La Dolce Vita 
1960 / Federico Fellini > Movies about one's own person, as to say how a person matures, even in older age, how one adjusts to aging itself, how to basically understand life and one's position in that life, these are notions that have been tackled over and over in cinema. Such a view of humanity is usually inspected in a smaller scope, observing the nuances and tackling singular topics. But more often than not, this lack of scope leaves too many gaps from the palette of life's emotions.
Fellini, though, captures everything in La Dolce Vita. There are no other ways to describe this than with the kind of love and admiration one has for the medium itself, and how glad I am to have finally witnessed the kind of work that makes watching cinema a necessary part of life. It's as if Holden Caulfield grew up and just happened to be Italian. From head to toe, the superficial glitter slides off to always reveal a piece of the puzzle. The world around him seems to be a joke, but at the end, nobody's laughing. When you're not laughing, is it because the joke wasn't funny? Or is it because the joke's on you?
Rushmore
1998 / Wes Anderson > I'm not sure how much my familiarity with the soundtrack had to do with it, but my latest viewing of Rushmore was a completely different experience than I'd previously recalled. Seeing it in theatres originally, when Anderson's tactics were still fresh, the first half was all the rage while the second half seemed banal at best. And over time, that first half became a sort of gimmick, something to create an illusion of substance when in reality, it mimicked that indie quirkiness that continues to plague current cinema. But now, three Anderson films later, I've finally realized what makes the film isn't its first half, but rather the second half, which maintains a sense of quiet rumination filled with the appreciation of living and acceptance.
In ways, this is as unusual a coming of age film as there ever may be. While Jason Schwartzman's Max Fischer isn't immediately someone to identify with, his emotional see-saw with Miss Cross (played by the elegant and lovely Olivia Williams) provides an intangible yet definite hook for us to latch onto. He seems the antithesis of what we see in Dangerous Minds, yet in many ways, he's exactly similar. Nobody said you had to deal with guns and drugs to be a delinquent—You can also do it with extracurricular activities like building aquariums on the baseball diamond or tending bees instead of taking exams.
Also impressively, no Anderson film has used music as effectively as Rushmore. The Who backing the revenge sequence, John Lennon supporting Max and Bill Murray's hopeful Herman Blume road back to grace and Miss Cross taking Max's glasses off to The Faces, all of these are further impacted by just the right song and the calculated camera work of Richard Yeoman. So beautiful, in fact, that the curtain scene at the end has forever become etched in my memory.
Yi Yi
2000 / Edward Yang > Yi Yi is loved for the same reason it isn't perfect: For three hours, Yang meticulously orchestrates the lives of a middle-class Taiwanese family through everyday trials and tribulations, both simple and complex, but ends without a proper conclusion. Generally, this does little but to anger the viewer who's given up 180 minutes of their life, but as the credits roll, a feeling comes over that contradicts such expected notions.
Beautiful and easing, Yi Yi is full of warmth while staying true to the crass happenings of life. In some ways, it's just easy to watch—there are no fancy editing techniques or climactic sequences, but even in its calm demeanor, the film commands attention throughout. As a character says, "films let us live three times," and in that vain, we are able to connect to others and empathize about the richness and hope of living. It's a must-see for those who've been turned off by Tsai (and to some degree Hou) to once again believe in the future of Taiwanese cinema, while at the same time coming to appreciate the loss that Yang's death earlier this year has caused to the film world.
The Royal Tenenbaums
2001 / Wes Anderson > The Royal Tenenbaums is ridiculous yet tactful, endearing when necessary and endlessly cathartic. It spends some time intriguingly setting up the familial landscape before falling back to let the action commence. It's not immediately apparent that there's anything here beyond Anderson's peculiar directing methods until he blitzkriegs into the last third of the film. One scene after another crescendos—without pomp—into a collusive, heartwarming and/or heartbreaking whole that delivers the knockout punch. A stellar cast and spotless performances, a concise and elegant screenplay and pitch perfect cinematography contribute to a sly and wry final product that supersedes its components into the annals of film history.
Memories of Matsuko
2006 / Tetsuya Nakashima > Considering I couldn't bear more than 30 minutes of Nakashima's Kamikaze Girls, imagine my surprise when I found Memories of Matsuko creeping up my mind months after having watched it. While it may be a ridiculous musical with an abrasive color palette, misplaced violence and oodles of sexual innuendo, it also ends up falling just short of being a masterpiece of human resilience.
Miki Nakatani's portrayal of Matsuko is one of the year's great performances, showing a wide emotional range while still successfully hitting every note. Her ability to be a chameleon is further complimented by Nakashima's storyline of life's ironies and heartbreaks that span multiple occupations and decades, creating an epic of personal proportions. This is a story about one person, a very normal person who has dreams like the rest of us. And this is the story of one whose dreams don't come true in the fashion that was intended, but magically we find solace in the fact that life isn't dictated by those failed dreams.
In the Mood for Love
2000 / Wong Kar-Wai > No matter how many times it's viewed, In the Mood for Love never fails to impress and evoke: Incredible performances from Maggie Cheung/Tony Leung, gorgeous cinematography by Christopher Doyle/Mark Li and the haunting music of Shigeru Umebayashi/Michael Galasso come together to complete Wong Kar-Wai's masterpiece about unrequited love.
Never has a film mesmerized as much as it has made the heart ache. There's a wondrous beauty in its concepts of time and space between a man and a woman, of hope and fulfillment vs. respect and duty. And it's absolutely fantastic when rain starts to fall.
