yield something special for the viewer. But Chihiro, the office worker, is almost intentionally stereotypically girlish, to the point where you pity her instead of extending sympathy. Somehow, though, these balancing contradictions actually make the film more poignant with its ebbs and flows.
2007 / Joe Swanberg > The backlash against "mumblecore" generally tends to be driven by the fact that these films always focus on middle-class, post-graduate white kids who do nothing but complain about their lives. But this is arguably the best social class through which to canvass this topic. If Whit Stilmann's Metropolitan was a satirical look at the upper-class who excel at discussion and inaction, and the Hughes Brothers' Menace II Society commands attention because it tries to portray the lack of options in the urban ghetto, films like Hannah Takes the Stairs competently approaches the social classes in between who have myriad possibilities of both success and failure. And whether this optionality is displayed through lack of interest in one's occupation or discontent in relationships is often the deciding factor between the film, the viewer and whether the experience will be enjoyable.
Having miserably failed at watching Andrew Bujalski's Funny Ha Ha, I stayed away from most films in the sub-genre until this Swanberg vehicle. Co-writer and start Greta Gerwig's endearing yet infuriating title character is composed of some of the best and worst bits of ourselves and our loved ones—past and present. By the time the final two scenes come around, everything kind of, sort of, actually makes sense. The cerebral aspect of the film suddenly subsides to let the emotive aspect sneak through and, in the process, lets the viewer do the same. If mood was ever a critical ingredient of a film's success, this may just be it.
2007 / Justin Theroux > It's easy to say that quirky indie-romances are all the rage these days, and it's even easier for Dedication to be slapped with that same label. But what I found amazing is that underneath it all, this is a re-modeled formulaic romantic dramedy with better music (by Au Revoir Simone and the surprisingly soothing Deerhoof), better acting and a better story. It isn't perfect, and it isn't going to end up on any all-time lists, but what the film does is put a refreshing coat on an otherwise conventional plot and charms us from end to end. It's an admirable directorial debut by Theroux, backed by a superb performance by Billy Crudup as the misanthropic lead who's trying to figure out how to get along with substitute illustrator Mandy Moore after his long-time collaborator, played aptly as always by Tom Wilkinson, passes away. The star, though, may be the script by David Bromberg, with its tight, sharp dialogue and memorable banter.
2007 / Craig Gillespie > This is the opposite of what every independent film-viewer has come to accept: That there is a world out there without cynicism, that people are generally good, even if troubled, that love is not impossible due to external social forces. Nancy Oliver's thoughtful script is devoid of the type of silly comedy one would expect from a film about a guy and his "real doll." Instead, the laughter is a gut response in relation to everyday life, about seeing things and understanding life's simple ironies and accepting them in their due course. Lars and the Real Girl provides the foundation for another superb performance by Ryan Gosling that ought to have given him an Oscar nod. This is, without a doubt, one of the most surprising finds of 2007.
2007 / Ben Affleck > Whatever you may say about the elder Affleck, know that his directorial debut is as sharp and promising as any this year. In supplement, also know that the younger Affleck is burgeoning into a full-fledged actor of a certain range and emotion that ought to impress for some time. Putting these two together with Dennis Lehane's novel and a superb performance from The Wire's Amy Ryan, we eventually come to find a final product that utilizes a child kidnapping as a device via which to question and analyze morality. Undoubtedly, one of the toughest distinctions over right and wrong is faced by those who are paid to uphold the law, and Gone Baby Gone explores this to a satisfying and almost fatalistic degree.
2007 / Michael Winterbottom > There are two significant breakthroughs in A Mighty Heart: We learn that it is possible for Winterbottom to produce an apolitical film. Unlike The Road to Guantanamo, which plays the West as the villain from the get go, the film doesn't utilize the people in the story to prove anything—As a bastard child of 9/11, A Mighty Heart rivals only Reign on Me in its appreciation of the event's after-effects from a non-agenda viewpoint. It is tactful and intelligent, though not necessarily forgiving or hopeful of the strife and confusion that surrounds our current society.
We also get to enjoy Angelina Jolie in a role that brings her back down to earth, finds us focusing on her character and not the Hollywood megastar that she is. This is a joint accomplishment on both Winterbottom and Jolie's part that I find impressive, to take the celebrity out of a film and put in its place the strong-willed but broken hearted Marianne Pearl. Combined with an always impressive Irfan Khan, the cast of both professional and non-professional actors deliver an emotionally engrossing picture not to be taken lightly.
2007 / Tony Gilroy > Michael Clayton is easy to like: Other than its somewhat long running-time and debatable ending, Gilroy's directorial debut is void of any crass errors. George Clooney puts forth another intelligent performance that keeps him atop the top tier of Hollywood actors, but Tom Wilkinson ends up outshining him in a part that ought to get him an Oscar nomination at the very least. With its issues of corporate negligence and capitalist morality, the film is contemporary yet fresh. Its approach is akin to a lighter version of The Insider that's better fit for the masses—there's just enough action and craziness within to keep it riveting to those without an attention span. This all works well, but what trips the complete product is that it's just too well packaged by the time the credits roll. But while there's not much to hold onto past the two hours of celluloid, it must be said that this is one of the finest efforts major Hollywood has put forth in quite a while.
2007 / Shane Meadows > The biggest problem for This is England has to do with how often in the stateside it'll be compared to American History X. The latter was notoriously lacking in dimension, filled with more artificial punches and a biased tweak that did little to explain the foundation of supremacists groups. But Meadows' latest venture is far cleverer and reverent, utilizing the Falklands War as a backdrop to dissect the rationale behind the sort of fascism that Thatcher's term brought forth in England. Centralized around a 12 year-old (played brilliantly by newcomer Thomas Turgoose), the film rarely judges and generally lets emotions adjust to the social situations as they are seen fit.
Both character and subplot development are somewhat erratic, but once Stephen Graham enters the screen, much is forgotten. His portrayal of "Combo" is worthy of much praise, and shocks and awes the viewer into being glued to the cinema. In addition to that, This is England's multi-layered discussion of racial tensions, class relations and national identity drive the film into being a touching, memorable experience.
2007 / Danny Boyle > Sunshine crescendos into its finale in a way no other film has this year: It breaks through expectations into something surreal, almost messy, yet dazzlingly calculated. Boyle etches into our memories fear, hope, excitement and despair within a span of two hours by showing us the end of the world and the ways in which our ingenuity tries to prevent it. It's intelligent and amusing, fusing genres and philosophies, and makes up for the arguable irrationality in the script with a thrill ride that's as reverent for the body as it is for the mind.
1957 / Alexander Mackendrick > Sweet Smell of Success is as dark and biting now as it must have been in its heyday. Burt Lancaster's performance as a ruthless society columnist is second only to Tony Curtis' mercurial, almost repulsive role as the public relations agent in constant need of dire favors. It's always interesting to see a film from half a century ago and think that the world hasn't changed much. While we all imagine a nice, quiet place pre-Internet, films like this are kind enough to show that people are always the same, and that it's just their surroundings that change as time goes on.
2006 / Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck > Every year, there are a few films that have nearly flawless executions. In 2006, The Lives of Others just might have led that pack. While I couldn't find myself as emotionally attached to the story as those who are natives of Germany or have been in similar collectivist situations, interest in the film rarely waned once the plot started to roll. The story of the East German Stasi is not one I was previously familiar with, but the 1984-esque paranoia that rung around the film was thick, congestive and effective. Personally, I couldn't agree with some of the character development and emotional manipulation that occurs as the show goes on, but overall, I also can't be angry that this beat out Pan's Labyrinth at the Oscars for Best Foreign Film. There's much merit in its cold, calculated success.
2007 / Mira Nair > It's a rare thing that celluloid beats its paper foundation, but The Namesake does just that. Personally, I've found Jhumpa Lahiri's writing style to be better fitting for short stories, but maybe I'm biased: The first two-thirds of the novel deal with things I've personally experienced, while the third is fairly uncharted territory. For that, maybe Nair's pacing fit me better.
The film itself is graceful, respectful, ignoring the stereotypes that often plague cinema that crosses cultural boundaries (and for this, both Lahiri and Nair ought to be credited). It's not perfect, but it has enough universal identification that it should be able to appeal to most of who have a chance to view it. The only dubious factor with the film is Kal Penn being casted for the lead role: He does a suitable job, but it's just hard to forget that this is Kumar we're talking about. The rest is quite appropriate, with special note to Tabu's performance as the beautiful, maturing mother who can make or break the viewer's heart.
2007 / Mike Binder > In Reign Over Me, Binder continues displaying the skill of creating laughter in the face of tragedy he utilized so effectively in The Upside of Anger. And in doing so, he may have crafted one of the best films dealing with loss since The Sweet Hereafter, while taking an indirect approach towards 9/11 through a perspective that hasn't yet been fully explored. Sandler is spot on, but Cheadle, as he so often does, steals the show as the man who you know has problems but just can't face them. Sandler is his foil and while we see him transform, Cheadle follows suit ever so subtly. It has its slow moments and its awkward moments. It's not brilliant, and it isn't groundbreaking, but it has the kind of heart that one cannot often find in Hollywood these days.
2006 / Roger Michell > A performance worthy of an Oscar in most years, but just not this year. Unfortunately, that's the luck that Peter O'Toole has had to deal with in his lifetime, having lost the golden statuette seven times (and an eighth maybe a week away). In Venus, he gives it all in a bittersweet performance where he undoubtedly reaches into his own experiences as an aging actor of great caliber. Hanif Kureishi's stellar, understated script uplifts O'Toole and those around him, including a refreshing Jodie Whittaker as the young girl that turns the old actor's life upside down.
Whatever awkward moments there are in Venus, by the end we find ourselves thinking that these emotions are byproducts of the mental processes shaped by society. From the perspective of someone who looks into the future and wonders what old age will bring, the film reassures that there's no definite end to enjoyment and learning. Triggers are everywhere, and the soft and gentle presence of a young woman is enough to reinvigorate those at the end of the plank. It's memorable and sweet, tasteful and delicate. One of the year's best.
2006 / Marc Forster > In the third film since his breakout Monster's Ball, Forster once again takes his style and does a modest 90 degree turn, being only second to Winterbottom in diversity of his content and style. Here, Forster's playing a game on two levels: In the very basic sense, Stranger Than Fiction is a tragicomedy that Ferrell himself does the best to figure out. But as an underlying, it ends up being a self-deprecatory piece of work about the medium of writing as well as audience expectations of films.
Strung at the hip by a surprisingly solid and poignant performance by Ferrell, the film touches base with quite a few obvious everyday philosophies (including a non-so-stubborn version of carpe diem) and turns them into something more solvent. It's a great find and one of the best American films of 2006 (second only to The Departed in my count). It includes one of my favorite scenes of the year: I imagine it'll warm your heart too when you see it. Also, watch out for writer Zach Helm, as this sets up a high bar for what may be a great career.
2006 / Martin Scorsese > In short, The Departed is the best American film of the year, and the best work from Scorsese since Goodfellas. Whatever qualms one may have based on their positive experience with Infernal Affairs, these should be given less gravity due to the meticulous craftsmanship that Scorsese employs in his direction. The film is not perfect (which is a common ailment for most remakes), but isn't so mostly because of certain personal preferences. It is, however, sharply written with an incisive comic pull and drenched in objective emotion.
The cast is flawless (so much so, that the film was recently awarded Best Ensemble of the year by the National Board of Review), with Leonardo DiCaprio giving what is perhaps his finest performance to date and worthy of an Oscar nomination. Mark Wahlberg gives the film an extra edge (and definitively separates it from the original), and Vera Farmiga is a promising, if delayed, discovery. The only weak spot seemed to be Martin Sheen, but that seems to be attributable to the script's momentary weakness rather than the actor's own abilities.
I found it fascinating how The Departed barely felt like Infernal Affairs. While hard not to continuously compare the two, there were more than enough fresh jolts in the Scorsese venture to take my mind away from the original. But as for the inevitable question of which is better, the honest truth, however sidestepping, is that they are different films with different styles based on an underlying idea that alone could not have made these the works of art that they are.
2006 / Martin Campbell > Casino Royale is the best Bond film since 1969's On Her Majesty's Secret Service. It has style, grit, heart and a story that actually works. All too often, I've found my attention fading by the 7th inning stretch. Chases and shootouts mean considerably less if there's no plausible reason behind them. And by plausible, it's not just how it affects the global power paradigm, of the good versus the bad, but rather how humane and reasonable the motivations are. And while I'm not a fan of Paul Haggis, maybe it was his screenwriting touch that made this happen. (One could probably argue that the subject matter kept his heavy-handedness in check, and if that's true, I do look forward to him working on the next Bond film.)
As for Daniel Craig, the man is not Sean Connery. And that is exactly why he works. While Clive Owen would have been my first choice for Brosnan's replacement, Craig has shown that he fits the bill, much like the tailored suit that Vesper Lynd prepares for him. His youth reflects appropriately in what is the beginning of 007. The screenplay supports him throughout, offering us more insight into his character than ever before. Eva Green is nearly perfect as Vesper Lynd, and arguably the best and most complex Bond girl since Jane Seymour's Solitaire in Live and Let Die. Her onscreen chemistry with Craig is one of the key reasons the film works so well.
Casino Royale has me more excited about the future of James Bond than I've ever been. The style seems to be going the right direction, Daniel Craig is an excellent fit and they've finally taken to writing a properly thought-out script. It would be wonderful to see an arch-nemesis of sorts, similar to Blofeld, as well as further background on Bond himself. Either way, the next Bond, rumored to be a loose continuation of Casino Royale, is now on my calendar for 2008.
2006 / Kevin Macdonald > Let's get the 800-pound gorilla out of the way: Forest Whitaker is masterful, true and full of credible passion as megalomaniac dictator Idi Amin. And yes, it's absolutely worthy of an Oscar nomination if not the Best Actor trophy itself. From the twitch in his bloodshot eyes to the insane, instantaneous smile, Whitaker arguably does more for Amin than Hoffman did for Capote. It's considerably less gimmick-based; we don't have a lisp or some sort of disability. It's just simple brilliance.
What Macdonald has done is also quite a wonder, fusing every type of emotion into an incredibly balanced and well-paced two hours. In portraying the Uganda of the 1970s through the eyes of James McAvoy's young, naive eyes, Macdonald somehow remains objective. In contrast to films such as Terry George's overly apologist Hotel Rwanda, there is little preaching or glorification. The deep emotional palette of the film is further enhanced by a deeply engrossing story, part truth, part fiction, that breaches genre expectations for a typical political biopic. It's not hard to find yourself smiling, laughing, shocked or becoming filled with lust for sex and power. It has the essence of a small but necessary epic.
2006 / Sofia Coppola > After everything, there's just something, however minute, missing from Marie Antoinette for it to become the rich and evocative biopic that Coppola must have intended. It could have been a different ending, better pacing or simply the addition or deletion of a storyline. But as it stands, the film is far more memorable for its dresses of grandeur, the decadence of the Rococo and Kirsten Dunst's performance in a role that very much becomes her. (Which, effectively, makes up for her being atrociously cast in Elizabethtown.)
There is a scene early on in the film where Dunst first wakes up at Versailles only to find a troupe of women and men at her servitude. In the following minutes where she is dressed, Coppola somehow manages to define the reasoning behind the French Revolution. For me, it stands as the defining moment in the film where she so subtly argues for and justifies the revolution. But what if one asks, "What is this film trying to say?" Coppola's intention is unclear: Are we to understand the aristocratic idiocy of the period, or focus on the girl in the center and try to empathize with her as a person, not as the Queen of France?
But letting such lack of clarity slide, it's hard to imagine not enjoying the anachronistic usage of modern music (particularly Aphex Twin's "Jynweythek Ylow" and Bow Wow Wow's "Candy") and the sheer jubilance Dunst's smile evokes. Using all that is style, Coppola did succeed in making me feel for Marie-Antoinette's predicament. The fusion of style and substance is a little skewed toward the former, but this is ultimately a film for the heart, not the mind. It is as imperfect and naive as Marie-Antoinette herself.
2006 / Pen-Ek Ratanaruang > It's hard to gauge if those who liked Last Life in the Universe will also like Invisible Waves. But those who have the patience for Pen-Ek's multinational opus—with Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Thai stars represented and much of the dialogue in English—will be rewarded by the film's ability to slowly but surely question the value of loyalty, self-worth and happiness.
Not surprisingly, the film is also absolutely gorgeous thanks to the hands and eyes of cinematographer Christopher Doyle. Its pacing is a little skewed, with each third of the film speeding up at twice the pace of the previous. And while this causes the film to start slowly, it successfully mimics the protagonist's mindset so that we feel the similar type of rush in the latter third as he does. The dialogue in Invisible Waves is seemingly simple, but always struck certain chords, however small. Similar to its predecessor, it's somewhat hard to explain exactly why I enjoyed it so much. But I did, and for that I can do little but to recommend it wholeheartedly to anyone who's willing and able.
2006 / Jonathan Dayton & Valerie Faris > The primary complaint about Little Miss Sunshine has been how contrived its characters are, how they so easily fit into sitcom slots. It's true, but I found it to be a positive attribute of the film. Each family member is exploited to create a ranged satire of the American dysfunctional household. It's not meant to be cheap and actually comes out surprisingly clever.
At times, I found myself genuinely laughing, the way only a few films have (such as this year's Family Ties and last year's The Upside of Anger). We end up empathizing with much of the silliness, sometimes directly and other times in a metaphorical sense. Much of this is due to the superb acting: Virtually everyone shines, including a heartbreaking sequence by The Girl Next Door's Paul Dano.
The writing is crisp, but one could make an argument that the plot is a little too connect-the-dots. It ends up working, however, mostly because of the "road movie" nature of the film. Indeed, it's a wonderful ride from beginning to end, even if one finds the return home a little muted in direction. The final revelations aren't holistic, and that may be enough to keep it from reaching higher ground.
2002 / Shin Togashi > In short, Sorry's portrayal of "first love" may be the finest of its kind ever put on celluloid. And no, this can't be compared with Romeo or Juliet or something equally as melodramatic. What we have here is a simple, beautiful but strong as ever tale of a boy who's just hit puberty falling head over heels for a girl who he randomly comes across at a pickle store. The film's comic and often childish, but that's fitting for our 12-year-old protagonist. Sorry matures as he does, step by step, by unwinding the mystery that is love.
2006 / Kim Tae-yong > It's probably quite sad that only 200,000 or so Koreans saw this film when it was released in May. But one has to wonder if the horrendous marketing (the posters depict a gleeful, silly family that scream slapstick and cheesy) is to blame. What the populace missed out on, sadly, is a meticulously crafted take on the nuances of family life, generations and how time helps us heal and grow.
The primary reason for its success as a film is its freshness: While there are typical melodrama storylines present, Kim does an excellent job in making sure to not continuously delve into cliches. The dialogue is very true to life, often genuinely comedic and timed just right. It's rare to find a film nowadays where one minute you're in a pit of sadness, and then suddenly you find yourself laughing uncontrollably.
The cast is superb as well. Moon So-ri, the woman who can do no wrong in my book, bounces back from the muddy script in Bewitching Attraction to score an incredible yet subtle performance. Kong Hyo-jin shines as an enigmatic daughter of a dying woman, though the the solidity of the script makes almost every character and actor look good.
It's hard to recall if any film in recent memory has approached the subject matter of family relationships in as intelligently a fashion as this. Kim's portrayal is delicate, fair and realistic. Even the very end, which for a minute or two seems incredibly nonsensical, is surprisingly fitting—That, to me, was proof positive of a great two hours.
1990 / Whit Stillman > Having the vibes of an upper class, Manhattan Pretty in Pink, Stillman's directorial debut tackles ideas of social mobility and structure through the eyes of college students on Christmas vacation. Heavily conversation-based, it's funny, sardonic and Chris Eigeman's Nick Smith defines both the film and much of his generation. The writing is incredibly sharp and witty, with intelligent one-liners that drive home each respectable point. It's surprising that this has been off the radar of indie cultists for so long, but that should change with the recent remastered release of the film by Criterion.
2006 / Edmond Pang > Recoginized with the Silver Bear for Best Film Music at this year's Berlinale, Pang Ho-Cheung's story is of a pre-handover Macau cop and the discovery of the daughter he never knew he had. The cop, played by a suddenly mature Chapman To is often outshined by the daughter, played by Canto-pop start-turned serious actress Isabella Leung. Her performance is surprising, if only because she pins down the mercurial behavior of the daughter so well.
Unlike most films, Peter Kam's score refuses to take a backseat to the actors, and often pads idyllic sequences so they end up having as much breadth as those with blatant meaning. The story turns conventional halfway through, but luckily changes back into something a little more special at the end. There is strength in how it culminates, and any sort of seesaw Pang went through in revealing plot details are ironed out. Of special note is the elegant beauty of the sets, taking advantage of the Portuguese-influenced architecture and a bounty of colors reminiscent of Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood for Love. Isabella is a simple, wondrous pleasure.
2001 / Hou Hsiao-Hsien > Millennium Mambo is the first time I've taken the time to actually sit through a film made by one of the Taiwanese New Wave directors. While it tested my patience at several instances, I also felt strangely drawn to it. There isn't much of a plot in the contentional sense; people do mundane things, but ironically we identify with these events considerably more than a car chase. Turn of the century techno/house permeates the soundtrack, and glowing, neon colors end up being strangely soothing to the eye.
I'm unsure why I like this film. It felt a bit like the old Wong Kar-Wai on acid, and must have been a considerable influence on Coppola's Lost in Translation. Shu Qi is heartbreaking and gorgeous, evoking a sentimentalist innocence not often felt in films nowadays. In this process, Hou has successfully challenged me to revisit his other films as well as those of his compatriot Tsai Ming-Liang.
