Let's make this clear up front: this list is deeply personal, and in some cases deliberately incomplete. Listmaking is an inexact science, so it was not my goal here to be fully accurate so much as to suggest the endlessly diverse pleasures I'd experienced over the past ten years of movie-watching (last year saw the end of the popular decade; now, the real one comes to a close, and the lists continue as always). These are the heart-wrenching, mind-blowing, tear-jerking, and gasp-inducing scenes that have stuck with me most; I feel richer having experienced them all. Some you will surely know already; others, I hope can be discoveries of your own. Some are entire sequences. Others you could blink and miss. All are magnificent in their own way.
So as to prevent over-saturation, each film has been restricted to one slot on the list -- a difficult imposition in the case of certain crowd-pleasers where an entire audience can be roused to applause four, five, even six times throughout the show (as was the case with the film at #5, which in this particular instance I saw a second time instead of studying for my math final). Enough digression; on with the show. Five entries will be posted at a time, as many days as it takes. Use the comments section to share your own favorites, or point out omissions you feel are in need of recognition. I hope this sees your queue nicely expanded.
#50-46
#45-41
#40-36
#35-31
More coming soon.
12.31.2010
Moments of the Decade, #40-36
40. The Social Network
Leave it to David Fincher to deliver not only one of the best movies of the year, but one of the best music videos to boot. The Winklevoss (Winklevi?) twins, long since burned by their dubious exchanges with official Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, have finally had enough after losing an esteemed international sculling race and learning that their stolen internet idea has now made it across the pond. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's tongue-in-cheek rendition of Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" infects one with the thrill of the final strokes of their race, and as a stylistic lynchpin, it might be just the thing that takes The Social Network to greatness. It's another indication of Fincher's ever-evolving kino eye, and not the first time he's out-Kubricked Kubrick.
39. The Royal Tenenbaums
Another snatch that once made it as far as this sites main banner. The formative years of the young Tenenbaums are summarized with grace and wit to The Mutato Muzika Orchestra's cover of "Hey Jude," with the climactic coda seeing young Richie freeing his pet falcon Mordecai from the urban prison to which the rest of them are bound. Bliss ensues. This might be the instant I fell in love with Wes Anderson.
38. Toy Story 3
Despite an overly polished narrative, Toy Story 3's heart is in the right place, never more so than during the instantly infamous climax: the toys, accidentally thrown out, find themselves trapped in a landfill's automated trash shredder and incinerator, a dead-end obstacle course that sees the iconic group reconciling their mortality in a transcendent image of solidarity. In a trilogy that respectfully considers who we are, where we come from, and where we're going, it's a sobering wake-up call to the finite nature of all things.
37. Eastern Promises
Arguably the fisticuffs sequence of the decade, this bathhouse tussle acts like a palate cleanser to all those horrid action films in which fights and shoot-outs are assembled less from proper coverage than from the sloppy editing of deliberately obscure camerawork. Here, every punch, kick, cut and body slam registers with aching force; the audience itself feels wounded by the time a victor emerges.
36. Death Proof
This sequence was absent from the stateside, Grindhouse-intact cut of Death Proof, so only those who've ventured to the full cut of the film will know it's sexy glory. It's just one of many ethereal cinematic highs in an underrated, exquisitely personal work; accept the laid back, slow-burn pacing, and Tarantino's spell works wonders (the same goes for that other forgotten QT gem, Jackie Brown). I doubt that words could do it justice. "He wears a red bandanna ..."
[Comments can be posted on the main list page available here.]
12.28.2010
Memories of Jurassic Park
[This post is my contribution to the Steven Spielberg Blogathon co-hosted by Adam Zanzie (Icebox Movies) and Ryan Kelly (Medfly Quarantine).]
As an 8-year-old, Jurassic Park held remarkably little sway over me in the days before I saw the film. I'd been caught up in hype before: Disney's Beauty and the Beast was my favorite movie by far for a time, and I remember counting down the days before I got to see it (seven times in theaters, a record unmatched by any film until Inglourious Basterds) and even being something of a prick towards my parents when I didn't get to go see it right away. Similarly, I'm pretty sure that word of the production of Home Alone 2 made me jump with excitement. I liked dinosaurs terrifically as a child; in the case of Jurassic Park, you'd think I'd have been jumping out of my skin. Alas, the preview was memorable but, once passed, left little impression on my young mind.
The reason, I think, is that at even that early point in time, I had mentally checked Steven Spielberg as someone to watch out for, in a bad way (ironic now, I know). E.T. had already rubbed me the wrong way, so clearly I was the one who had gotten off on the wrong foot (other than that negative feeling, I don't remember watching it, only knowing that it had happened). A few years later, I'd see and love Duel, but for now I was confronted with a film that had earned important notice amongst people my age (along with pogs, among other things of such importance) and, concurrently, in the local newspaper for having drawn such young interest in a PG-13 rated movie. My dad showed me editorials and cartoons on the matter as if (a) I gave a shit (I hadn't pressed to see the film, and would later be denied access to see The Nightmare Before Christmas; adventurous, my parents always are) and (b) such noise was worthwhile (already, media banter struck me as reactionary and inane). And when my first chance came to actually go see the movie, I actively dismissed it. Even I don't get my weirdness sometimes.
Suffice to say, when I finally was able to see it (a few months into its run, around Halloween, I remember), Spielberg's film disturbed me profoundly. I wasn't entertained so much as paralyzed, from the opening scene on (even the jovial first half couldn't overcome the effect). I remember ticking off the number of people who had died in the film, finding it (the film) to be horribly, sickeningly exploitative (this being the second time such an effect had happened to me: a terrible disaster picture in a tropical setting, When Time Ran Out, made for a disturbing television experience several years earlier; with no concept of special effects, these people drowning and burning were actually dying to my young eyes). My anger at the film culminated in the form of a written letter to one Mr. Spielberg, in which I disparaged him for wallowing in perceived filth and gore. I'm unsure of what happened to this letter; part of me wishes to read it, while another hopes it no longer exists, so as to not become potential blackmail fodder.
In time, I came to enjoy Jurassic Park (for the record, I've now possessed four copies of the film, the first, a VHS, being a gift, later a widescreen VHS, and two DVDs, the most latter bought for the purposes of this 'thon because the first DVD copy is still on loan to the co-host himself!), and more recently, to love it quite unabashedly. A late-night solo viewing of the film two or three years ago convinced me of its singularity: as an action film, as an auteurist vision, as a blockbuster, as a humanist statement. It's a masterpiece, and I'd go so far as to call it life-affirming. Among the many recommendables: Spielberg's exquisite character shorthand, a finely tuned orchestra, of performers, and the visual effects, which - although easier to spot these 17 years later - are still an enthralling landmark in digital evolution. The nighttime T-Rex attack might be the finest f/x set piece ever filmed, and that's coming from a died-in-the-wool Terminator fan (and you can throw all six Star Wars on the keeper pile, too).
What I eventually realized, with so much hindsight, was that Jurassic Park disturbed me at that age because this was a film that took death seriously. Unlike most of the flimsy monster movies I'd seen up until that time -- in which a cop snatched from traffic by the hungry jaws of a monster was just a throwaway figure in a fun but surface-deep framework -- this was the work of someone who considered the spirit and flesh and blood of everyone involved, even the cowardly lawyer and pudgy, scorned hacker. Films that toss off human life (singular or plural) without due cause (be it laughter or tears or something between) sicken me yet, but time has shown layers where previously none shown.
Spielberg was too experienced even at that point in his career to not be aware of an inherent silliness in the material (something Peter Jackson would fumble with in his adaptation of King Kong), and yet this awareness doesn't manifest itself as camp; it grounds the material, and with the help of technology, renders it as real as flesh and blood (Hammond's second act speech about a flea circus would be unforgivably lame if it wasn't such a blatant surrogate for Spielberg's intentions). By relocating the narrative pull away from the physical action (which is beautiful pop art) to the universal human impulses laced within (life finds a way), Spielberg elevates the material to the timelessly sublime.
It's this core of humanity that appeals to me so strongly in all of Spielberg's films, and yet he's not one without his darker sides. If Jurassic Park (and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and The Lost World, and Raiders of the Lost Ark, among others) tells us anything, it's that Steven likes to kill people in his movies. Humanistic or not, villains need dispatching, but his portrayals always hit a gut response of authenticity because they represent an actual loss. Nowadays, Jurassic Park's film-as-a-ride extravaganza is one of my favorite popcorn titles. And I'm entirely grateful that it, and not War of the Worlds, was there to torment my childhood.
A final tangential note: if you saw Jurassic Park at midnight at New York City's Sunshine theater early 2010 (a good showing, even if the audience was a little bit too ironic towards the movie for my taste), you'll probably remember the big audience cheer for Sam Neill when his character is introduced. Immediately following was a guy who then singly called out Laura Dern's name with meek enthusiasm. Yeah, that was me.
I love these faces.
Nedry and Hammond's past is deliberately obscured in this script. Is this line meant sincerely?
This is one of my favorite acting moments in the film. Compelled, as if by an involuntary force, to rush to the aid of the children, Alan realizes, immediately after getting the attention of the T-Rex, that he is now the prey of choice. His face twitches delightfully as he conveys dawning fear and redoubled resolution in the matter of about two seconds.
Listen at this moment for a antiquated slipping sound file, like something out of an old cartoon. Fitting.
He looked down.
What are they looking at? Limbs? Fleshy scraps?
lol
I wonder how many takes this shot required.
I love how this gotcha moment suggests greater unseen intelligence of the raptors. One of those creatures had to stuff that arm into the crevice, as if hiding all traces of themselves before the arrival of the next potential victim.
Be vewy vewy qwiet....I'm hunting waptors.
If you don't give yourself away, cheap utensil hooks surely will.
Are you there, God?
As an 8-year-old, Jurassic Park held remarkably little sway over me in the days before I saw the film. I'd been caught up in hype before: Disney's Beauty and the Beast was my favorite movie by far for a time, and I remember counting down the days before I got to see it (seven times in theaters, a record unmatched by any film until Inglourious Basterds) and even being something of a prick towards my parents when I didn't get to go see it right away. Similarly, I'm pretty sure that word of the production of Home Alone 2 made me jump with excitement. I liked dinosaurs terrifically as a child; in the case of Jurassic Park, you'd think I'd have been jumping out of my skin. Alas, the preview was memorable but, once passed, left little impression on my young mind.
The reason, I think, is that at even that early point in time, I had mentally checked Steven Spielberg as someone to watch out for, in a bad way (ironic now, I know). E.T. had already rubbed me the wrong way, so clearly I was the one who had gotten off on the wrong foot (other than that negative feeling, I don't remember watching it, only knowing that it had happened). A few years later, I'd see and love Duel, but for now I was confronted with a film that had earned important notice amongst people my age (along with pogs, among other things of such importance) and, concurrently, in the local newspaper for having drawn such young interest in a PG-13 rated movie. My dad showed me editorials and cartoons on the matter as if (a) I gave a shit (I hadn't pressed to see the film, and would later be denied access to see The Nightmare Before Christmas; adventurous, my parents always are) and (b) such noise was worthwhile (already, media banter struck me as reactionary and inane). And when my first chance came to actually go see the movie, I actively dismissed it. Even I don't get my weirdness sometimes.
Suffice to say, when I finally was able to see it (a few months into its run, around Halloween, I remember), Spielberg's film disturbed me profoundly. I wasn't entertained so much as paralyzed, from the opening scene on (even the jovial first half couldn't overcome the effect). I remember ticking off the number of people who had died in the film, finding it (the film) to be horribly, sickeningly exploitative (this being the second time such an effect had happened to me: a terrible disaster picture in a tropical setting, When Time Ran Out, made for a disturbing television experience several years earlier; with no concept of special effects, these people drowning and burning were actually dying to my young eyes). My anger at the film culminated in the form of a written letter to one Mr. Spielberg, in which I disparaged him for wallowing in perceived filth and gore. I'm unsure of what happened to this letter; part of me wishes to read it, while another hopes it no longer exists, so as to not become potential blackmail fodder.
In time, I came to enjoy Jurassic Park (for the record, I've now possessed four copies of the film, the first, a VHS, being a gift, later a widescreen VHS, and two DVDs, the most latter bought for the purposes of this 'thon because the first DVD copy is still on loan to the co-host himself!), and more recently, to love it quite unabashedly. A late-night solo viewing of the film two or three years ago convinced me of its singularity: as an action film, as an auteurist vision, as a blockbuster, as a humanist statement. It's a masterpiece, and I'd go so far as to call it life-affirming. Among the many recommendables: Spielberg's exquisite character shorthand, a finely tuned orchestra, of performers, and the visual effects, which - although easier to spot these 17 years later - are still an enthralling landmark in digital evolution. The nighttime T-Rex attack might be the finest f/x set piece ever filmed, and that's coming from a died-in-the-wool Terminator fan (and you can throw all six Star Wars on the keeper pile, too).
What I eventually realized, with so much hindsight, was that Jurassic Park disturbed me at that age because this was a film that took death seriously. Unlike most of the flimsy monster movies I'd seen up until that time -- in which a cop snatched from traffic by the hungry jaws of a monster was just a throwaway figure in a fun but surface-deep framework -- this was the work of someone who considered the spirit and flesh and blood of everyone involved, even the cowardly lawyer and pudgy, scorned hacker. Films that toss off human life (singular or plural) without due cause (be it laughter or tears or something between) sicken me yet, but time has shown layers where previously none shown.
Spielberg was too experienced even at that point in his career to not be aware of an inherent silliness in the material (something Peter Jackson would fumble with in his adaptation of King Kong), and yet this awareness doesn't manifest itself as camp; it grounds the material, and with the help of technology, renders it as real as flesh and blood (Hammond's second act speech about a flea circus would be unforgivably lame if it wasn't such a blatant surrogate for Spielberg's intentions). By relocating the narrative pull away from the physical action (which is beautiful pop art) to the universal human impulses laced within (life finds a way), Spielberg elevates the material to the timelessly sublime.
It's this core of humanity that appeals to me so strongly in all of Spielberg's films, and yet he's not one without his darker sides. If Jurassic Park (and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and The Lost World, and Raiders of the Lost Ark, among others) tells us anything, it's that Steven likes to kill people in his movies. Humanistic or not, villains need dispatching, but his portrayals always hit a gut response of authenticity because they represent an actual loss. Nowadays, Jurassic Park's film-as-a-ride extravaganza is one of my favorite popcorn titles. And I'm entirely grateful that it, and not War of the Worlds, was there to torment my childhood.
A final tangential note: if you saw Jurassic Park at midnight at New York City's Sunshine theater early 2010 (a good showing, even if the audience was a little bit too ironic towards the movie for my taste), you'll probably remember the big audience cheer for Sam Neill when his character is introduced. Immediately following was a guy who then singly called out Laura Dern's name with meek enthusiasm. Yeah, that was me.
I love these faces.
Nedry and Hammond's past is deliberately obscured in this script. Is this line meant sincerely?
This is one of my favorite acting moments in the film. Compelled, as if by an involuntary force, to rush to the aid of the children, Alan realizes, immediately after getting the attention of the T-Rex, that he is now the prey of choice. His face twitches delightfully as he conveys dawning fear and redoubled resolution in the matter of about two seconds.
Listen at this moment for a antiquated slipping sound file, like something out of an old cartoon. Fitting.
He looked down.
What are they looking at? Limbs? Fleshy scraps?
lol
I wonder how many takes this shot required.
I love how this gotcha moment suggests greater unseen intelligence of the raptors. One of those creatures had to stuff that arm into the crevice, as if hiding all traces of themselves before the arrival of the next potential victim.
Be vewy vewy qwiet....I'm hunting waptors.
If you don't give yourself away, cheap utensil hooks surely will.
Are you there, God?
2010 - The Year in Film (1.0)
2010 might be the first year in memory where movies didn't take up the majority of my personal time (*gasp!*), a fact that was not entirely out of my control. In previous years, had I the quantity of blind spots I do now, I'd be embarrassed to post this list; much as I like them, some of the latter choices in my top ten would be likely Honorable Mention candidates and nothing more. But, I'm far more grateful for the experiences I've had than disappointed at the trips to the multiplex I missed, and I'm still of the opinion that it was a damn good year at the movies. Here's what made it worthwhile to these eyes.
10. How to Train Your Dragon (dir. Dean DeBlois & Chris Sanders) Dreamworks Animation, all your prior offenses are hereby forgiven. Although not as gorgeous as the clever, partially redemptive Kung Fu Panda, this account of a scrawny, wannabe Viking Hiccup and his determination to buck the trend is exciting, affirming, witty, and one for the permanent family film collection (just a few slots up from the directorial duo's last feature, the exquisite Lilo & Stitch).
9. Salt (dir. Phillip Noyce) To paraphrase a colleague of mine, Salt belongs on the list of "this is how it's done", it being on par with Die Hard, The Matrix and The Terminator for singular action gusto. It works fabulously whether you catch the details right away or not. At the center of the beautifully contrived plot is whirlwind Angelina Jolie: feline, brainy, secretive and utterly elemental. No sequel is necessary; the ending fade-out is the stuff of legend.
8. The Other Guys (dir. Adam McKay) The comedy of the year, The Other Guys sets Will Ferrell's laid-back zero-risk zen against Mark Wahlberg's clipped claws, they being go-nowhere cops by respective choice and circumstance. In catching the trail of a Ponzi scheme without prosecutable evidence, they unwittingly take bribes, lose all respect as officers, and get their shoes stolen, among other things. Adam McKay's finest act of absurdity yet rails against our collective financial C.F., capping it off with an end credits sequence for the ages.
7. The Fighter (dir. David O. Russell) The Fighter stands in the shadow of failure, and as only the best formulaic crowd-pleasers manage, it convinces us of the emerging victory. David O. Russell's take on this underdog tale - one fueled by the crushing effects of celebrity image, drug use, and familial over-attachment - is cheeky in its postmodern embrace. Highlights include: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Marky Mark, the pack of velociraptors, Amy Adams, Amy Adams, rock-scored sequences, use of slow motion, and Amy Adams.
6. Prodigal Sons (dir. Kimberly Reed) The documentary of the year acts as a palate cleanser to all those snarky over-commercialized ones. Director Kimberly Reed's transsexuality is frankly unexploitative and personal, and she treats her mentally-challenged adopted brother with the same loving, unconditional directness. The discoveries that follow as she watches his grappling with life are shocking, unbelievable, and always revelatory.
5. Winter's Bone (dir. Debra Granik) An ice-cold noir in Ozarkian clothing, Winter's Bone is strictly excellent, always personal filmmaking. Drugs and murder lie just beneath the surface of this rural America, where Jennifer Lawrence's Ree must prove her court-dodging daddy's incapacitation before the bank takes her family's home away. Raw, unflinching, moving and stylistically audacious, it's the movie that Frozen River wanted to be, and more.
4. Let Me In (dir. Matt Reeves) An immediate edition to the short list of superior horror remakes, Matt Reeves' Let Me In trades the icy empathy of the 2008 Swedish original for a classic (and classy) Spielberg glow. If you haven't seen the original (it too is one of the great vampire films), it's excellent, and if you have, it might even be better. Just think: In a parallel, just universe somewhere, this was one of the box office sensations of the year, and Twilight doesn't even exist. Mmmmm.
3. Shutter Island (dir. Martin Scorsese) This hard-boiled whodunit is the stuff of criminal cliché, but furthermore, its a pulp euphoria that taps directly into our survival instincts: (self-inflicted) violence and mental repression. Martin Scorsese's role as director - world creator - has rarely been used to more appropriately contextual ends than in this heartbreaking look at love, death, and defense mechanisms. Elemental, sensual, terrifying, monolithic, and only a sane man would ask the final question.
2. The Ghost Writer (dir. Roman Polanski) Say what you will of the director, but there remains something to be said for troubled artists, and this captivating thriller adds fuel to the argument. This politico is like razor wire, cutting fast and deep and often so swift you don't even notice its cunning straight out; the final punchline gets more brutal in hindsight. What's more, as a politically conscious work, it's timely without the overt suffocation. A masterwork in all ways; if this isn't one of the ten nominees, someone in the Academy needs to be shot.
1. The Social Network (David Fincher) The role of Facebook in society isn't of direct concern here, but it's there, writ large in the context. Writer Aaron Sorkin and director David Fincher's film is about human connection in a digital society, where emotions become masked and muted by information. Luddites be damned, these portals have their own way of stagnating that which they intend to encourage; in our own way, we all become assholes. Like Fight Club, it's worthy of Kubrick, and further displays Fincher's emotional elasticity. The Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross score is unquestionably the shit, the cast is the best of the year, and the screenplay - while traditional in structure (at least by 2010 standards) - is endlessly quotable. It holds a candle to Citizen Kane, which is to say, it's a small masterpiece.
Honorable Mentions: The Crazies, The Eclipse, Greenberg, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I, Hot Tub Time Machine, The Human Centipede (First Sequence), The Kids Are All Right, The Town, True Grit, Unstoppable
And some more: Cyrus, Despicable Me, Inside Job, Mother, Oceans, Piranha 3D, Predators, Red Riding (1974), Resident Evil: Afterlife, The Secret of Kells, Splice, Survival of the Dead, Sweetgrass, Toy Story 3, Tron Legacy, Trust Us, This Is All Made Up, The Wildest Dream: Conquest of Everest
Surprises (also honorable mentions): The A-Team, Burlesque, Grown Ups, Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole, The Mini, Shrek Forever After, The Warrior's Way, The Wolfman
Should Have Been Great (but still worthwhile): Black Swan, Easy A, I Am Love, Inception, The Killer Inside Me, Never Let Me Go, A Prophet, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World
Should Have Been Great (aka, that was awful): Alice in Wonderland, Iron Man 2, Kick-Ass
Blind Spots: More than I'd rather list here. As in, at least 30 or so that I'd consider essential viewing. I'll get back to you.
Best Leading Performances: Annette Bening, The Kids Are All Right; Leonardo DiCaprio, Shutter Island; Ciarán Hinds, The Eclipse; Jessie Eisenberg, The Social Network; Will Ferrell, The Other Guys; Angelina Jolie, Salt; Hye-ja Kim, Mother; Jennifer Lawrence, Winter's Bone; Tahar Rahim, A Prophet; Ben Stiller, Greenberg; Hailee Steinfeld, True Grit; Emma Stone, Easy A
Best Supporting Performances: Amy Adams, The Fighter; Christian Bale, The Fighter; Andrew Garfield, The Social Network; Rooney Mara, The Social Network; Jeremy Renner, The Town; Mickey Rourke, Iron Man 2; Justin Timberlake, The Social Network; Mia Wasikowska, The Kids Are All Right; Michelle Williams, Shutter Island
Great Ensembles: Cyrus, The Fighter, The Ghost Writer, The Kids Are All Right, Let Me In, Shutter Island, The Social Network, The Town, True Grit, Winter's Bone
Best Performance as a Bitter Old Man: TIE, Jack McGee in The Fighter and Dakin Matthews in True Grit
Thesping Moment of the Year: Jessie Eisenberg in The Social Network, “The site's live.”
Funniest line of dialogue: Jonah Hill in Cyrus, "It's like a crippled tree reaching for heaven."
Best Direction: Roman Polanski, The Ghost Writer
Best Bookend Shots (opening and closing): The Ghost Writer
Best Closing Shot: Shutter Island
Best Soundtrack: TIE, Shutter Island and The Social Network
Classic Discovery of the Year: Miami Connection, aka the Citizen Kane of bad 80s action films
In Poor Taste: Remember Me
I'm Glad I Didn't Finish: Clash of the Titans, The Karate Kid, Knight and Day
Worst of the Year: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, You Again, The Back-Up Plan
10. How to Train Your Dragon (dir. Dean DeBlois & Chris Sanders) Dreamworks Animation, all your prior offenses are hereby forgiven. Although not as gorgeous as the clever, partially redemptive Kung Fu Panda, this account of a scrawny, wannabe Viking Hiccup and his determination to buck the trend is exciting, affirming, witty, and one for the permanent family film collection (just a few slots up from the directorial duo's last feature, the exquisite Lilo & Stitch).
9. Salt (dir. Phillip Noyce) To paraphrase a colleague of mine, Salt belongs on the list of "this is how it's done", it being on par with Die Hard, The Matrix and The Terminator for singular action gusto. It works fabulously whether you catch the details right away or not. At the center of the beautifully contrived plot is whirlwind Angelina Jolie: feline, brainy, secretive and utterly elemental. No sequel is necessary; the ending fade-out is the stuff of legend.
8. The Other Guys (dir. Adam McKay) The comedy of the year, The Other Guys sets Will Ferrell's laid-back zero-risk zen against Mark Wahlberg's clipped claws, they being go-nowhere cops by respective choice and circumstance. In catching the trail of a Ponzi scheme without prosecutable evidence, they unwittingly take bribes, lose all respect as officers, and get their shoes stolen, among other things. Adam McKay's finest act of absurdity yet rails against our collective financial C.F., capping it off with an end credits sequence for the ages.
7. The Fighter (dir. David O. Russell) The Fighter stands in the shadow of failure, and as only the best formulaic crowd-pleasers manage, it convinces us of the emerging victory. David O. Russell's take on this underdog tale - one fueled by the crushing effects of celebrity image, drug use, and familial over-attachment - is cheeky in its postmodern embrace. Highlights include: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Marky Mark, the pack of velociraptors, Amy Adams, Amy Adams, rock-scored sequences, use of slow motion, and Amy Adams.
6. Prodigal Sons (dir. Kimberly Reed) The documentary of the year acts as a palate cleanser to all those snarky over-commercialized ones. Director Kimberly Reed's transsexuality is frankly unexploitative and personal, and she treats her mentally-challenged adopted brother with the same loving, unconditional directness. The discoveries that follow as she watches his grappling with life are shocking, unbelievable, and always revelatory.
5. Winter's Bone (dir. Debra Granik) An ice-cold noir in Ozarkian clothing, Winter's Bone is strictly excellent, always personal filmmaking. Drugs and murder lie just beneath the surface of this rural America, where Jennifer Lawrence's Ree must prove her court-dodging daddy's incapacitation before the bank takes her family's home away. Raw, unflinching, moving and stylistically audacious, it's the movie that Frozen River wanted to be, and more.
4. Let Me In (dir. Matt Reeves) An immediate edition to the short list of superior horror remakes, Matt Reeves' Let Me In trades the icy empathy of the 2008 Swedish original for a classic (and classy) Spielberg glow. If you haven't seen the original (it too is one of the great vampire films), it's excellent, and if you have, it might even be better. Just think: In a parallel, just universe somewhere, this was one of the box office sensations of the year, and Twilight doesn't even exist. Mmmmm.
3. Shutter Island (dir. Martin Scorsese) This hard-boiled whodunit is the stuff of criminal cliché, but furthermore, its a pulp euphoria that taps directly into our survival instincts: (self-inflicted) violence and mental repression. Martin Scorsese's role as director - world creator - has rarely been used to more appropriately contextual ends than in this heartbreaking look at love, death, and defense mechanisms. Elemental, sensual, terrifying, monolithic, and only a sane man would ask the final question.
2. The Ghost Writer (dir. Roman Polanski) Say what you will of the director, but there remains something to be said for troubled artists, and this captivating thriller adds fuel to the argument. This politico is like razor wire, cutting fast and deep and often so swift you don't even notice its cunning straight out; the final punchline gets more brutal in hindsight. What's more, as a politically conscious work, it's timely without the overt suffocation. A masterwork in all ways; if this isn't one of the ten nominees, someone in the Academy needs to be shot.
1. The Social Network (David Fincher) The role of Facebook in society isn't of direct concern here, but it's there, writ large in the context. Writer Aaron Sorkin and director David Fincher's film is about human connection in a digital society, where emotions become masked and muted by information. Luddites be damned, these portals have their own way of stagnating that which they intend to encourage; in our own way, we all become assholes. Like Fight Club, it's worthy of Kubrick, and further displays Fincher's emotional elasticity. The Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross score is unquestionably the shit, the cast is the best of the year, and the screenplay - while traditional in structure (at least by 2010 standards) - is endlessly quotable. It holds a candle to Citizen Kane, which is to say, it's a small masterpiece.
Honorable Mentions: The Crazies, The Eclipse, Greenberg, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I, Hot Tub Time Machine, The Human Centipede (First Sequence), The Kids Are All Right, The Town, True Grit, Unstoppable
And some more: Cyrus, Despicable Me, Inside Job, Mother, Oceans, Piranha 3D, Predators, Red Riding (1974), Resident Evil: Afterlife, The Secret of Kells, Splice, Survival of the Dead, Sweetgrass, Toy Story 3, Tron Legacy, Trust Us, This Is All Made Up, The Wildest Dream: Conquest of Everest
Surprises (also honorable mentions): The A-Team, Burlesque, Grown Ups, Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole, The Mini, Shrek Forever After, The Warrior's Way, The Wolfman
Should Have Been Great (but still worthwhile): Black Swan, Easy A, I Am Love, Inception, The Killer Inside Me, Never Let Me Go, A Prophet, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World
Should Have Been Great (aka, that was awful): Alice in Wonderland, Iron Man 2, Kick-Ass
Blind Spots: More than I'd rather list here. As in, at least 30 or so that I'd consider essential viewing. I'll get back to you.
Best Leading Performances: Annette Bening, The Kids Are All Right; Leonardo DiCaprio, Shutter Island; Ciarán Hinds, The Eclipse; Jessie Eisenberg, The Social Network; Will Ferrell, The Other Guys; Angelina Jolie, Salt; Hye-ja Kim, Mother; Jennifer Lawrence, Winter's Bone; Tahar Rahim, A Prophet; Ben Stiller, Greenberg; Hailee Steinfeld, True Grit; Emma Stone, Easy A
Best Supporting Performances: Amy Adams, The Fighter; Christian Bale, The Fighter; Andrew Garfield, The Social Network; Rooney Mara, The Social Network; Jeremy Renner, The Town; Mickey Rourke, Iron Man 2; Justin Timberlake, The Social Network; Mia Wasikowska, The Kids Are All Right; Michelle Williams, Shutter Island
Great Ensembles: Cyrus, The Fighter, The Ghost Writer, The Kids Are All Right, Let Me In, Shutter Island, The Social Network, The Town, True Grit, Winter's Bone
Best Performance as a Bitter Old Man: TIE, Jack McGee in The Fighter and Dakin Matthews in True Grit
Thesping Moment of the Year: Jessie Eisenberg in The Social Network, “The site's live.”
Funniest line of dialogue: Jonah Hill in Cyrus, "It's like a crippled tree reaching for heaven."
Best Direction: Roman Polanski, The Ghost Writer
Best Bookend Shots (opening and closing): The Ghost Writer
Best Closing Shot: Shutter Island
Best Soundtrack: TIE, Shutter Island and The Social Network
Classic Discovery of the Year: Miami Connection, aka the Citizen Kane of bad 80s action films
In Poor Taste: Remember Me
I'm Glad I Didn't Finish: Clash of the Titans, The Karate Kid, Knight and Day
Worst of the Year: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, You Again, The Back-Up Plan
12.18.2010
Viewing Log #3.3
The Fighter (David O. Russell, 2010) If all studio movies had at least half the emotion as the crowd-pleasing The Fighter, there'd be far less to bitch about in this business of film reviewing. An exquisite example of indie sensibilities fused with mainstream cinematic formula, this Rocky-esque tale earns its way into your heart with good old-fashioned legwork, Capra-corn lite with a dusting of grit. Drug-addled family ties fuel this underdog tale of a fighter held back by his possessive and paranoid family, as well as a breathlessly genuine romantic subplot (Amy Adams, what I wouldn't do for you) and a very creepy bunch of girls who make Deliverance proud. It may not be great movie art (a distinction I care little about when I enjoy myself so much), but there's more feeling to it than most of the "great" event movies of late combined. No weak links here; Christian Bale is a standout as a crack addict. For the film and cast entire, let's hope that Oscar knows the real deal when it sees it. [Rating: 4 out of 5]
Unstoppable (Tony Scott, 2010) Confession time: This is the first Tony Scott movie I've seen, period. Seems like I've picked a good time to buck the trend, as this is as pure and breathless as damn near any mainstream action movie in recent memory. The subject matter - a massive runaway freight train carrying toxic goods through developed areas, and the scrappy efforts of money-hungry business heads and Regular Guys to stop it before derailment - has an archetypal purity, and the cast plays it as myth in action (Rosario Dawson in particular lends a quotidian balance). The shaky-queasy camera is used tightly, sparingly, like thick brush strokes; like Michael Bay, Scott's stylistic hang-ups are becoming instinctive, fluid and, dare I say, artful. Looks like I'll be catching up on Top Gun soon. Appropriately trashy, single-mindedly visceral and free of all excess, Unstoppable promises, and delivers. [Rating: 4 out of 5]
Burlesque (Steve Antin, 2010) If Showgirls is the Mt. Everest of self-reflexive, faux-trashy cinematic subversion, Burlesque is that hill from that Hugh Grant movie. Small potatoes to Verhoeven's masterpiece, however, are still quite good, and what astonishes most about this debut feature of pop singer Christina Aguilera is its total absence of irony (I suppose we've come to expect it). Chances are you know you've seen this movie before, before you even watch it, and the filmmakers play against that expectation in frequent character asides that refreshingly strain and deviate from the domino-like plot structure. Stanley Tucci's queer eye and Cher's dictatorial command cushion contrast the wide-eyed determination of Aguilera's aspiring dancer Ali; between a rock and a hard place, she emerges like a butterfly from a weather-worn cocoon. The film recycles cliches with feeling, verve, and savory camp wit; its purity is close to that of Speed Racer. [Rating: 3.5 out of 5]
Moments of the Decade, #45-41
45/44. The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans & The Wicker Man
How to separate these two? I'm certain that Mr. Cage has been having an absolute blast these past years, alternating between "respectable" work (in some cases legitimately so) and, more frequently, junk that lets him collect a paycheck and ham it up to eleven with little consequence. Both of these films let him off his proverbial chain to entirely crazy ends. We may never know for sure what was going through anyone's head on the set of The Wicker Man, but it was surely worth it for the embedded video above. Like the best previews, it's all of the good stuff (a favorite and oft-quoted bit starts at the 0:19 mark) with none of the drag. Meanwhile, Werner Herzog's nutters sort-of remake of Abel Ferrara's 1992 Bad Lieutenant works overtime to legitimize Cage's delicious scenery chewing ("Shoot him again..."), perhaps never more than a minute-or-so long sequence in which two iguanas haunt Cage's bad cop to Johnny Adams' "Release Me". Seriously.
43. Superbad
The one. The only. Sorry, Spider-Pig, this town ain't big enough for the two of you.
42. Revolver
A film of seemingly endless, and endlessly bold creative strokes, a minor touch stands out as the height of gonzo expression: an animated Ray Liotta turns quasi-Hulk and produces machine guns as arms as he storms out of a room. Batshit crazy in the best of ways from the word go, Guy Ritchie's mind game practically leaps off the screen in such moments. Close behind is Jason Statham's climactic split-personality self-confrontation, in which he manages to out-Gollum Gollum.
41. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
It would be too easy to pick the instantly infamous "nuke the fridge" sequence, awesome and tragically unappreciated though it is. And it would be shrill of me to spotlight the fact that fellow blogger and friend Ryan Kelly of Medfly Quarantine can be glimpsed straining for the spotlight in the back of the library during the motorcycle chase. (Oops, I just did.) I'll go with the final scene, then, because I love this movie and the end is the most important part of any movie. People who complained about this touch - when Shia LeBouf, benefactor of an impromptu gust of wind, deigns to don his newfound father's trademark hat, only for it to be snatched away by its rightful wearer - want to have and eat their cake (as if suggesting the possibility was as bad as endorsing it). Could Indiana Jones be continued? Yep. Will it be? Probably. Even without Harrison Ford? Sadly. But until associates and producers have the last word again, Crystal Skull says no! Hand it over, kid. This old man's earned his keep.
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