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2004 was
hard work
for the moviegoer in search of things excellent, rewarding, worthy of
praise. But it was
also a fascinating year, in which many cultural crises, challenges, and
questions manifested themselves as recurring themes in film. I can't
remember a year in which it was harder to write up a list of favorites. But
I also can't remember a year of such surprising diversity in style and
storytelling.
Only a
handful of 2004's well-publicized, widely distributed films delivered on the
promises of their previews and hype, earning qualifiers like "great,"
"timeless," "worth seeing twice." The truly rewarding films were, for the
most part, to be found off the beaten path. (As a result, I may add titles
to the list in the next few months as I find the time to chase down those
hard-to-catch features.) It's been frustrating work to assemble a list of 20
that I can whole-heartedly recommend. As a matter of fact, at this writing
(December 29th), I've failed to find 20 that I'd label "excellent." What I
have instead is a list of features that are impressive for many reasons and
yet disappointingly flawed or unbalanced in others. It was a year of films
that boasted spectacularly memorable sequences and style, but beyond that
style there was little substance to speak of.
I suppose
that represents
TREND #1:
Visual extravagance built on sketchy, shallow storytelling.
Consider A Very Long Engagement, the latest confection from
Jean Pierre Jeunet (Amelie), which is heavy on frosting and light on
cake. It would have been hard to imagine a film so focused on the hardship
of warfare that ended up with so little to say. Similarly, Zhang Yimou's
House of Flying Daggers spends a lot of time choreographing
awe-inspiring martial arts spectacle while it only dabbles in simplistic
illustrations of love, an entertaining opera in which the characters are
extraordinarily talented and yet ultimately unsympathetic in their
self-centeredness and shallowness.
Ah ...
TREND #2: Self-centered characters wrecking themselves on the
rocks of desperate egoism.
House of Flying Daggers, Closer,
We Don't Live Here Anymore, ... each one was engaging, each one pointed
the way towards responsible and selfless behavior (sometimes
unintentionally, perhaps) by showing the consequences of the opposite sort
of behavior. While We Don't Live Here Anymore and Closer ...
ESPECIALLY Closer ... are exceedingly unpleasant movies that made me
want to flee the company of their characters, they still spoke the truth
about what it's like to live in the desperate pursuit of flattering one's
ego, using and abusing others for one's pleasure, and making relationship
commitments that one is not willing to fulfill.
Standing in
stark contrast, Mr. Incredible and his family were a marvelous example of
people willing to make sacrifices for each other, fulfilling their
responsibilities even as they pursue the development of their specific
talents and identities. We had to go to a cartoon to find a picture of
healthy living.
Speaking of
cartoons (and here's
TREND #3),
2004 was Year Two in what is clearly becoming
the Golden Age of Comic Book Movies.
Heroes whose
supernatural abilities represent the talents and unique strengths that each
one of us possess found meaningful stories (in cases like The Incredibles
and Spider-man 2). One of those stories almost passed as
realism instead of comic book mayhem (The Bourne
Supremacy). And one seemed almost entirely uninterested in meaningful
plot, but focused instead on purely playful, youthful imagination (Sky
Captain and the World of Tomorrow). Unfortunately, there were also
disappointments in the comic book genre, including Hellboy, which was
stylish and amusing, but its central conflict was bland and ultimately
wearying. The less said about the genre's all-time low -- the amoral and
utterly atrocious Catwoman -- the better. With a host of comic book
films on deck for 2005, it looks like the trend will continue. Hopefully
filmmakers are learning from their mistakes.
Hollywood
also sought heroes in history, elevating cultural pioneers by celebrating
their triumphs, glorifying their audacity, and quietly covering up the
consequences of their misbehaviors.
As a result, this year's misleading big screen biographies
(that's
TREND #4)
were, for the most part, LIES of differing degrees.
Ray
celebrated the musical breakthrough of Ray Charles and the way his passion
helped him transcend his adversity. But the filmmakers chose to forgive
Charles his mistakes, quietly deleting chapters about his first failed
marriage and the large crowd of children he fathered out of wedlock. One has
to wonder how "respected" those children feel, seeing their father's "life
story" on the big screen with nary a mention of the part they played in it.
The
Aviator served up excellent entertainment and a truly memorable
portrait of a visionary, but it treated his self-absorption and recklessness
with a perspective of admiration and reverence. The damage he did along the
way was minimized, and the downward spiral of his life was left for viewers
to discover later, as the film ended with one of his successes rather than
the years of disintegration that followed.
Kinsey celebrated the work of a man so intent on demonstrating that
sex should be considered outside of a moral framework that he ended up
gathering extensive data on the sexual responses of infants, and went so far
as to make pornographic films of himself with various partners, not to
mention the movies he made of himself performing unhealthy and unnatural
acts with instruments like toothbrushes. These details were quietly ignored
by the film, in which director Bill Condon chose instead to chuckle over a
single infidelity rather than the serial adulteries that Kinsey and his wife
"enjoyed." While the film did admit that the man's "research" led to
some discomforting relational difficulties, it still concluded that the
affirmation of sex as merely animal behavior was a healthy thing for
everyone, a perspective that should then tell us what to make of the
children confused by their parents' irresponsibility, what to make of the
increasing unhappiness that comes from reckless sexual behavior, the spread
of disease through sexual promiscuity, and various other damage caused by
viewing sex as anything other than a sacred and precious act between lovers
of lifelong commitment.
There were
also disappointing and sorely misguided films about Bobby Darin (Beyond
the Sea) and Alexander the Great (Alexander).
Portraits of J. M. Barrie and young Che Guevara made for small, beautiful
gems, rich with reward; but experts on those personalities can find plenty
of inconsistencies with history, so it's best to treat these films as
"loosely based on a true story" rather than as history brought to life.
Speaking of
misleading biographies, Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11
stooped the lowest, endeavoring to blame a great deal of the world's ills on
one man. The film was so steeped in hatred for George W. Bush that it became
easy to see how scattershot this "documentary" really was, how recklessly
Moore had manipulated the facts, and how he let his personal feelings injure
his ability to make a coherent argument. Sympathizing with many of Moore's
complaints against the Bush administration, I felt frustrated with this
film, wishing that the information he had gathered had been put in the hands
of someone able to offer a more objective, balanced argument, without the
cheap shots and fudged facts.
And then
there was the year's most profitable biographical film--The Passion of
the Christ, which focused on twelve hours of a man's life ...
namely, his grisly and excruciating death ... with such clinical attention
that the realism proved too much for many viewers, and drove many critics to
outrage over what they saw was gratuitous violence. Personally, I
interpreted the film as a work of religious art, a piece that follows in a
centuries-old tradition of artistic meditations on Christ's physical
passion. It moved millions of viewers, touched hearts, and inspired some to
recommit themselves to Christ. Like the Apostle Paul, I must say that
whenever the gospel is preached, it is a good thing, even if there is room
for improvement in the telling. I respect Mel Gibson for his courage and
commitment to making this film. And the film's critics couldn't have been
more obvious in their intolerance for Christianity,
because they seemed largely unable to find fault with the film, and
instead went to outrageous extremes to discredit the filmmaker, going so far
as to dig up dirt on his father. When have critics ever gone to such
extremes before? They could not have discredited themselves more severely
than they did with their histrionics and hysteria.
And yet,
there are things about the film worth criticizing. As a work of art,
it is, indeed, flawed. Sure, it's the greatest story ever told, true on the
whole. But Gibson's work must be examined for the way it tells the
story, and for the flourishes of creativity and interpretation. I found it
distressingly, distractingly heavy handed. Where other films ignored the
unpleasant reality in favor of dressed-up and exaggerated highlights, The
Passion focused so intently on the Messiah's darkest hours that I found
myself longing for the audience to see this darkness in context,
encountering the Christ who drew people to him for his love and grace rather
than merely the one who was battered to death by a riot-mentality crowd and
hate-filled religious zealots. The performances, cinematography, and
screenplay were exceptional. But the metaphors were often blunt, redundant,
and gratuitous (like the lingering shots of maggots on a dead animal near
Judas's hanging, as if we didn't know already that Judas's heart was
rotten). The flashbacks seem a bit thrown-together and even artificial in
comparison to the slow-motion misery of the dying Christ. And if you listen
to the soundtrack after hearing Peter Gabriel's instrumental work on the
life of Christ (called, ironically, The Passion), you'll see it for
the derivative work that it is ... as if the musicians were playing
Gabriel's work off of badly smudged photocopies of his work.
The
Passion will probably inspire a new wave of religious-themed cinema.
Whether it inspires any admirable art remains to be seen. The
spin-off CDs of mediocre gospel-themed music has been a lamentable example
of evangelical opportunism (although somebody was smart enough to include
Bob Dylan and Nick Cave on one of those discs. Now that's
art!)
While there
were true-to-life stories being told incompletely and with damaging
prejudice, there were also stories that resonated with
this world's need for reconciliation ...
TREND #6.
Woman, Thou Art Loosed followed a character based on hundreds
of true-life stories. A woman imprisoned for crimes such as prostitution and
murder revealed her story, and we learn that her desperate acts were the
fruit of a lifetime of abuse, neglect, painful lies, and disrespect. We
watch as a minister tenderly guides her to see the emptiness of violent
retaliation and the need for reconciliation with each other and with God.
In
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, lovers part ways over
irreconcilable differences, and proceed to try and obliterate their memories
of each other. But they learn, in the long run, that there is no true
satisfaction without sacrifice, no joy without suffering together through
the hard times, no fulfillment without honesty. Slowly, they learn to live
with each others flaws and disappointments. They affirm that our culture of
relationships driven by "the pursuit of happiness" is all backward. They
show that faithfulness, love, forgiveness, honesty, and mercy are the path
to true wholeness, and that infatuation is shallow water indeed. In this
journey, true love is pictured as something far more holistic than the
passionate sex that usually symbolizes the epitome of love in Hollywood
movies. What an extraordinary exception to the rule.
Other
films--Mean Creek and Hero, for example--also
explored what human beings can do after suffering violence. We can retaliate
violently, which brings about further damage, or respond in art, in love,
and in grace.
But it was
The Story of the Weeping Camel that gave us the most succinct
and beautiful picture of reconciliation. I won't reveal the film's amazing
secret here. Suffice it to say that the beauty of art plays an
important part in bringing together what has been broken. You'll see
something like a miracle happen before your eyes. The film's climax is a
powerful, piercing metaphor of the way that an encounter with holiness can
right what is wrong in our hearts, reorienting us toward the hard work of
faithfulness, forgiveness, grace, and love.
So, those
are some of the significant things I discovered as I mined for gold in the
films of 2004. I'll be interested in hearing what trends you discovered,
what films moved you the most deeply.
Write to me and I'll
excerpt some of your responses at the end of my year-end wrap-up pages here
at Looking Closer.
1.
The
Return
The
four films I enjoyed the most this year were films I discovered for the
first time, but that have been available and widely acclaimed for years.
They were Robert Bresson’s Au Hasard Balthazar, the most
unforgettable two hours I spent in a theatre; Bresson’s A Man Escaped,
a similarly profound and challenging masterwork; Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister
Harmonies, which is very difficult to find (I saw it thanks to a
generous friend with a VHS copy); and Tokyo Story, the masterpiece by
Yasujiro Ozu about family ties, respect for one’s elders, and the necessity of
humility and love.
2004 offered me no new titles on par with such timeless poetry.
But there
was one film that came pretty darn close: The Return.
Watching this film,
it’s hard to shake the impression that you’re seeing the debut of a great artist.
It’s too early to say if Andrey Zvyagintsev is one of the great filmmakers
of our time. But the one film he has made deserves to be discussed in the same
way we discuss work by Tarkovsky (The Mirror), Kieslowski (The
Decalogue), and Bresson (Diary of a Country Priest).
 
Great storytelling, excellent cinematography, a beautifully subtle
soundtrack, sensational performances by three actors, a poetic script
resonant with Scriptural allusion—The Return is never indulgent, never
superfluously stylish, and always convincing. That is what sets it apart
from the handful of films I considered choosing as my top recommendation for
2004. Like each episode of Kieslowski's Decalogue, The Return
is a small but potent story that never becomes preachy, didactic, simplistic,
or dishonest. And yet it captures how good and evil work in our lives. It
fulfills the highest rule of art--Show, don't tell.
 
The relationships, the
motivations, the decisions all goad us to see ourselves in these characters,
and to abstract from the specifics into discussions of our impressions of
God and our responses to him.
 
The
conclusion is confounding, frustrating, and yet brilliant because it is
specific to this story rather than merely an allegorical flourish. (I
was on the edge of my seat in those final minutes, worried that the film was
going to become too obvious in its implications, rather than merely
suggesting spiritual realities.)
 
The young
actors are extraordinary, and Konstantin Lavronenko is perfectly opaque as the father.
I hope to see these actors again. And I will be eagerly watching and waiting
for Zvyagintsev's next film ... just as I will anxiously await someone to
tell me how to pronounce his name, so I can go around shouting it.
So what's it about? The story
follows two brothers who must deal with the unexpected "return" of their
father, a man they've never known. They try to take their mother's word for
it, but when the mysterious, quiet man takes them on a journey that morphs
from fishing trip into a desperate and frustrating mystery, the brothers
argue passionately over the man's true identity and what he intends to do
with them. Are they being led to their deaths? Is this a rite of passage
into manhood? Is it a lesson in wilderness survival skills? What in the
world is going on?
On a deeper level, the film
leads us to ask questions about our own experiences with authority figures.
Is it ever enough to just "trust and obey"? Is it arrogant for us to demand
justification for the behavior or instructions of our elders? If there is a
god, what is he like? Is it cruel for God to expect unquestioning obedience
of us? Or is it his right? What is God really up to, and what is our part in
his plan? Does he love us? Would he place us in danger unnecessarily, or has
he ever demonstrated his love for us in any significant fashion?
The film ultimately feels like
a lost Dostoyevsky novella brought to life. It powerfully echoes questions
that have haunted spiritual seekers since ... well ... since God first told
us not to mess with that blasted tree.
2.
The
Incredibles
Anyone with a
television knows that it's easy for children to drown in the flood of
shallow, shoddy, empty entertainment.
Pixar's animators and
storytellers are providing an alternative, and those who disregard the
significance of their efforts are only making things worse. Pixar has
set the standard for quality children's entertainment. What they do
is so good, many adults are as enthusiastic about Pixar flicks as their kids
are.
Peppering kid-art with
grownup in-jokes and pop culture references does not improve it; it merely
betrays the entertainer's inability to craft a story engaging enough to hold
a whole crowd's attention. (Ya hear that, Shark Tale?) Pixar's
crew does not fall for the lie that you have to entertain adults differently
than children. They aspire to C.S. Lewis's ideal ... that art must be good
enough for grownups before it can be good enough for children. Like
all of the great "all ages" films, Pixar's films are whimsical and fun. Like
all great comedies, they make us laugh in a healthy way instead of in
derision or mockery. And, like great art, Pixar's "entertainment" reveals
more and more layers of suggestion, commentary, and questioning every time
you see it, if you're paying close attention.
The superheroes known
as The Incredibles are equipped with powers that represent the necessities
of a healthy family. Dad (otherwise known as "Mr. Incredible") perseveres
in any
trial, puts his life on the line, and aspires to be the best he can
be, both to help his family and to set an example for them. He has to be
strong. Mom (Elastigirl) has to be strong as well, and she also
extends herself to meet her family's needs. Dash, like
most boys, wants to be super fast, super clever, outrunning anybody who
tries to stop him ... and thus, he needs to be monitored and coached by his
parents about the wisdom of responsibility and restraint. Violet, like most
adolescent girls, wants to be invisible during periods of insecurity, and
wants to have a force field to deflect what might be painful. Their parents
coach both of them to employ these gifts in positive, rather than negative
or self-centered, ways.
The Incredibles
isn't right-wing propaganda for family values, as some critics have
claimed. When it becomes impossible to portray a traditional family
without insulting people, then something has gone terribly wrong. This movie
merely represents the family model that most American families follow
and strive to establish. The story illustrates, in an exaggerated and
comical fashion, the challenges and realities that MOST families face.
Brad Bird's screenplay
is also about the way that society can fool us into giving up our particular
callings. We should use the gifts we've been given instead of envying the
gifts of others and mimicking them. The villain, Syndrome, wants to be Mr.
Incredible, and he's willing to lie, cheat, and steal to do it. As a result,
he damages the integrity of the real heroes and makes himself a danger to
himself and others. When we refuse to let others excel at what they're
supposed to do, we prevent excellence and encourage a culture of mediocrity.
Syndrome rightly declares, "When everybody is special, no one is." We have
to be willing to acknowledge and celebrate excellence rather than living in
fear of feeling inferior. And we have to call out the fakes and the phonies
where we find them.
Pixar has demonstrated
excellence on every level of this production: innovative animation (the most
expressive and engaging human characters ever animated); rock-solid
storytelling; perfect voice-matches for the characters; dazzling character
and context design. There isn't a single minute of superfluous action here;
each chase scene, each thrill, each action-packed sequence of comic book
combat further develops characters and further advances the themes of the
story. The Incredibles lacks the emotional payoff of Finding Nemo,
but it is nonetheless a blameless, exemplary film. The union of the Toy
Story team with The Iron Giant's Brad Bird was a marriage made in
heaven. There are no more dependable and formidable moviemakers in America
than this group of conscientious and creative geniuses.
3.
Eternal Sunshine of
the Spotless Mind
With Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, director Michel Gondry has delivered
the most creative film of the year, folding space and time so that we're
gasping at the way scenes segue backward and forward, from one world to
another, from the future to the past. And Charlie Kaufman's screenplay is a
masterpiece. In spite of the film's relentless visual trickery, Kaufman's
writing may be the year's most astonishing display of special effects.
(Click
here to read my interview with this tremendous creative team.)
Hollywood has taught us
that love is about infatuation, getting your chosen target to go to bed with
you, and living happily ever after. Movies have also affirmed, time and time
again, that marriage is confining, stifling, and suffocating, and that we
should all be free to leave our relationships and go searching for
happiness. In spite of the sexual revolution's failure to lead us all into a
happier, more fulfilling existence, the movies continue to sell the same
maddening lie: that monogamy and fidelity aren't worth the trouble.
Eternal Sunshine
tells us the truth about relationships.
Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet
play two messed-up, lonely, desperate individuals who "hook up" after
falling into a mutual crush. Joel (Carrey) is a quiet, insecure man who is
used to being rejected and overlooked. He's losing his willingness to make
himself vulnerable in relationships. And Carrey is brilliantly restrained
and subtle in this role, demonstrating that, yes, he is a great
actor. Winslet gets to demonstrate the manic energy we usually associate
with Carrey; she makes Clementine into a friendly, whimsical, irresistible
flibbertigibbet with a dark side. Together, they enjoy the rush of first
love, the rude awakenings to each others' foibles, and the cruel violence of
a breakup. Choosing to erase their memories of each other, they enter into a
vicious cycle that leads them into deeper and deeper unhappiness.
 
In the end, through a
mind-blowingly inventive screenplay, we are led to reconsider the value of
our regrets. We come to see that our failures are resources rather than
detriments. What a scandalous implication -- that faithfulness, and
bearing each others' burdens, will lead to greater fulfillment than
abandonment of difficult relationships. Could breaking up be an act of
cowardice? Eternal Sunshine suggests that a substantial and valuable
relationship will be strengthened if the partners learn to
accept their weaknesses and endure the bumps, bruises, and letdowns.
Ultimately, it shows us that relationships ask us to sacrifice our pride,
behave selflessly, and build our unions on more than feelings, more than
sex.
This is
Charlie Kaufman's most
emotionally engaging and satisfying work because it does not focus so
intently on the characters' depravity. Sure, Joel and Clementine are
depraved and selfish. But we get to know them well enough to develop an
affection for them as well. We see the consequences of foolish behavior, but
also glimmers of hope and hints at the rewards of forgiveness,
longsuffering, and grace.
4.
Dogville
Every year, I end
up recommending a film that gets me in all kinds of trouble. This
year, that movie is Dogville.
Why? Because it's a
horror story of such devastating proportions that it infuriates, offends,
and sickens viewers.
But it's not without
a point. Lars Von Trier is telling a story about human evil, about the way
people deceive, exploit, and abuse each other. And, ultimately, he's showing
the way that human beings disrespect the God who has offered them so much
grace and demonstrated so much patience.
Dogville
echoes the famous American play
Our Town in that it takes place on a
stage that is almost bare and yet brings to life a compelling narrative
about small town American life. It even has a narrator (John Hurt) who
adopts the same sentimental tone, albeit with tongue firmly in cheek.
And yet, Dogville
couldn't be more different than Our Town, because Von Trier is
not convinced that human beings are very kind or gracious at heart. He looks
at America, and he sees a nation that has been blessed with immense
resources and grace, and that has spoken in a language of freedom and
generosity, only to exploit and betray those who come seeking refuge and
liberty. Granted, he's prejudiced and sees things with a painfully
pessimistic view. But he's not entirely wrong, either. There is a lot of
truth about not just America, but about human nature, in Dogville.
This cast and crew,
featuring Nicole Kidman, Paul Bettany, Anne Bancroft, and Ben Gazarra (in a
marvelous supporting performance), create a riveting drama with only a few
props. Acting without walls, they demonstrate that the barriers we hide
behind are, in fact, porous and insubstantial.
Our secret sins have
devastating effects.
The film's
scandalous, terrifying conclusion ... a true nightmare on this town's "Elm
Street" ... poses us a dreadful, sobering question. What would happen
if God's grace ran out? What would happen if our redeemer's patience came to
an end, and redemption was replaced with judgment?
Dogville is
greater than any of Von Trier's films because here his punishing, sadistic
tendencies are restrained. As in Breaking the Waves and Dancer in
the Dark, he tells another excruciating tale of a woman being sorely
abused. (Caution: There are scenes of rape that are sickening to endure.)
But this time, the intensity is called for, and the film's dialogue is
loaded--line for line--with metaphoric resonance and allusions to the
Scriptures, to history, and to current events.
Moreover, he uses the risky, challenging
device of the "stage" in such wonderful and effective ways, we sometimes
forget we aren't watching a conventional, realistic film. The drama is that
engrossing.
Few films haunt me the way Dogville
does. The first time I saw it, I felt angry and sick. But I had a sense
that there was much more to it ... that there was a lot of truth to
consider. And the second viewing was deeply rewarding and revealing. Further
viewings have confirmed for me that this is one of the most significant
works of art made for the screen in decades. Just as a doctor must show us
ugly photographs and shocking X-Rays to reveal disease and provoke us to
change our foolish ways, so Von Trier is showing us the disease of conceit,
of pride, and of cruel exploitation, so that we will see a more honest and
balanced picture when we look at our nation, our communities, and ourselves.
So, proceed with extreme caution,
if you proceed at all. This is strong and bitter medicine, with some
explicit portrayals of wicked behavior. But it's in service of humbling
viewers and exposing ugly but redemptive truth.
5.
Hero
For several months,
Hero was my favorite film of the year.
But then I was
finally forced to admit that I was losing an argument over an important
point. While I personally do not think the film is a wholehearted
endorsement of Chinese Imperialism, which has sacrificed so many lives in
the name of empire, I can no longer deny that the film gives audiences the
impression that it is endorsing that very thing. There are vagaries
and subtleties throughout that I can use to explain how Zhang Yimou is not
celebrating military conquest, but is instead grieving it and begging world
authorities to consider the cost of their actions. But I have to admit that
he has failed in illustrating this successfully, because the interpretation
of this as a boastfully nationalistic film is so widespread.
Nevertheless, it
remains the richest film of the year as a visual experience. I felt
the same rush watching this in the theatre that I did when I saw Star
Wars for the first time as a seven-year-old. The spectacle of this film
is awe-inspiringly beautiful, and the story is compelling and surprising.
It's like great opera, with color being employed by cinematographer
Christopher Doyle the way singers perform their solos
in an opera.
While the film
portrays the conquest of Chinese armies as they run roughshod over warring
states, it memorializes the lives and heroism of valiant individuals who
desire to see their cultures preserved, their art perfected, and their
histories celebrated.
The martial arts face-offs are performed
like exquisite, acrobatic dance routines. And the special effects are
executed with dazzling grace.
This is a film to see over and over
again. Sometimes the rewards of seeing beauty like what Zhang Yimou has
captured here outweighs whatever flaws there may be in the narrative. Yes,
the film should be discussed carefully and thoroughly. Yes, viewers should
be discerning. But aesthetic achievement should not be disregarded merely
because a viewer takes issue with a filmmaker's philosophy.
6.
The Motorcycle
Diaries
It's hard not to think of Frodo and Sam,
watching the young Che Guevara (Gael Garcia Bernal) and his friend Alberto
(Rodrigo De la Serna) make this life-changing journey. With beautiful
cinematography, a script that lets the imagery and the silences do the
talking, and two actors who create completely convincing characters, Walter
Salles has one of the year's most hauntingly beautiful films. While The
Passion of the Christ was the *boldest* portrayal of Jesus this year,
the one that affected me the most intensely was something quieter ... the
story of a young man who develops a Christ-like heart for the hurting in a
leper colony, who is willing to reach out and touch them when no one else
will. This story is told in a whisper ... so it'll be easy to miss. Don't
let it get away.
7.
The Story of the
Weeping Camel
The Story of
the Weeping Camel introduces us to a delightful family adhering to
ancient traditions in the Gobi desert, raising livestock, enduring the harsh
winds and blowing sands, and resisting the progress of the rest of the
world. It turns out they know a few tricks that the rest of the world would
do well to notice.
When a camel
rejects her own newborn calf, out hearts go out to the little guy. (But
having seen the traumatic birth, we can't help but sympathize with the
mother's reluctance to get anywhere near that youngster who caused her so
much pain and discomfort.) The Mongols know a secret solution, and I won't
go anywhere close to spoiling it for you. Suffice it to say that what
transpires is nearly miraculous, and it speaks volumes about the mysterious
power of beauty and art to re-orient us toward what is right.
By the end of the film, we understand its title completely. But we also are
aware that it’s not just a camel that is weeping. The whole world is wounded
and in need of healing. Everything within it desires to be visited by grace,
by that “music of the spheres” that will realign our planet’s orbit, restore
our hearts to the proper rhythm, and resurrect humanity to its intended role
and condition.
8.
Cafe
Lumiere
The more movies I watch, and the older I get,
the more I enjoy a particular sight onscreen -- people who are
thinking.
And Hou Hsiao-Hsien's Cafe Lumiere
is full of people thinking. Beautiful pictures of people thinking.
At the same time, it's a tribute to
Yasujiro Ozu, which is evident right away:
- from the meditative position of the camera
(eye-level to a person kneeling);
- to the way a frame reveals not only a space,
but a space beyond that, and hints of adjoining spaces, with sound coming
from yet other spaces, suggesting a vast and complex world of activity and
overlap;
- to the way that the camera remains focused
on this space without following the people, which has the strange effect of
de-emphasizing character and plot and emphasizing spatial relationships,
change, and the passage of time through the changing of light;
- to the tendency of frames to be divided by
vertical lines into a variety of smaller frames that contain different
patterns of light, shadow, activity, and stillness;
- to the emphasis of an intergenerational
world, where times and styles and traditions and expectations clash;
- to the emphasis on family;
and I could go on.
Like Ozu's Tokyo Story, the
film is mourning the passage of an era and a tradition, and more than a
little dismayed at the direction things are heading.
The main character is Yoko (pop star Yo Hitoto),
a girl living alone in Tokyo, who is drifting from her parents, scraping the
bottom of her bank account, borrowing frequently from her landlord, eating
on the run, writing about her favorite composer, and hanging out at a
bookshop where she fancies the softspoken shopkeeper Hajime (played by
Tadanobu Asano of Last Life in the Universe).
She also has a boyfriend in Taiwan, which has
made things difficult in more ways than one, and her parents aren't happy.
It would take me about three or four more
lines to finish telling you the story, but the story is just a track for the
train of this movie, and what's really important and wonderful about the
film are the sights along the way, the flickering marvel of the light
through the train windows... if you will.
And trains do figure heavily in the film,
signifying, perhaps, the way lives pass each other rapidly and with very
little chance of any meaningful connection between them.
But the flickering lights and scenes we catch
as the cars go by may also represent the flickering frames of celluloid
flying past... and the filmmaker's hope that perhaps we will connect with
him, if only for fleeting moments, through the images he communicates.
Just as the characters long to find an old
cafe beloved by the jazz composer they both enjoy...
...just as the shopkeeper has a preoccupation
with recording the sounds of different trains in hope of reaching some kind
of enlightenment about the essence of motion and time...
so the film carries us along in search of some
elusive quality, perhaps the mysterious power of Ozu's fimmaking technique.
Hou Hsiao-Hsien's film is
only for the patient, wide-eyed moviegoer. Its rewards are subtle and
mysterious, hard to describe... but that's what makes them special. Because
Hou does not tell you what is important in the frame, but lets you explore
and decide for yourself, it's likely that you'll see a different movie every
time. On this, my first viewing, I was especially moved by Yoko's
thoughtfulness in bringing gifts everywhere she goes, by the subtle
reminders of time passing in the movement of trains and clocks, by the
silence of Yoko's father, and by a faint smile on Hajime's face in the
closing scene.
If I could easily explain what it all means,
and how Hou does it, then it would be the kind of thing that other
filmmakers could easily reproduce. And Hou's work, like Kieslowski's,
Bresson's, and, yes, Ozu's, is almost immediately recognizable because his
style is so unique and personal. Even though this film and
Flowers of Shanghai are set in different periods and focused
on entirely different subjects, there's no mistaking that we are seeing
through the eyes of the same visionary.
At the end of the film, I find myself feeling
calmed... which makes it very valuable to me these days. I also find myself
wanting to see it again, even though my sensibilities have been trained by
American cinema to demand a lot more activity and pre-packaged
interpretations. The more I relax into the rhythms of filmmakers like Hou,
Ozu, Bresson, and Edward Yang, the more I find myself interested in the
quieter moments of the day that in years past I have considered
inconsequential. You could call this "redeeming the time."
9.
Birth
The year's most underrated, unfairly condemned
film was Birth, directed by Jonathan Glazer.
The negative reviews were so
persuasive that I steered far clear of it, and those who condemned it as
perverse for its grown-woman/young-boy love story are guilty of
misunderstanding what the film is really about, and exaggerating what takes
place on screen.
No, Birth is not family fare. It's a horror movie in the truest
sense of the word: It shows us something that is a distortion of God's
design, and thus it should disturb us. Distortions like these, so
long as they are presented to cause us to reflect rather than merely to
dazzle and sicken us, reinforce our appreciation of the way things are, and
the way things should be. But no... the film is not exploiting
or condoning evil.
Birth is
about a woman who thinks that her husband has come back from the dead in the
form of a young boy. The boy seems to know everything about her marriage,
even the most intimate details. And he is intent on winning her back, even
though he's young enough to be her son. This is meant to be unsettling, even
horrifying. And as we watch her slowly seduced by him, we recoil just as we
should. We come to sympathize with those who are trying to save her from a
terrible mistake, and yet, at the same time, we can understand that what is
luring her into madness is a powerfully convincing lie. Thus, it's easy to feel compassion
for her.
The scenes in which she and the boy share an
unnerving form of intimacy are filmed carefully so our imaginations fill in
things that aren't there. As a result, a few chilling moments in a
stunningly gorgeous work of art were blown out of proportion, and moral
watchdogs raised a ruckus, casting a dark shadow over a work of art they
failed to understand.
Glazer demonstrates that he has absorbed many
of Kubrik's strengths, and he's already a virtuoso with the camera. This is
a much stronger film than his impressive debut, Sexy Beast. And he
has a subtle sense of metaphor. Watch the way that water plays an important
role in this film. Ice: life in its frozen, suspended state. Two people in a
bathtub -- lives intimately intermingling. One in a tub, the other outside:
A broken circuit, a severed relationship. One person asking another to dry
her hands: An appeal for intimacy, with a hint of Lady MacBeth, suggesting
that the guilt of a crime should be shared. And finally, the ocean, a great
roaring symbol of death and all its mysteries.
This is poetry on a grand scale.
Me, I found it compelling, full of questions
worth asking, and worth revisiting again and again. It asks us to consider
the mystery of identity, the inseparability of body and soul -- and the horror
of the alternative. Basically, the film dramatizes the possibility of
reincarnation, challenging us to consider what the world would be like if
this were possible. And the prospect is deeply horrifying.
Further, as film
critic Darren Hughes has observed, the film recalls Eyes Wide Shut in
its portrayal of the way we are capable of idealizing each other, blinding
ourselves to weakness and failure in order to live out a fantasy. And I also
find myself thinking of Three Colors: Blue, and its story of a woman
who cannot come to terms with the loss of her husband.
There are two shots in this film that I will
never forget: One is the opening shot, a masterful crane shot in a
snow-covered park; and the other is a crane shot that moves over the
audience at a symphony. Both are breathtaking. Both are worth the price of
admission.
And Nicole Kidman gives what I believe is the strongest, most
complicated performance of her colorful career.
Fantastic stuff, but for discerning adults
only... and perhaps even a few of them should steer clear.
Personally, I can't wait to see what Jonathan
Glazer does next.
10.
Distant
My review of Distant was
published in The Other Journal.
11.
Before Sunset
Were you
there when it started in 1995? Do you remember Jesse and Celine?
Before
Sunset is a sequel that is almost too good to be true. Watch Before
Sunrise and Before Sunset as a double feature, and it's
enchanting. Richard Linklater and his excellent actors Ethan Hawke and Julie
Delpy have performed a remarkable feat by recapturing the chemistry they had
in the first film ten years later and further developing the
characters of Jesse and Celine. We watch them go from cocky, energetic,
ambitious, impulsive teenagers to jaded, weathered, regretful, and yet still
surprising adults ... right before our eyes.
And we
also see both Hawke and Delpy grow as actors, delivering two of the year's
finest performances. (If I were casting an Oscar vote, I'd probably give
Delpy the nod for Best Actress this year.) By collaborating on the dialogue
with Linklater, they've created completely convincing characters, full of
strengths and weaknesses, capable of deep sensitivity and astonishing
blindness. The cameras follow them effortlessly, capturing the light and
beauty of everyday Paris with more honesty, purity, and creativity than I've
seen onscreen before. It's the next best thing to being there. These movies
are as in love with their locations as they are with their characters and
ideas.
While both
Jesse and Celine are still rather arrogant and lost, trying to understand
issues of right and wrong outside of the context of any belief in God, they
are still wonderful, complicated, smart human beings that we come to care
about. They're so likeable together that we find it difficult to hope
for a moral outcome. And the film comes to its conclusion by quietly
bringing that very question to the forefront. What is the right thing for
them to do? Jesse's married. Celine's available. Should he give that up
because of the sexual chemistry and the ongoing obsession with Celine? Or
should he resist and honor his marriage?
 
Anyone
with a healthy conscience will know that
an affair is a bad idea.
And yet, we feel the burden of the temptation. We face it honestly, the way
human beings face true temptations in day to day reality. There is no
soundtrack subversively suggesting consequences or reward. Where so many
other films unfairly prejudice us one way or the other, Before Sunrise
is honest about the gravity of temptation.
Some will
say that the film glorifies adulterous relationships. I'd say that Linklater
is setting us up so that the possibility of an affair is so alluring that
many will root for Jesse to break his marital vows. But the way he ends the
film, it's clear he's raising a question, not telling us to favor a
particular answer.
And there
is so much more to the movie than just the question of adultery. There's the
breathtaking opening scene, as Jesse, a newly published author, is
interrogated about whether his fictional romance is based on any personal
experience. The reunion of Jesse and Celine is so beautifully executed, it
may bring tears to your eyes. (It does that to me every time I see it.)
There are
discussions about the choices we make in our life and how they correspond to
our dreams.
There are
conversations about values. Both characters have clearly lied to themselves
and made some poor decisions along the way. As in Closer, they have
"fictionalized" each other, so that it's difficult for them to make choices
based on reality instead of fantasy.
Linklater's explorations of these themes give viewers a great deal of
valuable discussion material. And he closes the film with the most graceful,
perfectly timed fade out I've ever seen, one that will infuriate some
viewers and thrill others, sending everyone out abuzz over what might happen
next ... and what should happen next.
12.
Time of the Wolf
Here's another horror story -- Michael
Haneke's Time of the Wolf follows a family in France as they flee to
their cabin in the woods while the world falls into an uncertain period of
chaos and danger. When they arrive, they're in for a terrible surprise, and
they have no choice but to go on the run in a desperate quest to survive.
Something has happened ... we're
not exactly sure what, but one image in the film hints at a nuclear
disaster. As a result, governments seem to have lost their balance. Chaos
reigns, and people are left to fend for themselves as evils rise and men
become barbaric and cruel in their attempts to survive.
The urgency and realism of Haneke's tale
has the quality of prophecy. And he's in peak condition as an artist, using
silence and darkness to draw us to the edges of our seats, riveted by
suspense, terror and hope, as voices approach on dark nights, as strangers
reveal whether they are friends or enemies, as violence breaks out
threatening to doom the characters we have come to love. We can feel the
fragility of civilization, and it stings because it all seems so possible.
But this isn't just a film that says
"Look what could happen!" It's a story that emphasizes our need to believe
in higher powers. It explores the role of myth and metaphor in civilization
to suggest that the world is part of a grand design. It ultimately resists
the tide of meaninglessness and chaos that threatens to flood and destroy
the world. And it concludes on an enigmatic note that leaves some viewers
filled with hope, others with questions, and others with dread.
Isabelle Huppert gives one of the year's
best ... and most overlooked ... performances, playing a sympathetic and
large-hearted character instead of the usual malevolent and twisted villain
she usually plays. The young actors who play her children are also
completely convincing.
My colleague J. Robert Parks insightfully compared this story to Lord of
the Flies and Heart of Darkness (and thus it makes sense to also
include Apocalypse Now in this assessment). Time of the Wolf
is one of the great nightmares made for the screen, one that is worthy of
contemplation, discussion, and multiple viewings. It never simplifies things
for us. It never preaches. It drops us into a frightening world and allows
us to consider questions in the safety of a fiction, questions we will
hopefully never have to confront so forcefully in our own experience.
Caution: There is a scene of a
horse's execution that is portrayed without any flinching, and this may be a
source of great distress for certain viewers. Proceed with caution.
13,
14.
(tie)
Spider-Man 2
&
The
Bourne Supremacy
In a year of superhero adventures, The
Incredibles was the most satisfying, outdoing its live-action
competitors. But of the live-action adventure films, Spider-man 2 and
The Bourne Supremacy were far more exciting and satisfying than
viewers had any right to expect, and stand among the best in their
respective genres.
Spider-man 2 earns a place alongside
X-Men, X-Men 2: X-Men United, and Richard Donner's Superman film
in the competition for Best Live-Action Superhero film ever made. (I'd
choose X2, but this would be a close second.) It is relentlessly fun,
full of razor-sharp humor, packed with first-rate special effects that are
far superior to those in the original, and driven by engaging performances
(Alfred Molina finally gets the attention he has so long deserved). The
whole thing is built upon a meaningful story about the way that the gift of
power comes with the expectation of responsibility. There's a fantastic
super-villain, a hero who earns our respect and sympathy, and a plot full of
symbolism and suggestion that could only be characterized as "Christian" in
nature.
Sam Raimi is an increasingly interesting
director whose work just seems to get better with each film. I can't wait to
see what he does next.
Similarly, The Bourne Supremacy is
as good as any spy-thriller I've ever seen. It also qualifies, loosely, as a
"superhero" film in that Jason Bourne survives through the use of talents
that seem superhuman. But it fits better in the genre that includes films
like the James Bond stories and Mission: Impossible, the storytelling
tradition about heroes who act independently and use their wits to defeat
vast conspiracies.
Mission: Impossible may be box office gold,
James Bond may be the most famous and glamorous, but the Bourne franchise is the
most suspenseful, engaging, and exciting of the bunch.
This sequel is every bit as good, if not better, than the original.
Matt Damon's performance is worthy of mention in the awards season, as he
creates a convincing, unique, and compelling character and never once
stumbles in his portrayal. There are important moral questions at the center
of the story. And even though there are formulaic flourishes (as there are
in any good genre film), there are plenty of surprises as well ... not to
mention one of the most exhilarating car chases ever filmed. Director Paul
Greengrass has shifted from documentaries to action films without missing a
beat, and it'll be interesting to see what he does next as well.
Let's hope there's a third Bourne film in the making.
15.
Finding Neverland
Like the Santa Claus
myth, the Peter Pan story has tremendous value for the young and the young
at heart. It is, in a way, a pair of training wheels for faith. It
cultivates a child's ability to believe in a world he cannot see. The story
of Peter Pan captures the imaginations of the kid in all of us, connecting
with that longing we all have to fly, to transcend the confinements and
cruelty of this broken world. It rekindles that inner fire, that sense of
eternity written in our hearts by our Creator. It reminds us that innocence
is valuable and threatened, that we should indeed cherish childhood and hold
onto that irrational faith even in the face of death.
Finding Neverland is about the
importance of hanging on to that belief in something that transcends the
empirical world.
It's a small, gentle, graceful motion picture that comes to us, believe it
or not, from Marc Forster, who brought us the heavy-handed, implausible,
indulgent Monster's Ball. Here, Forster has given us a big screen
blessing with this softspoken, restrained, unsentimental movie.
Note: I cannot
comment on the adherence of the film's J.M. Barrie to the historical J.M.
Barrie. I haven't done my homework there. But as a story, this is a
beautiful thing, and the fictional Barrie is as marvelous as any of Johnny Depp's achievements. It may be his most delicate performance.
Neverland fortunately portrays the relationship between Barrie and
Sylvia Llewelyn-Davies, the ailing widow he befriends, as a platonic sharing
of struggles and dreams. Many storytellers would have embellished the facts
and made it a bodice-ripping romance. Forster also avoids over-romanticizing
Barrie's flair for the fantastic. Like the films of Terry Gilliam,
Neverland acknowledges the tension between the practical mind and the
imagination. There is the figure of ruthless discipline and heartless order,
portrayed by Julie Christie in the character of Mrs. Emma du Marier, and
there is the figure of whimsy, chaos, and childish impulse, portrayed ... or
at least suggested ... by Depp as Barrie. But instead of glorifying Depp's
position and villainizing Christie's position, the way Gilliam tends to do (Brazil,
Baron Munchausen), Neverland shows that the two need each other.
The finale of the film is so risky, and so perfect, that it takes our breath
away. Children and grownups alike are enchanted by a glimpse of Neverland, a
vision of Eden, both lost in the past, and waiting for us in the future. It
is, indeed, just a fairy tale. But it is also a signpost, a metaphor for
that thing we all know is possible--a redemption, a restoration to perfect
innocence, a blessing waiting for all of us.
16.
Mean Creek
A riveting debut by Jacob Aaron Estes.
Mean Creek shows us what can happen when children do not have good
role models and strong families. It gives us a demonstration of the role of
conscience, a voice within us that goes against what is "natural."
If life is really about "survival of the
fittest," then the hero of Mean Creek is the rebellious kid who leads
these young friends into trouble. If life is about answering a higher call,
then this movie has no hero, and we can only hope that conscience will help
these kids out of the hell they and their parents have created.
Rory Culkin is devastatingly good in this
film, and Scott Mechlowicz is impressive enough to earn himself a bright big
screen future.
17.
Hotel
Rwanda
The undeniable similarities of this story to
the story of Schindler's List will probably earn this film some
criticism, but the significance of what Terry George and his cast have
achieved far outweighs that unfortunate parallel. Hotel Rwanda is one
of this year's MUST-SEE film, featuring a powerful, nomination-deserving
performance by Don Cheadle as the almost insanely courageous hotel manager
Paul Rusesabagina, and co-starring Nick Nolte, Joaquin Phoenix, and Jean
Reno.
It's the year's most terrifying horror film ... especially because it's all
true. In fact, the film affected me more powerfully than Schindler's List,
because where Spielberg's story moved all over the map to give us an
appreciation of the scope of the Holocaust, Hotel Rwanda grounds us
in the experience of one man as he slowly comes to realization of the
magnitude of his neighbors' evil. In conversation after conversation, we're
drawn to the edges of our seats, hanging on every word he says to his
enemies, knowing that one slip could cost Rusesabagina and hundreds more
their lives. Moreover, we're worried about his stock of bottles of Scotch,
because we know how valuable it can be in negotiating with the enemy.
The film is also humiliating for a Westerner to watch, as we observe the
Rwandans watching the news and listening to the radio while Western nations
debate whether or not to intervene.
Where Schindler's List concludes with a scene of emotional
grandstanding, as if pulling out all the stops to earn Neeson his Oscar,
Rwanda ends on what might seem a triviality of optimism, a glimmer of
hope in the middle of overwhelming darkness. But considering the
particularity of the story's focus on relationships, I was glad for it. I
also appreciated the film's willingness to acknowledged that compassion is
not something you can offer others simply. Compassion is complicated,
leading to divided loyalties and difficult choices, between helping this
person or this person. In illustrating this, Sophie Okonedo, playing
Rusesabagina's wife, is especially effective.
It may not be the pinnacle of artistry, but it is one of the most powerful
and significant releases this year. We've been gnawing on the bones of World
War Two year after year after year, as if the Nazis were the low point of
human history and if we just revisit them often enough somehow it won't
happen again. But genocide continues, with an immediacy that prompts us to
skip over that page of the newspaper. Terry George is bringing our attention
to more immediate horrors, in hopes of cultivating awareness and action.
Sure, he's somewhat guilty of oversimplifying the conflict and of resorting
to some cheap suspense-film tactics along the way. Even if we hope for a
better film on the subject, we should still, perhaps only once, see his
film.
18.
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
Some movies are enthralling
the first time, and then merely amusing, or even unpleasant when you revisit
them and learn you've already exhausted all that they have to offer. The
Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou is just the opposite. The first time, I
found it diverting and amusing. The second time, I had tears on my face
during more than one scene. Anderson develops his themes so delicately, and
has such affection for his characters (even if there might be a few too many
in this film), that the more time I spend with them, the more I care about
their longings, their regrets, their painful defeats, and their occasional
moments of joy. This is a much better film than I originally believed, and I
hope you'll give it a second chance too.
19.
Million Dollar Baby
I'm not much of a Clint Eastwood fan. I love
Unforgiven,
but I thought Mystic River was a vastly overrated film that had a
flawed script, too much melodrama, and a contrived solution to a routine
mystery.
But Million Dollar Baby is wonderful. I think it's
Clint Eastwood’s best movie, and it has one of the best-written scripts I’ve
encountered in years. I’d give this movie an 'A' even if I’d only LISTENED
to it.
I'll be pleased if Hilary Swank wins Best Actress. I'll be
pleased if Morgan Freeman wins Best Supporting Actor. And I won't complain
if Clint Eastwood wins Best Actor (although I'd prefer to see Dicaprio or
Foxx win.) Best director? Perhaps, although I'd give it to Michel Gondry or
Zhang Yimou or Scorsese first. Best adapted screenplay? Absolutely!! Best
Picture? Well, given the films that the Academy is likely to nominate, yeah,
I think it should win.
Here's the kicker: DON’T READ ANY REVIEWS!!! (Except
mine, at CT Movies on Friday.) The film’s third act takes a left turn, and
it’s a much better film if you don’t see it coming. The problem is that
almost every review I’ve read gives away what happens.
You've been warned.
I disagree with the ethics of some of the characters’ decisions late in the
film, and I feel the film stacks the deck to unfairly against the main
characters so we have no choice but to sympathize with them in everything.
But those are small complaints. And while some of the characters choose
unwisely, the film allows for the viewer to disagree with the decisions
while still sympathizing deeply with their predicament. This film is rich
with fodder for conversation about what to do when it seems your prayers
aren't being answered, when it seems God isn't involved, when everything
seems unfair and bleak. While the film doesn't come to profound answers, it
creates compelling characters that we care about, and it opens up important
questions worth discussing. It's a graceful, efficient, poetic film that
transcends the conventions of its genre.
20.
The Five
Obstructions
Lars Von Trier decided to
bless his former teacher, filmmaker Jorgen Leth, by giving him a
challenge--remake one of his films, but submit to a variety of restrictions
invented by Von Trier himself. At first, it seems like a sadistic game. And
Leth is burdened by the formidable challenges being posed to him. But then,
as he goes to work, his creativity comes to life, and what he accomplishes
is both inspiring and a profound lesson about the way that confinement is a
blessing, that rules and restrictions are often the very thing that
provoke us to our best work. This is one of the most inspiring film about
art I've ever seen, and should be seen by anyone who is an artist.
21.
The
Passion of the Christ
When you tell "the
greatest story ever told," it's difficult to tell it so badly that it
doesn't have a mighty impact. Mel Gibson told that story. He told it rather
well. And it had a mighty impact.
But let's give credit
where credit is due... to the author of the story. Gibson was courageous to
spell out this particular piece of the Gospel on the big screen in a way
that emphasized Christ's deity as well as his humanity. Yes, I'm grateful
for the impact his efforts have had. And yet, in weighing Mel's
accomplishment as a filmmaker, and The Passion as art, we have to consider
how he told the story, to what degree of artistic excellence. He told the
story in a heavy-handed fashion, with only a few flourishes of his own
creativity, with metaphors that were more blunt and belabored than subtle,
and with a determination to pummel the audience into emotional responses by
taking a meticulous interest in physical destruction. This approach was, for
me, more wearying than communicative, more pushy than poetic.
Moreover, Gibson
accepted a soundtrack from John Debney that was, arguably, plagiarized. It
sounded like Debney spent more time copying Peter Gabriel's Passion
album than composing his own original work.
On the other hand,
Gibson did draw two great performances--one (Jim Caviezel) a portrayal of
intense suffering, the other (Maia Morgenstern) a portrayal of horror and
grief.
Because of the story,
which we cannot credit Gibson for writing, The Passion can be a valuable
meditation for viewers. But in judging it as art, this viewer cannot hoestly
recommend it as poetic. It is technically accomplished, but unfortunately
narrow in scope.
Hopefully, Gibson's
courage and success will inspire someone to give us a more revealing film
that will consider who Christ was, not just an inventory of the physical
wounds he suffered. In the meantime, The Passion will remain one of the most
audacious, powerful, and memorable films ever made... in spit of its
significant flaws.
22.
Goodbye, Dragon Inn
The year's quietest, most watchful
film, Goodbye, Dragon Inn rewards only the most patient viewers by
quietly, secretively revealing a complicated web of stories and some
surprises that will make the hair on your arms stand up. But if you're not
really watching, if you're not really thinking through the details of what
you see, you're likely to think it's just a boring bunch of footage taken in
an old movie theatre. There are a lot of films that celebrate the power of
movies. This one celebrates the whole experience of movie-going...
the kind of joy that involves the architecture of the theatre, the sticky
floors, the way people glance at each other for eating too noisily. But it's
also much more than that. It's about loneliness, about our dreams and our
disappointing realities, about being lost and yearning to be found.
23, 24.
(tie)
The Aviator
&
Kill Bill, Volume 2
Two spectacularly
talented directors offer films of superior style, a fusion of music and
imagery, memorable performances, and some truly unforgettable sequences.
Unfortunately, both films err in significant ways—one in violent indulgence
and the other in its celebration of egoism. But for all their flaws, there
are moments here that are masterful.
The Aviator heralds the return of THE GREAT Martin Scorsese, the return of THE GREAT Leonardo DiCaprio.
The supporting actors are brilliant--especially Cate Blanchett. The
cinematography is breathtaking. And the script offers a confounding,
bewildering portrait of an enigmatic man. Unfortunately, the film
over-romanticizes its self-centered, reckless subject. The consequences of
Howard Hughes' behavior should have been considered with more gravity.
Kill Bill, Vol. 2 is similarly a work
of masterfully stylish execution (ahem), brilliantly blending the
conventions of various genres into a startlingly fresh new invention. Uma Thurman is a wonder,
performing scenes that range from comical to brutal, from acrobatic to
subtle and restrained. And this revenge epic, even though it glorifies
violent retaliation, draws us into a psychological drama and makes us care
about the wounded woman at its center. Moreover, the epic plays out as a
fascinating Freudian exploration of how men in our society respond to
difficulty with violence and who abandon their relational responsibilities.
I don't recommend this film, because it is relentlessly
violent and at times excessive; but, personally, I did find much to admire
and enjoy in it.
25.
Primer
Why? Because Sean Carruth has made a movie
with a profound moral current running through it, a movie so stylish and
intense that it reminds me of Stanley Kubrick and David Fincher... and he
made a movie for $7,000 that's more cohesive, challenging, and entertaining
than almost every multimillion dollar epic this year.
26.
Collateral
Tom Cruise’s greatest
performance. Jamie Foxx’s greatest performance (and yes, that includes Ray).
Michael Mann delivers yet another edge-of-your-seat crime thriller that
recalls his Miami Vice days and yet leans forward into the future,
employing digital video to hypnotic effect. The conclusion stumbles a bit,
but the run is still a thrill.
27.
Vera Drake
With Vera Drake, the great Mike Leigh continues
his legendary career, drawing even more fantastic performances from the
actors he employs.
This time, Imelda Staunton delivers an indelible
performance as a woman with a frighteningly simplistic idea of the world and
how to live in it.
While the story is about an abortionist, the movie is not
about abortion. Instead, it's about how compassion can go wrong if it
is not accompanied by wisdom. It's also about how people can be "right"
(Vera's anti-abortion son) and go about being "right" in the wrong
way.
But what I loved most about
Vera Drake was the romance that develops between two of its
simple-minded characters ... a courtship that is probably the funniest I've
ever seen.
28.
Napoleon
Dynamite
29.
The
Saddest Music in the World
30.
Saved!
The popular contemporary Christian subculture
has needed a reality check for a long time, and Saved! is just what
the doctor ordered. While director Brian Dannelly shows he doesn't have much
understanding of what Jesus came to show us, he does understand the
hypocrisy, judgmentalism, pride prevalent in church youth culture, and he
satirizes those things spectacularly. Saved! is a rewarding
examination of the difference between Christ-like humility and "Christian"
piety. It should be seen and discussed in youth groups everywhere, for both
what it gets right (the off-putting effect of Christian "lingo") and what it
gets wrong (the idea that Jesus was really just about "tolerance").
Other films that
impressed me:
Touching the Void
This is why I write movie reviews instead of
climbing mountains. What a grueling, fantastic documentary.
Metallica: Some Kind of Monster
I am not a Metallica fan
... not even close. But I loved Metallica: Some Kind
of Monster.
After earning respect and
acclaim for such documentaries as Brother's Keeper and Paradise
Lost, Sinofsky and Berlinger have assembled a surprising, ambitious film
from what must have been a long and torturous process. Surely they had no
idea of the story they would witness as Metallica's members began losing
their vision and failing in their relationships. Monster follows the
band through a long period of turmoil, debate, depression, and creative
breakdown. You'll find yourself confounded by the immaturity, astonished by
the egos, and bewildered by the behavior of these grown men. You'll also end
up rooting for them by the end, when they try to put the pieces back
together, find a new bass player, and head back out on the road. But this is
more than a document of a band behind the scenes; it's a story of therapy
gone wrong. This is a complicated, taxing, but memorable piece of work.
Since Otar Left
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Crimson
Gold
Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy
Baadasssss!
The Manchurian Candidate
Blue in
Green
House
of Flying Daggers
Springtime in a Small Town
Sideways
Spartan
Shrek 2
Super-Size Me
Coffee and Cigarettes
Closer
Intimate Strangers
Worth mentioning:
Maria Full of Grace
Two Brothers
We Don’t Live Here Anymore
Ray
I Heart Huckabees
In Good Company
The Village
THX 1138: Director's Cut
America's Heart and Soul
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring
Near misses:
Garden State
Kinsey
Vanity Fair
The Door in the Floor
The
Ladykillers
Jersey Girl
Hellboy
The Polar Express
Forgettable:
Spin
I, Robot
Hidalgo
Shall We Dance?
Miracle
Laws of Attraction
Judas
The Clearing
Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
Troy
Man on Fire
Suffered through:
Catwoman
MOVIES I STILL PLAN
TO SEE
that my colleagues highly recommend:
Moolaadé
The Agronomist
James’ Journey to Jerusalem
National Treasure
Notre Musique
NOTABLE OLDER FILMS I DISCOVERED THIS YEAR
Au Hasard Balthazar.....A+
Tokyo Story.....A+
Werckmeister Harmonies.....A
A Man Escaped.....A
The Fog of War.....A
OT: Our Town.....A-
The Secret Lives of Dentists.....A-
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.....A-
The Long Goodbye.....B+
I Capture the Castle.....B+
Millennium Actress.....B
The Thin Man.....B+
All the Real Girls.....B+
Northfork.....B+
Stone Reader.....B+
My Girl Friday.....B
Close Your Eyes.....B
THX 1138 - Special Edition.....B-
Nicholas Nickelby.....B-
Peter Pan.....B
Yellow Asphalt.....B-
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