LIFE AS FICTION > for the love of film / a dequinix.com externality

Moon

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.

Synecdoche, New York

2008 / Charlie Kaufman > Here's a thought: Twenty years from now when we look at the 2008's global filmography, Synecdoche, New York will be the year's towering achievement. Kaufman's directorial debut is an injection of a life into the bloodstream, and the way it shakes down our internal struggles and chaotic delusions is truly magnificent. It's imperfect in the way it should be, in that pseudo-bullshit philosophical manner that nobody can really explain. And because it tries to explain things so minimally, it becomes the viewer's movie. Everyone can live this, everyone is this, and as crazy as it sounds, sometimes I find myself thinking that it's about me. The aging of man is a topic that has been touched upon with much success in the past (Ikiru, Wild Strawberries) but never like this. It's something only Kaufman can do, and it will undoubtedly polarize, fascinate and confuse for years to come.

It's a Wonderful Life

1946 / Frank Capra > The television stations loved playing this every Christmas when I was growing up, but I never actually saw the whole thing. The moments I caught here and there over the years, I somewhat fused together, but until now, I never really understood the mythology of George Bailey. Consider this a spiritual companion piece to Memories of Matsuko: Sometimes the things that we want to do weren't meant for us to begin with. Luck and circumstance are part of the game, and It's a Wonderful Life shows us the grass doesn't always have to be greener in order for a happier day. It's highly manipulative, but ironically not nearly as sentimental as one would expect. By the end, we don't really care because the manipulation was for a positive cause, because without it the modern moviegoer may be too cynical to enjoy a scene of sincere, unexpected happiness and joy. Could they make this now? I doubt it, but I'm happy that its spirit has barely aged in over half a century.

Let the Right One In

2008 / Tomas Alfredson > Ever since I first saw this by happenstance at the Tribeca Film Festival almost a year ago, it's been stuck in my mind. Coming of age stories tend to hold a constant place in my heart, but the choicest of these only float around once in while. Each has its own little niche: Rushmore channeled the quirkiness of overachievement and Wes Anderson, Hana and Alice dove into the teenage dramatics of Shunji Iwai and Let the Right One In somehow molds youth, alienation and things that go bump in the night into one cohesive jolt. Alfredson has created a film rooted in a dark loneliness and an even darker elegance. Every scene and detail is necessary, and even those that come across borderline-kitschy end up making sense in context.

But let's get the whole vampire bit cleared: This isn't one of those bloodsucking genre films that go by-the-book in their treatment of the Draculan descendants. Just like Cloverfield was an episode of The O.C. with a monster in it, Let the Right One In is a coming-of-age love story that happens to include someone with a penchant for blood. It's a surprisingly tactful method of curving an otherwise generic story into one of the year's best films. Rarely does the script take the viewer's intelligence for granted: myths are mostly hinted at, the gory visuals kept minimal and the camera angles respect our ability to extrapolate. The last sequence at the pool? It includes arguably the best scene in film from 2008. When Oskar's eyes open up, it's almost perfect.

Out of the Past

1947 / Jacques Tourneur > It's pretty obvious why David Cronenberg paid homage to Out of the Past in A History of Violence: If you're going to put a twist on a genre, why not pay respect to its standard-bearers? Tourneur's take on classic film-noir is thoughtful and riveting. The directing is meticulous, setting up a moody atmosphere, taking time to play out scenes that would otherwise have been rushed and making sure each of our characters are aptly developed. I can also now finally understand why Robert Mitchum was such a big deal. His quiet poise calls upon him an honest appearance while underneath he has the ability to carry deeper, darker secrets. And in a film where Jane Greer counters him as a dame of great beauty and equally great villainy, both work together balancing each others' brilliant performances.

But fundamentals aside, Out of the Past is more notable for its congruence of issues: Lies, murder, secret pasts, infidelity, love, hope, greed, happiness. Novelist and screenwriter Daniel Mainwaring threw the kitchen sink plus some toiletry in the story's mix of ingredients. But what amazes is how well it all works out. The final scene with the boy stands the test of time as one of those moments that leave you wondering the improbable quality of the film you've just witnessed. These days, the descendants of noir have simply too much cynicism or lack of storytelling skills to be this effective.

The Darjeeling Limited

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.

Slumdog Millionaire

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.

Tekkon Kinkreet

2006 / Michael Arias > Tekkon Kinkreet paints a portrait of adolescence with the right pigments and shades, with beauty and sorrow, loneliness and anger all packed into tight spaces that refuse to go away once the credits roll. Arias and Studio 4°C's inventive style fits the bill perfectly, with its depiction of the fictional Treasure Town's grimy streets and the two youthful protagonists' parkour-style street running. But it's not just about how pretty it all is. The writing is superb, capturing brotherhood in a way that's neither sensationalist nor ideal. Violence and loyalty are two thematic elements that carry the film from beginning to end: The former as a medium of by which to prove the latter. It's got the kind of gutsiness that can provoke the imagination as well as the heart.

Lost in Translation

2003 / Sofia Coppola > Coppola's sophomore effort has quite a few tangibles working for it: Impactful yet understated acting, a functional/moody location and a near-perfect mixture of ambience and rock for the soundtrack. But these only tell half of the story. The feel of it all—being alone in a city where your mind and body seems misplaced, not knowing if what tomorrow brings is worth waking up or going to bed for, wondering if the past you've lived is the past you've wanted to live—these are the intangibles that are undeniably infused into the self-analyzing experience that is Lost in Translation.

But I'd be lying if I said this was a perfect film: I find Scarlett Johansson's character to be weak, though part of it's because Bill Murray puts forth a subtle yet powerful performance portraying a man of such humanity that she comes off comparatively cookie-cutter. The pacing isn't always perfect, with hiccups that seem misplaced and solo scenes of Johansson that pale in comparison to those of Murray. And while I never really found the film to be racist by any means, the xenophobic viewpoints sometimes come off silly rather than calculated. But the point remains that Coppola, with the help of Brian Reitzell and Roger J. Manning Jr.'s effusive score, has concocted a mood piece of master quality that takes away our sense of vengeful cynicism and fills it with the kind of hope and bewilderment that both the young and the young at heart seek.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

2007 / Julian Schnabel > When I first heard this was going to be made into a film, I was filled with both worry and wonder. A film about a man who communicates by blinking? How interesting could that be on the screen? In amazement and awe, however, Schnabel and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski (who ought to be a lock for an Oscar nod) have adapted The Diving Bell and the Butterfly into celluloid with a level of imagination that even Jean-Dominique Bauby may not have had in his writing process. The scenes where Bauby (played immaculately by Mathieu Amalric) and his father (played by an appropriately aging Max von Sydow) communicate before and after the stroke are mesmerizing and heartbreaking. All the women in the film shine in reflection to Bauby's "butterfly," each adding an extra layer of emotion and character to a life not to be pitied. No doubt one of the year's very best, the film is an epic of human creativity and strength.

Pan's Labyrinth

2006 / Guillermo del Toro > The combination of fantasy and violence is something that's always fascinated me because at the core of most fairy tales is a sense of naivety that is both wondrous and disagreeable. Emotions toward the latter comes outward mostly because we realize that stories are an escape, and that fairy tales don't really happen without hard work (i.e., don't exist). In film, we simply take a ride in our minds that comes hurling back to square one once the end credits roll.

With Pan's Labyrinth, del Toro has given respect to the reality of time and space while still proceeding with his story of magic. The parallelism of good vs. evil along with the convex nature of Ofelia's fate are the cornerstones of the film's effectiveness. And since the idea of the happy ending is a modern one (and not one that's fair or objective to the viewer's emotions), I believe del Toro's choice of conclusion judiciously stops short of manipulating the viewer and the viewer's after-film hopes.

I'm neither perturbed nor surprised that The Lives of Others beat out Pan's Labyrinth for the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. Both are beautifully crafted, but the latter's taste in violence is not fit for all. That being said, only The Last King of Scotland and Memories of Matsuko compete with this as my personal favorite films of 2006.

The Last King of Scotland

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.

A Good Lawyer's Wife

2003 / Im Sang-soo > There are so many layers to Im's A Good Lawyer's Wife that a minimum of two viewings are a must. But even on the first viewing, it's fairly evident that he's created a fine work exploring the status of the modern Korean family, analyzing issues with aging, infidelity, class distinction, adoption and love/loneliness. It's easy to imagine a sophomore film class dissecting the ground beneath the film for a week, pondering exactly what Im intended to say, and what is just a natural consequence of the world he's trying to represent.

Much of this, undoubtedly, is driven by the incredible cast. Of note, as always, is the sheer blistering performance, subtle and true, of Moon So-ri in her portrayal of the title character (for which she won Best Actress at the 2004 Grand Bell Awards). Moreover, I found the film to have some of the most successfully interesting use of music I've ever witnessed: A mixture of upbeat orchestration and mismatched visuals often bringing forth feelings that would generally be hidden away.

I could go on, but it's probably better to just watch it. The combination of Im Sang-soo and Moon So-ri yields a result that ranks atop the ten best Korean films produced this decade, and establishes Im as a cornerstone director of contemporary Korean cinema.

The Bad Sleep Well

1960 / Akira Kurosawa > It's taken me quite a while to appreciate the power of Kurosawa's storytelling, but The Bad Sleep Well is one step closer to the nail on that coffin. Forget the fact that this is a Shakespearean adaptation (and note that knowing the story itself is of no consequence). What we have here is an elegantly crafted corporate revenge thriller that touches on multiple facets of capitalism as well as social construction. While there may be a leftist bias, thankfully the gravity of that bias is appropriate when the plot and setting are put in perspective.

Toshiro Mifune is as lean and mean as ever: No Seven Samurai-style overindulgence is necessary for him to convey his character's anger and compassion. The remainder of the cast each flower the pot to full bloom, notably Ko Nishimura's paranoid contract officer and Tatsuya Mihashi's loving brother. The cryptic and often jolly musical accompaniment is haunting, and the pacing slowly builds an emotional snowball within the viewer that enhances attachment. Too often we get bored and want the bad guy to win—but here, even though at times we question the protagonist's moral tactics, we stand by him and hope for the best.

The film is often forgotten among the annals of samurai flicks in Kurosawa's ouevre. But The Bad Sleep well is not simply about social relevance to today's society, but rather a sobering experience in expert storytelling. It lacks the gimmicks that drive most of today's films, and instead depends on human curiosity itself, an obvious yet underused technique. The wedding cake scene alone is worth the price of viewing.

Oasis

2002 / Lee Chang-dong > One of the greatest, if not arguably the most unexpected, love stories ever captured on film, Oasis is a tour de force of emotion from one of Korea's finest directors. It's an awkward but endearing tale of discovery between a woman with cerebral palsy and a man, fresh out of jail, who seems to be not completely there. Both Moon So-ri's performance as the woman and Sol Kyung-gu as the man are arguably the best duo seen in Korean film in the last five years.

In direct contrast to Lee's Peppermint Candy, which delved into the psyche of the modern Korean man, here he brings forth the universal ideal that everyone deserves to love and be loved. There are many occassions during the film where it becomes hard, even painful, to watch, but the sense of payoff is grand when the credits roll. Oasis is a true testament to the power of film.