For now, though, let's take a dip into the very best (and the very worst) of the year that was. Last year, for the first time, I threw out my list of the 20 films I most looked forward to in 2014 (seeing all but one of them). It pleases me to say 7 of those films wound up in my Top Twenty (and two found themselves in my Bottom 5) so naturally, I recommend taking any thoughts of a predictive nature with a grain of salt. But in a season that started with a Kickstarted crime-fighter and colorful bricks and wrapped up with some wild tales and the worst written Oscars since Uma met Oprah (again and again and again) we had some damn fine movies in-between. So without further ado, here they are.
The Top Twenty Films of 2014
20) Two Days, One Night
I'll concede that the Dardenne Brothers aren't for everyone. They lack flash and style, choosing instead to focus on the harrowing, heartbreaking moments of real life. Winning the Palme D'Or twice for Rosetta and L'Enfant, and when you consider what an emotional ride the simplicity of this tale of suburban desperation takes you on (and consider how underwhelmed even the Cannes Jury was by their selection of Winter's Sleep), it would seem the Dardennes were due a third. Marion Cotillard is staggeringly brilliant in the role of a broken down woman trying to save her job, traveling the titular span of time to each coworker hoping to persuade them to vote for her to keep her job (rather than vote that they each get bonuses from what would have been her salary), her hope ebbing and flowing throughout the film. Cotillard strikes a delicate balance between despair and doubt, never once exuding a "can do" attitude, but rather an "I must". Heartbreaking, halcyon and honest, Two Days, One Night is one of many films this year to tackle the subject of human selfishness, and handles it with far less histrionics than the more favored Leviathan or Tangerines, causing the viewer not only to feel for the woman on screen, but to ask themselves tough questions about their own choices. (In select theaters)
19) Dear White People
Dear White People is the kind of film whose trailer already commands adjectives like “bold” and “vicious”, but you wouldn’t expect to call it “beautiful”. And yet here it was. A strikingly beautiful coming of age story, about the age that matters. Not Stand By Me-esque childhood nostalgia, but the search for identity that comes with college life. Dear White People isn’t populated with cliches and stereotypes, but rather 3 dimensional characters brought to life with subtle, nuanced performances from extraordinarily gifted actors (many of whom, because of the lack of quality roles for black actors, have never gotten to show such range), particularly the transcendent Tessa Thompson as the defiant fire starter Samantha White, a film student who crusades for equality who’s like “…if Spike Lee and Oprah had a baby”, but whose bitterness masks a wounded and vulnerable woman trying to find her place in the world. Her story runs concurrent with, amongst others, Tyler James Williams, a young gay black man wondering which “group” he belongs in, the “gays” or the “blacks”, feeling he’s not truly either nor truly accepted by either one (despite one black student assuring him “I’m listening to Frank Ocean right now”.)
In the end, there is still a great deal of racial conflict and satirical skewering in Dear White People, but it takes unexpected sides at times, refusing to point fingers at anyone in particular, and making no true “bad guys”, like a more light-hearted Do The Right Thing. However, the crux of Dear White People isn’t really about black or white, its about identity, of which “being black” being about more than just skin color is sadly a factor in today’s society as exemplified by Teyonah Parris’ somewhat tragic “Coco” Conners in her lust for fame. It’s a film well worth checking out, both thought provoking and life affirming, and hands down the best directorial debut this year. (Available on DVD, Blu-Ray and VOD)
18) Timbuktu
Yes, Ida looked very pretty, but this truly was the stand-out of the Foreign Language Film category at this year's Oscars (France sure seemed to think so, awarding it 7of its prestigious Cesar awards, including Best Picture). True, its not the first film to tackle Islamic extremism (though especially in light of the recent Charlie Hebdo attacks, starting the film with the imagery of an ISIS flag it extremely and effectively jarring). Yet Timbuktu is special, because it's not really a film about Islamic extremism. It's not a story of the origins of extremism, or who to prevent it, or sympathize with a manipulated youngster or even skewer it with satire. Instead, Timbuktu is one of the oldest ideas in the cinematic handbook: it's a gangster film. From the simple man whose life gets tangled up with the wrong people in part because his wife caught the eye of one of the big boss' underlings to the supposedly religious men attempting to shake down their house of worship, and the one priest (in this case, an imam) pleading with them to do right by the Lord. Much like the mafia of yore, Timbuktu attempts to show us that these extremists don't care much for religion, that they've simply adopted a moral code and used it as the parameters by which their allowed to do evil, rather than as guidelines to do good, and violating those rules whenever it suits them. Its true there's nothing revelatory about Timbuktu in its story, it doesn't take any unexpected twists and turns. Dark as it sounds, its a comfortable story, in so far as every country and generation has their stories of gangsters and extortion, from Jimmy Cagney to The Wire. It simply takes that familiar dynamic and puts it in a new setting, and in doing so, helps us to truly understand the ISIS threat better than any news report could. (In theatres)
17) Song of the Sea
Irish animation company Cartoon Saloon had only one film previously released in the United States before Song of the Sea, but when that film is the remarkably detailed, stunningly original Academy Award nominated The Secret of Kells, the bar is set incredibly high. Yet somehow, Song of the Sea rose to meet those expectations and smashed through them with this delightful tale that has all the spark and imagination of the most esteemed of the classic Disney films of yore but infused with a perfect level of Irish lore and mysticism. The touching tale of a young boy, his immense dog and mute and magical sister is an absolute delight, and the film visually dazzles with Cartoon Saloon's incredible hand drawn animation style, rife with swirling details and fanciful imagery. From terrifying owls to those insanely adorable seals, Saloon (like the classic cartoons from which they clearly draw their influence) doesn't pull punched on the emotional roller coaster of the kids journey, nor should it, as it crafts a spellbinding adventure about love and family. With Pixar on the decline, it looked as though Laika (who released their also-worth-a-look The Boxtrolls this year) might take up the torch of the new weavers of dreams, but if after a one-two punch of Kells and Sea, Cartoon Saloon are the ones to keep an eye on now (In theatres now, on DVD/Blu-Ray March 17th)
16) Snowpiercer
Few countries have established as distinct and definitive a cinematic style in this new millennium than France and South Korea. Films like Holy Motors and the breakout hit Amelie have shown the public persona of French cinema has swapped Godardian self-aware-suave for high energy, high saturation surrealism; meanwhile after decades of emulating American culture seasoned with hints of Oriental ideals, South Korea hit the map with 2003's Oldboy and hasn't left since, establishing a reputation for the kind of balls-out action Hong Kong once delivered in the magical days of John Woo, but with a dark, dank, murky tone that suggests a vile, Lynchian underbelly exists beneath the garish Gangnam streets. So though both countries exist on the opposite ends of the "crazy, weird shit" spectrum in terms of tone, somebody decided to attach a South Korean team to a French graphic novel adaptation, and we in the audience reaped all the benefits. What we got was an insanely entertaining blend of the best both countries have to offer in this modern age, anchored by Chris Evans and a delightfully more Wes Anderson-esque Tilda Swinton than she was in the actual Anderson film she appeared in. Whether you're a Frenchman wanting more films like Nikita, a Korean wishing there was more out there like I'm A Cyborg..., or an American who wants a taste of what Eurasian cinema has to offer without having to read (the film is almost entirely in English, cool as it would be to hear Captain America speak Korean), Snowpiercer is absolutely worth the ride. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray and VOD)
15) Mr. Turner
Mike Leigh is always a strange a divisive filmmaker, and quite possibly the only director who can get away with not giving one solid damn what his audience thinks. He's not about to jazz up a film like Topsey-Turvey with sex or intrigue just to win the Downton Abbey crowd, or make Happy-Go-Lucky the cookie-cutter rom-com a major studio would have implored him to. Ever the outsider, the BAFTA Lifetime Achievement Award winner may never have another masterwork like Secrets & Lies, but he always churns out something unique, in this case crafting a biopic of JMW Turner that is exactly like one of his paintings: a placid but vivid landscape in which figures seem to move without any focal point or destination. You could swear that buoy drifted, that blade of grass blew in the breeze, but in the end, you're not quite sure that it wasn't always there to being with. Such is the soul of the titular Turner in the film, who ends the film either a changed man or exactly who he was when we met him, leading us on a journey that may very well be a "still life". And while the stellar performance of Timothy Spall and the astoundingly gorgeous cinematography of Dick Pope are undeniable, Mr. Turner, much like the work of the painter, is inarguable in a different way. Though Joshua McGuire's John Ruskin (apparently borrowing Samuel L. Jackson's ridiculous lisp from Kingsman) tries to qualify and quantify the qualities of Turner's art, it's not flashy nor avant-garde, just like the film. There's no neon colors or Warhol hipness. It is there, it is present, and if the viewer isn't hooked at first glance, drawn into the environment the artist has painstakingly crafted, then nothing, no argument nor examination nor intellectual posturing can shift them. And for once, in the case of Mike Leigh, and in the vein of capturing Turner in the most appropriate of fashions, that's absolutely perfect. (In theatres, on DVD/Blu-Ray in May)
14) Nightcrawler
There's something special about Nightcrawler as a film fan, something of an experience comes with it that's hard to truly explain. It's like making out/making love in a parked car on the edge of a side street at night. It's exhilarating, its unnerving, it's a little bit dirty and a little bit scary. Nightcrawler, strangely, is entrancing, possessing a dark, Blue Velvet-esque eroticism without any of the sexual imagery of the latter. Gyllenhaal's nomination-worthy performance is, on the surface, the highlight of the film, but as this Network for the new millennium spins farther and farther down the rabbit hole, you question whether Lou is Alice, a dizzy, dazed wanderer looking for a home and finding one in the murkiest of places, or whether he's a white rabbit, a creature of this twisted world, late to win the "lottery", desperately trying to buy his ticket, and we're the blue-dressed, bright eyed nubile blonde tumbling after, pulled with some unknown animal compulsion to gaze like Jeffery through the closet slits at the dark, terrible deeds that occur when the lights go out, at the morlocs that snarl beneath the modern world of morning news-feuled American Eloi. Rene Russo takes on the Jane Fonda role as a producer just as drawn to the darkness as Bloom, though more eager to control it from afar than dance in the fiery splendor of it as Leo does. Yet whereas we viewed Fonda with a fearful contempt in Sidney Lumet's critique of then-modern news through the voice of reason in the film, the weary William Holden, there is no Holden to behold in Dan Gilroy's debut, at least not one with a booming voice that commands the audience's allegiance. Rather, our Holden is now castrated, a whimpering puppy in the form of Mad Men's Kevin Rahm, occasionally barking out the "this is wrong"s we all know to say but no one, deep down, is going to. The footage Lou films doesn't just feed the dark desires of the news team, but those of the audience. Just like the bloody wreckages he captures, the film pulls no punches, attempts no moral saving graces, and while we may, in our most analytical, describe Rene Russo as contemptible or even morally corrupt for not turning away no matter how dark and grizzly it gets, we never turn the lens around to ourselves, though we wince and groan at the grotesque to mask our inexplicable attraction with disgust, to ask why we don't turn away, why we don't just get up and leave. We can't, and we won't, and we're too scared to ask why. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray and VOD)
13) Foxcatcher
A lot of people couldn't stand this film, and its easy to see why. It could have been a mysterious thriller, a sensational ride of tension and madness where a picturesque scene unravels, the kind of sexy, popular Hollywood depiction of insanity that launched a thousand psych major dropouts. The truth, however, of this story of madness and murder is far murkier, and far more stagnant, and Bennet Miller captures it brilliantly. From its bleak color scheme to it's near constant fog, Foxcatcher doesn't try to surprise you, it doesn't try to twist and turn. It's slow, it's deliberate, it's not a maze but a swamp you sink deeper and deeper into as you wade, but always knowing where you're going in the end. From the very beginning, the audience knows John DuPont is unstable. The film telegraphs its end from the very beginning, and it does so to a purpose. It's a depiction of the drive for glory leading mean down a path of destruction not deceptive but instead bathed in a forbidding mist every step of the way. Nothing feels right, not once. But never in a tantalizing, horror film "Don't go in there", but rather in an almost Beckett-esque sense of imminent, casual dread. Watching already dead souls dance about in a macabre masque, a grim visage of the perils of chasing athletic glory; this is Foxcatcher. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray March 3rd)
12) Under the Skin
Jonathan Glazer's remarkable film has a visual style so unique and inventive that it calls to mind that classic 70’s experimentalism without feeling like any film you’ve ever seen. The closest comparison is Nicolas Roeg’s The Man Who Fell To Earth, utilizing a detached alien figure who entrances humans in order to examine and criticize our nature. Yet, Glazer seems unconcerned with storytelling, or at least with spoon-feeding the audience a narrative like modern science-fiction seems so eager to do now (there’s no Ellen Page exposition machine or spinning space-robot anywhere to be found in this film). Scarlett Johansson, for her part, is extraordinary as an alien who (from what can be gleaned from Glazer’s 2001-esque image collage) collects stray humans in order to bring them on her ship, strip down with them, and walk them into a mysterious black pool where they’re stripped of their flesh. The film is a mystery, and an extremely transfixing one at that. From its ominous score to its striking cinematography, Under the Skin earns its title by lingering like some gorgeous ethereal puzzle in the mind of the viewer. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray)
After years of entitled rich white people bitching cynically, ranging from smashing successes like Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums to divisive fizzles like The Darjeeling Limited and The Life Aquatic, Andersen traced his typical protagonist back to their young and hopeful roots in the stellar Moonrise Kingdom. So where does one so twee and twistedly chipper go once they've excised their depressed, dark eye make up-ed demons? Well, to the Grand Budapest, of course, where a wild Eiling comedy unfolds, with Ralph Fiennes taking the typical Alec Guinness role. A wild murder romp that toys with aspect ratios (this was a crazy year for doing crazy shit with cameras/editing, huh?) and is full of the trademark wonderment Anderson's made his name on, this gleefully colorful dark comedy falls right in line with Kind Hearts and Coronets more than The Royal Tenenbaums, which should make it Anderson's most accessible film since that cartoon fox. It's the perfect entry point for those who've always sneered at Anderson's work, and a great addition to the oeuvre for those who love him. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray)
10) The Theory of Everything
Of course, those who didn't see it called it an Oscar bait film, called Eddie Redmayne an Oscar bait role, and almost every one of them then went on to say that the movie about movies and actors and the guy with the classic underdog/career redemption story should win the Oscars. Because that makes sense. Look, I didn't have the highest of hopes based on the marketing of Theory. It looked cliche, like another god awful A Beautiful Mind. Instead, I left stunned. Not that I was unfamiliar with the story or work of the famous Dr. Hawking (a friend recommended A Brief History of Time to me in 8th grade, and I'd followed the witty wheelchair bound physicist ever since) but at how brilliantly and passionately they'd told the story. Everything from the sets to the shots were crafted with care, and the gorgeous Oscar-robbed score by Johann Johannsson moves the film along and accentuates the emotion without once manipulating the viewer. Felicity Jones, even with an Oscar nomination under her belt, hardly gets enough credit for her brilliant role as Jane Hawking, the conflicted woman who held together under the most trying of circumstances. Though, it goes without saying, the brightest star is undoubtedly Redmayne, whose beautiful and transformative performance should win over all but the most determined to hate. Yes, it's one of those thinky type movies, no guns, no drugs, no dick jokes (well, maybe one or two, he was a college kid, after all). But even with as cheesy and cliched a tagline of "love overcoming all", its one of the only films in my life that didn't feel like either of those while still completely delivering on its message. It's a beautifully crafted piece about endurance and commitment, and plays out like A Beautiful Mind that cared more about moving people than taking home awards. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray)
9) Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
In light of its Oscar win, there will be the inevitable Bird-backlash. It's to be expected. It ranks up with The King's Speech as one of those years where the truly notable film gets bumped aside for the "safe choice": that's the general view of the detractors, and while I personally don't feel it should have taken home the top prize, I'm certainly not upset, and really, should anyone be? This wildly imaginative, delightfully oddball indie flick is the kind of crazy experiment that even 5 years ago wouldn't have even gotten a nomination, let alone win big. From it's Rope-like camera trickery to its tour-de-force performances and brilliantly off-the-wall comedic tone (yes, Virginia, comedies do get Oscars sometimes), the beauty of Birdman is its unceasing momentum, it's ever forward drive that perfectly captures the spirit of live theatre (at the risk of alienating those who've never done it). Birdman isn't at all The King's Speech. It isn't the safe choice, it isn't some unoriginal, cookie cutter piece of cinema. It's a bold and daring enterprise dancing upon a wire above the city of New York, only to leap off at the end. Sure, after that leap, Birdman doesn't quite stick the landing (as you're....maybe meant to assume Riggan doesn't?), and its the ending that muddles an otherwise enthrallingly ambitious film that functions like a cinematic My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, a technically magnificent artistic achievement whose shallow egotistical substance also serves as a mirror image of its greatest supporters. But to be outraged the kind of film we clamored to see receive Oscar love gets it when we feel there was another film more deserving is like being pissed The Great Gatsby won an award just because Ulysses was also in the running. Any other year, we would have been very lucky to have a film like this, and the truth is, we're still very damn lucky to have it as is. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray)
8) Wild
Jean-Marc Vallee's remarkable follow-up to the Best Picture nominee Dallas Buyers Club undoubtedly deserved the same recognition. The powerful story of Cheryl Strayed is not only a far more directorially mature to the McConaughey anchored AIDS drama, it delivers an absolutely transformative performance from Reese Witherspoon that sets it far apart from the "chick Into the Wild" that many took it to be from the trailer. Poorly marketed, Wild is not what you expect it to be, no matter what you expect. It's a story of survival, where the struggle is more internal than external, where its theme is both universal and yet fundamentally female. It's brilliant incorporation of pop music and stunning nature views help move you through the emotional journey of Cheryl, a lost soul drifting through life in a daze until she decides to put herself on a real path and see it through, Most stories, like Vallee's last film, are about people who unwittingly find themselves in circumstances that, in the end, change them for the better. They just look in the mirror one day and see a new them. Not Cheryl. She knows the person who will be at the other end of that trail, and its her determination and tenacity that drives her to finish the journey, to make it to the end, to become the person she intends to be. Trust not the trailers, and get your hands on Wild, a profoundly moving portrait of the drive to save yourself. (Available on DVD/Blu Ray March 31st)
7) Selma
It's unfortunate what happened to Selma this year. And no, I'm not talking about the nominations issue, though I'll lay it out there right now, Ava Duvarney, David Oyelowo and the screenplay all deserved nominations. No, I mean the fact that hundreds of people who didn't even see the film launched their "Who was this not nominated?" outrage, causing the typically defensive talking heads to launch back about how "Lyndon Johnson isn't portrayed right", leading to a lot of inflammatory shouting and damaging overexagerations (hint, don't use the word "only" unless you mean "only", because the very existence of Training Day's Oscar proves the Academy doesn't "only" award subservient black roles, just almost exclusively, and if you're gonna go up against actual racists in the media, you gotta be armed with irrefutable facts, not generalizations). All of this, all of the political grandstanding and stunts on both sides detracted from what could have been a very poignant film that could have made a difference. The "Oscars so white" movement thrust Selma as a pawn in the ongoing racial tension in America, rather than it being a bridge across a gap. After all, this raw, human portrait of MLK, rightly called an "anti-biopic" for deftly avoiding the deification of its subject or the Hollywood-ization of its story, has a lot to offer today's America, if the people who needed to hear it actually saw it. So soon after a series of murders rocked New York City, to see a scene where an angry young man wants to find a gun to "fight back" against the police, he's advised that "you kill two of them, they kill ten of us". The film is an example of many things, from the power of non-violent protests to the cruelty of a world before the (now repealed) voting rights act, all the while at its core being the portrait of one incredible man. It's my hope that in years down the line, people untainted by the politicizing of this marvelous film might get to appreciate it for what it is. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray in May)
6) Guardians of the Galaxy
At its core, it just shouldn't have worked. The author of Tromeo & Juliet being called upon to helm an adaptation of one of the most obscure sets of characters in the Marvel universe? My god, how the Marvel naysayers were tripping over themselves to express in their Nostradamus-like prophecy that this will tank the popular superhero studio, that it will be their ruin, that they're getting too big for their britches. A raccoon? Who'd want to go see that? What's with all the jokes? These aren't supposed to be comedies. They're supposed to be dark, gritty depression-fests! Darkness! No parents!
All that changed in one scene. Sure, we're introduced to Peter Quill through the typical superhero movie scene, the little kid, his dying mom. Cut to some bleak deserted planet, a masked spaceman wandering about. He enters a cave, dons a pair of...orange headphones, pressed play on a walkmen and...
"Hey (hey) what's the matter with your head?" A giant wide shot, on the bottom a dancing Peter Quill, above him a giant title, one that conquered the box office, one that may very well have changed the game. A throwback to the adventure films of the 80's without any of the cloying, cutesy kiddie crap, a film that was serious about not taking itself to seriously. This triumphantly fun sci-fi romp introduced the world to a cast of characters both unique and archetypical, making it easy to latch on to them emotionally, all of them anchored in razor sharp dialogue from James Gunn. Guardians of the Galaxy is easily one of the best Marvel movies, one of the best comic book movies, and indeed the most fun we've had in space in a long time. The time of the dark, gritty superhero movie is at an end, and this gloriously inventive space-capade has rung the death knell. (Available on DVD/Blu Ray)
All that changed in one scene. Sure, we're introduced to Peter Quill through the typical superhero movie scene, the little kid, his dying mom. Cut to some bleak deserted planet, a masked spaceman wandering about. He enters a cave, dons a pair of...orange headphones, pressed play on a walkmen and...
"Hey (hey) what's the matter with your head?" A giant wide shot, on the bottom a dancing Peter Quill, above him a giant title, one that conquered the box office, one that may very well have changed the game. A throwback to the adventure films of the 80's without any of the cloying, cutesy kiddie crap, a film that was serious about not taking itself to seriously. This triumphantly fun sci-fi romp introduced the world to a cast of characters both unique and archetypical, making it easy to latch on to them emotionally, all of them anchored in razor sharp dialogue from James Gunn. Guardians of the Galaxy is easily one of the best Marvel movies, one of the best comic book movies, and indeed the most fun we've had in space in a long time. The time of the dark, gritty superhero movie is at an end, and this gloriously inventive space-capade has rung the death knell. (Available on DVD/Blu Ray)
5) Whiplash
Upon leaving the Sundance Film Festival last year, a friend told me, in no uncertain terms, that Whiplash was a "must see". And though I got to it much later than I should have, it's not hard to see why. Damien Chazelle's brilliantly intense crowd-pleaser is a near-flawless exercise in how high you can raise the stakes in even the simplest circumstances. Relying almost entirely on two incredible performances and some astoundingly methodical editing, the inexplicably brilliant saga of a young jazz drummer and his antagonistic teacher is one of the most remarkable achievements to come out of Sundance in recent memory, deserving of virtually every accolade its received. Hell, Whiplash is more tense than most action thrillers in years, carrying within it what feels like a bomb, an ever impending explosion lit by a torrent of obscenities and insults from one of the most vicious and divisive characters of the decade in JK Simmons' Fletcher, a character far more nuanced and complex than most reviews give him credit for. In a year full of Drops and Walks Among the Tombstones, Whiplash is proof you can make a great, tense enthralling film without guns, without a guy stealing "the boss' money", without any of the cliche genre bullshit. (Available on DVD/Blu Ray)
4) The Raid 2: Berandal
Kung-Fu fans know the name Gareth Evans well, but mainstream audiences only discovered the Welsh-born, Indonesia-based director when The Raid: Redemption blew the doors off of Sundance in 2012. Even then, while the film garnered as much critical praise as seemed possible (and in spite of his short "Safe Haven" being the only memorable part of the horror anthology V/H/S 2), Evans’ masterful follow-up The Raid 2: Berandal still only received a limited, barely promoted release. Which is a supreme shame, as many are calling it the greatest action movie ever made, and its hard to argue otherwise. While the biggest complaint about the first Raid film was its lack of a unique plot (or honestly any plot at all), the sequel makes up for that in spades with a story of crime and double-crossing so complex it makes Le Doulos look quaint. Sure, it helps to have seen the first film, but only to understand the opening scene. After that, the film stands on its own as a tale of undercover cop battling corruption from the inside, starting with tossing the ever intense Rama (a career-making and career-defining role for Iko Uwais, who’s well overdue a trip stateside under the direction of, say, Mr. Tarantino) into a prison in order to infiltrate a gang. What ensues within ten minutes of exposition is one of the most lively and inventive fights in recent memory, within the confines of a bathroom stall. From there, it’s non-stop action, in a way you’ve never seen it before. Those who swooned for the single-take thrills of True Detective’s fourth episode shoot-out will be ecstatic over the prison-yard mud-fight which Evans directs like a bone-crunching ballet. Every movement, every detail is so intricately placed that each jab, grab and stab is a spectacle. And unlike the faceless horde of henchman, cops and drug lords unloaded in the first Raid, Evans delivers ingenious and inimitable characters in every scene, including the ever memorable and menacingly mute “Hammer Girl”. Don’t let the subtitles or the run time dissuade you, this is a film like nothing you’ve seen, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. The film invites the involuntary howls and cheers that the viewer emits, reveling in its own precision pandemonium, and it redefines what action films can do. It refuses to dumb itself down, and demands your attention, your intellect, and your intense passion. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray)
Kung-Fu fans know the name Gareth Evans well, but mainstream audiences only discovered the Welsh-born, Indonesia-based director when The Raid: Redemption blew the doors off of Sundance in 2012. Even then, while the film garnered as much critical praise as seemed possible (and in spite of his short "Safe Haven" being the only memorable part of the horror anthology V/H/S 2), Evans’ masterful follow-up The Raid 2: Berandal still only received a limited, barely promoted release. Which is a supreme shame, as many are calling it the greatest action movie ever made, and its hard to argue otherwise. While the biggest complaint about the first Raid film was its lack of a unique plot (or honestly any plot at all), the sequel makes up for that in spades with a story of crime and double-crossing so complex it makes Le Doulos look quaint. Sure, it helps to have seen the first film, but only to understand the opening scene. After that, the film stands on its own as a tale of undercover cop battling corruption from the inside, starting with tossing the ever intense Rama (a career-making and career-defining role for Iko Uwais, who’s well overdue a trip stateside under the direction of, say, Mr. Tarantino) into a prison in order to infiltrate a gang. What ensues within ten minutes of exposition is one of the most lively and inventive fights in recent memory, within the confines of a bathroom stall. From there, it’s non-stop action, in a way you’ve never seen it before. Those who swooned for the single-take thrills of True Detective’s fourth episode shoot-out will be ecstatic over the prison-yard mud-fight which Evans directs like a bone-crunching ballet. Every movement, every detail is so intricately placed that each jab, grab and stab is a spectacle. And unlike the faceless horde of henchman, cops and drug lords unloaded in the first Raid, Evans delivers ingenious and inimitable characters in every scene, including the ever memorable and menacingly mute “Hammer Girl”. Don’t let the subtitles or the run time dissuade you, this is a film like nothing you’ve seen, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. The film invites the involuntary howls and cheers that the viewer emits, reveling in its own precision pandemonium, and it redefines what action films can do. It refuses to dumb itself down, and demands your attention, your intellect, and your intense passion. (Available on DVD/Blu-Ray)
3) Boyhood
It seems like cheating to call a film that endeavors to capture one lifetime as just that, once-in-a-lifetime. But there's no other way to describe it. The epitome of neorealism (yet still disliked by Bicycle Thieves advocates, which boggles my mind), Richard Linklater's career-long fascination with time culminated in this masterwork which endeavors to be a time capsule of American life and succeeds, infusing flecks of the decade as it unfolds without ever feeling like a period piece or a nostalgia trip. At its core is the story of Mason, an American boy typical in every way, to perfect effect. The performances in the film are so honest, so truthful and bereft of any sense of theatricality that it takes the viewer some time to adjust to it. Indeed, like all Linklater's films, the movie feels underwhelming to the average filmgoer, who feels "nothing happens". Boyhood is all about the tension of reality, a portrait of true American life. Nobody flies, nobody dies, nobody gets powers from a radioactive bug. Instead, we're treated to moments in a life, fragmented and yet flowing, like a melody that changes keys but keeps its tempo ever moving forward. We're not invited to cling to the edge of our seats, nor try and unravel some mystery, but rather drift in Boyhood, letting its small waves wash over us; to meditate on time and really think rather than be spoon-fed some message. There's no grand triumph, no overcoming unbearable odds. Instead, like the tagline Ethan Hawke posed suggests, we watch as "some people grow up, some people age".
Sure, some have suggested that the film loses a lot of its impact if it wasn't shot over 12 years, which is also the single shittiest criticism posed since the term "nitpicking" rose to prominence. What if Birdman wasn't shot to look like one take, or didn't have the Michael Keaton background story element? What if Gravity didn't have it's stunning visuals? What if Hard Day's Night didn't have the Beatles, but was just about four random guys? Or Jurassic Park had used people in costumes instead of CGI?
What the hell kind of critique is that? When you make a film, you select all the methods by which you want it to come together, carefully choosing the elements, from who you cast to what film stock you shoot with, to what locations, knowing any element could make or break the film. Choosing to shoot the film over twelve years with the same actors isn't a "gimmick", its an artistic choice that managed to make the story far more powerful. That shouldn't detract from the film. It's silly to try to detract from any movie by saying "Well, it wouldn't have been nearly as good if they'd done these things differently". No shit. That's why they didn't. And that's why the director should be praised for making the appropriate choices for the story. That's, in fact, the whole reason awards and accolades are given. To say "Good job making the right choices, instead of the wrong ones".
In this case, Richard Linklater wanted to create the kind of contemporary time capsule that would last the ages, told not in retrospect as Dazed & Confused was, but rather in real-time, something that had never been done before. It's of its time and yet timeless, because even as the peripheral technology changes (the film doesn't spend time focused, for example, on the Nintendo Wii enough to detract from the story's impact over time, but rather uses it to season in a sense of time-spatial placement for viewers who lived through that era) the story will remain as honest and universal as it always has. True, it simply shows us days past instead of Days of Future Past, lacking the visceral punch of car chases and lasers, but its a singular masterwork that connects to something much deeper if you're willing to let it. Even though its the story of one individual, Linklater reminds us that we're all cogs in a grand cosmic machinery, and how truly, exquisitely beautiful that is.
Sure, some have suggested that the film loses a lot of its impact if it wasn't shot over 12 years, which is also the single shittiest criticism posed since the term "nitpicking" rose to prominence. What if Birdman wasn't shot to look like one take, or didn't have the Michael Keaton background story element? What if Gravity didn't have it's stunning visuals? What if Hard Day's Night didn't have the Beatles, but was just about four random guys? Or Jurassic Park had used people in costumes instead of CGI?
What the hell kind of critique is that? When you make a film, you select all the methods by which you want it to come together, carefully choosing the elements, from who you cast to what film stock you shoot with, to what locations, knowing any element could make or break the film. Choosing to shoot the film over twelve years with the same actors isn't a "gimmick", its an artistic choice that managed to make the story far more powerful. That shouldn't detract from the film. It's silly to try to detract from any movie by saying "Well, it wouldn't have been nearly as good if they'd done these things differently". No shit. That's why they didn't. And that's why the director should be praised for making the appropriate choices for the story. That's, in fact, the whole reason awards and accolades are given. To say "Good job making the right choices, instead of the wrong ones".
In this case, Richard Linklater wanted to create the kind of contemporary time capsule that would last the ages, told not in retrospect as Dazed & Confused was, but rather in real-time, something that had never been done before. It's of its time and yet timeless, because even as the peripheral technology changes (the film doesn't spend time focused, for example, on the Nintendo Wii enough to detract from the story's impact over time, but rather uses it to season in a sense of time-spatial placement for viewers who lived through that era) the story will remain as honest and universal as it always has. True, it simply shows us days past instead of Days of Future Past, lacking the visceral punch of car chases and lasers, but its a singular masterwork that connects to something much deeper if you're willing to let it. Even though its the story of one individual, Linklater reminds us that we're all cogs in a grand cosmic machinery, and how truly, exquisitely beautiful that is.
2) Gone Girl
Everybody is talking about Gone Girl, but nobody wants to say much. A story full of twists and turns, David Fincher’s newest film has almost no comparison, not even within his other work. It’s not anarchic like Fight Club, creeping like Seven, brooding like Zodiac or even pseudo-scary like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. The humor (which it has more of than the marketing would like you to think) is Fargo-esque, but too sparse to be Coen-like in tone throughout. It’s a black comedy (closest in that regard to Fight Club) infused with a great deal of pulp-noir elements, tied up in such a seamless, strategically artistic fashion to have only one true comparison: The Silence of the Lambs.
The film somehow transcends the pulp-y sensations of Flynn’s engrossing novel (something Fincher’s last overhyped endeavor couldn’t do), and perhaps that’s due to the film’s absolutely stellar cast. Rosamund Pike seemed a lock for a Best Actress Oscar, with everyone from Affleck on down to Carrie Coon and yes, even Tyler Perry well deserving of nominations themselves (I mean, come on, I love me some Ruffalo, but Medea deserved it more). Indeed, Flynn’s screenplay adaptation of her own work seems to have smoothed out the kinks, and the continuos, uninterrupted narrative of cinema seems better suited for the abrupt reveal mid-story which, in the self-stunted narrative experience most readers have in modern life with regards to literature, didn’t quite land. Like Lambs, the film is dark but enthralling, and never revels in misery, but rather embraces its hyper-real caricatures to make statements about life. It dares the audience to look upon its story not as fact or caution, but as allegory.
Opening with Affleck’s Nick Dunne posing a question that seems like mere overture to those unaccustomed to married life (or even those on the cusp of it) “What are you thinking? What are you feeling? What have we done to each other?”, Gone Girl rushes forward with a narrative that scares the viewer in just how relatable it is. Fincher masterfully crafted the film like a Frankenstein's monster from his past oeuvre, mixing the squeamish scares of Seven, the brutal humor of Fight Club and the grim procedural tone of Zodiac with his flare for exposing the pathetic and dreadful human monster he so perfectly executed with The Social Network (both films benefit from a hauntingly ambient score by Oscar winner and Nine Inch Nails frontman Trent Reznor). From this film we’ve gotten what looks to be a stellar pairing, with Fincher and Flynn planning several more projects together, and the sheer brilliance of this first endeavor leaves us pondering a similar question the one Nick conclusively posits: “What are they going to do?” (Available on DVD/Blu Ray)
1) Inherent Vice
So, now, how in the hell did movie I wasn't even sure I liked when I left the Times Square cinema that fateful December afternoon wind up at the top of my list this year? Because that's what genius auteur Paul Thomas Anderson does. With the exception perhaps of the visceral Boogie Nights, Anderson's films are always abstract artworks, whose stories you may be able to follow but whose unfathomable depths don't present themselves until weeks later, when the films smokey tendrils have danced around your head in twilight hours and unseen doors unlock to reveal chambers of speculation and disconnected imagery that somehow craft an almost pointillist painting whose dots drip over the span of days, and only when the last spec of paint dries can you then step back and see the exquisite peaks and valleys they form. So naturally, it was only fitting this director tackle the work of perhaps the most unfilmable of the post-moderns, and perhaps America's greatest living author, Thomas Pynchon.
In his squarely hippy homage to the hard-boiled detective novel, Pynchon introduced the world to the missing link between Phillip Marlowe and The Dude, the walking existential crisis of Doc Sportello. Anderson took Joaquin Pheonix, recharged from the emotional acrobatics of The Master playing lost soul Freddie Quell, and puts him in the sandals of Sportello, who could very well be Quell if he fumbled out of the doors of The Cause, stumbled face first into a bucket of liquified LSD and came out the other side with longer hair and a shorter attention span. From the exquisitely crafted soundtrack to the bizarre cornucopia of strange casting for even stranger characters (Owen Wilson as a shaggy rock drummer may not be much of a stretch, but Martin Short as a coke-dealing dentist is, as is former porn actress Michelle Sinclair as a surprisingly captivating, 70's version of the Ellen Paige exposition machine, except in this film, it somehow works), Inherent Vice is loaded with the kind of chaotically psychedelic pinballs that dazzle and misdirect, all of which shroud what, at its heart, is perhaps the simplest message Anderson's ever had in a film (but you won't get any spoilers from me, Doc).
Of course, the inclusion of the etherial gum-shoe narration of the novel in the form of the raspy voiced and mysterious Sortilege (played by harpist Joanna Newsom) makes the film both more and less intelligible in all the right ways, the sensuous and sympathetic tone to her delivery helping the film to successfully translate the typically conservative detective genre into its pinko-commie equivalent; and taking the antagonistic role away from the filthy hippies of yore is Bigfoot Bjornson, the fiercest hippy hater in all of California, played with exquisite self-deprecation by Josh Brolin, helping to unsettle any sense of certainty in a story that may be entirely enhanced or indeed invented by Doc's frequent indulgence of hashish, from ordering pancakes at a Japanese restaurant to performing fellatio on a banana.
Whether we're actually unravelling a mystery that tangentially involves a millionaire land owner and Doc's ex-old lady or just riding shotgun on a paranoid acid trip at the tail end of the 60's, crossing the bridge between Hair and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Inherent Vice certainly takes you to places you've never been, staring into the underbelly of the subculture that's become an iconic symbol of American freedom, exposing all its flaws and follies, and in the end creating the most spellbinding and perplexing puzzle in years. "The edge", 70's culture-explorer Hunter Thompson, who picked up right where the fictional Sportello leaves off, wrote "There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others-the living-are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there." Every film he makes, Paul Thomas Anderson invites you with him, sometimes skirting the edge. But here, in Inherent Vice, he drives that glorious Vincent Black Shadow right over without once looking back, like the kind of leader he warned us not to follow in his last film. But we did follow, and went over the edge. If you haven't yet, it's ok. Like Hunter said, the edge is still out there. Find it. Follow us down. Take the trip. And good luck, Doc. (DVD/Blu-Ray available in April)
In his squarely hippy homage to the hard-boiled detective novel, Pynchon introduced the world to the missing link between Phillip Marlowe and The Dude, the walking existential crisis of Doc Sportello. Anderson took Joaquin Pheonix, recharged from the emotional acrobatics of The Master playing lost soul Freddie Quell, and puts him in the sandals of Sportello, who could very well be Quell if he fumbled out of the doors of The Cause, stumbled face first into a bucket of liquified LSD and came out the other side with longer hair and a shorter attention span. From the exquisitely crafted soundtrack to the bizarre cornucopia of strange casting for even stranger characters (Owen Wilson as a shaggy rock drummer may not be much of a stretch, but Martin Short as a coke-dealing dentist is, as is former porn actress Michelle Sinclair as a surprisingly captivating, 70's version of the Ellen Paige exposition machine, except in this film, it somehow works), Inherent Vice is loaded with the kind of chaotically psychedelic pinballs that dazzle and misdirect, all of which shroud what, at its heart, is perhaps the simplest message Anderson's ever had in a film (but you won't get any spoilers from me, Doc).
Of course, the inclusion of the etherial gum-shoe narration of the novel in the form of the raspy voiced and mysterious Sortilege (played by harpist Joanna Newsom) makes the film both more and less intelligible in all the right ways, the sensuous and sympathetic tone to her delivery helping the film to successfully translate the typically conservative detective genre into its pinko-commie equivalent; and taking the antagonistic role away from the filthy hippies of yore is Bigfoot Bjornson, the fiercest hippy hater in all of California, played with exquisite self-deprecation by Josh Brolin, helping to unsettle any sense of certainty in a story that may be entirely enhanced or indeed invented by Doc's frequent indulgence of hashish, from ordering pancakes at a Japanese restaurant to performing fellatio on a banana.
Whether we're actually unravelling a mystery that tangentially involves a millionaire land owner and Doc's ex-old lady or just riding shotgun on a paranoid acid trip at the tail end of the 60's, crossing the bridge between Hair and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Inherent Vice certainly takes you to places you've never been, staring into the underbelly of the subculture that's become an iconic symbol of American freedom, exposing all its flaws and follies, and in the end creating the most spellbinding and perplexing puzzle in years. "The edge", 70's culture-explorer Hunter Thompson, who picked up right where the fictional Sportello leaves off, wrote "There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others-the living-are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there." Every film he makes, Paul Thomas Anderson invites you with him, sometimes skirting the edge. But here, in Inherent Vice, he drives that glorious Vincent Black Shadow right over without once looking back, like the kind of leader he warned us not to follow in his last film. But we did follow, and went over the edge. If you haven't yet, it's ok. Like Hunter said, the edge is still out there. Find it. Follow us down. Take the trip. And good luck, Doc. (DVD/Blu-Ray available in April)
Other "Best of the Year" Accolades
Best Director of the Year
P.T. Anderson for Inherent Vice
Even if he hadn't made a string of brilliance before this year, simply taking on the Herculean feat of adapting one of the most complex authors in literature should earn Anderson higher praise than he's received. The fact that he did so with such polish and grace, and made it all look so effortless, that's what makes him the best director working today.
Runner-Up: Richard Linklater for Boyhood
Best Screenplay of the Year
Gillian Flynn for Gone Girl
Trimming the fat of her novel like the living embodiment of the "kill your darlings" writing mentality, Gillian Flynn showed a remarkable talent for writing for the cinema as well as the Kindle. And while that unassuming librarian-like face has behind it the most terrifying mind, it's one you hope will be scribing screenplays for a long time to come.
Runner-Up: Wes Anderson for The Grand Budapest Hotel
Best Cinematography of the Year
Dick Pope for Mr. Turner
For all of Birdman's nifty editing tricks that aren't really cinematography winning, it was still nice to see a movie that wasn't made on a computer win for once (depending on what you consider Inception, that hasn't been a non-CGI Cinematography win since Slumdog Millionaire), but the simple fact is if we're judging the merits of cinematography based on the actual quality of the cinematography (which is difficult, I know, but stay with me), Dick Pope was absolutely robbed for his masterful work on Mike Leigh's JMW Turner biopic, crafted images that would have made the master painter proud.
Runner-Up: Lukasz Zal and Ryszard Lenczewski for Ida
Best Editing of the Year
Gareth Evans and Andi Novianto for The Raid 2: Berandal
From the shot choreography to the fight choreography, Gareth Evans really is more George Balanchine than George Miller, and by far the most elegant and enthralling of the dances is the one done in the editing room, where its clear he treats every take, every cut and camera motion with a delicate grace.
Runner-Up: John Mac McMurphy and Martin Pensa for Wild
Best Score of the Year
Jonny Greenwood for Inherent Vice
From the hauntingly unsettling tones of The Master to this profoundly celestial score, Greenwood has shown an incredible knack for instrumentalizing the visual timbre of P.T. Anderson's cinematic worlds. The soundtrack to Inherent Vice is an absolute joy to listen to, as Greenwood uses his ambient twangs to bridge the gaps between obscure 60's pop.
Runners-Up: Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross for Gone Girl
Best Song of the Year
"I'm Not Gonna Miss You" by Glen Campbell for Glen Campbell...I'll Be Me
I'll admit that before the Oscars this year, I'd not even heard of this track. Of course I knew about Glen Campbell. I've many memories of my grandfather's basement, lifting weights to the tune of "Rhinestone Cowboy". I remember the star-studded Grammy performance in his honor. So when I saw Campbell's name listed as an Oscar nominee, I was intrigued, but assumed it was mostly a career nod. Then, after all the other nominees, I decided to listen to the Campbell track, since I figured how good could the songwriting really be from a man whose currently losing his very semblance of self.
What I heard was the most heartbreakingly poignant music track since Johnny Cash covered "Hurt". Lyrically moving and melodically serene, Glen Campbell writes what works as both a self-eulogy and a break-up love letter to his wife, about how lucky he's been, and also, in a brilliant piece of brutal honesty, how lucky he feels that he'll never have to miss her since she's the last face he'll recall before they all fade away. The song brought me to tears the first time I heard it, and I keep going back to it, crying every time, because its the most sincere song of any genre in years. Sheer brilliance.
What I heard was the most heartbreakingly poignant music track since Johnny Cash covered "Hurt". Lyrically moving and melodically serene, Glen Campbell writes what works as both a self-eulogy and a break-up love letter to his wife, about how lucky he's been, and also, in a brilliant piece of brutal honesty, how lucky he feels that he'll never have to miss her since she's the last face he'll recall before they all fade away. The song brought me to tears the first time I heard it, and I keep going back to it, crying every time, because its the most sincere song of any genre in years. Sheer brilliance.
Runner-Up: "I Love You All" by Stephen Rennicks and Lenny Abrahamson from Frank
Best Actor of the Year
Eddie Redmayne as Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything
As stated above, Redmayne's performance is an utterly remarkable piece of acting, throwing himself into the depths of vulnerability, capturing a man who is both a household name and a total mystery.
Runner-Up: Michael Keaton as Riggan Thomson/Birdman in Birdman
Best Actress of the Year
Julianne Moore as Alice Howland in Still Alice
The film itself isn't much to write home about, and even some of the supporting performances, like Alec Baldwin's, are just sort of there. Yet this film lets the second greatest living actress (Meryl Streep the obvious top) shine in a way she never has before, despite career landmarks like Far From Heaven and Boogie Nights. Moore is unbearable in the best way as a woman conscious of her own mental decay, and Kristen Stewart's sensitive support allows more to feed off of the energy (as she's so gifted with doing) and launch it into some of the most memorable screen acting of the year, elevating a so-so film to a powerhouse of emotion.
Runner-Up: Rosamund Pike as Amy Dunn in Gone Girl
Best Supporting Actor of the Year
J.K. Simmons for Terence Fletcher in Whiplash
In a performance that's both terrifying and invigorating, the perpetually working actor solidified his legacy as the intense, powerful firecracker he'd exhibited before in Oz and even Spider-man. His rage is a disciplined one, his tonal shifts that of a master of internal control rather than erratic emotion. JK Simmons delivered something outstanding this year, a sort of rorschach performance of a role that's either a villain, an antagonist or a mentor, allowing the viewer to make their own journey within themselves to determine which.
Runner-Up: Steve Carrell as John Du Pont in Foxcatcher
Best Supporting Actress of the Year
Patricia Arquette as Mom in Boyhood
For the reasons discussed above in the Boyhood write-up, it took me a long time to come around to Patricia Arquette's achingly honest portrait of a single mother, but once that click happens upstairs when you realize you're looking for people here, not ideas wrapped in flesh, Arquette is the only real choice. She bore her soul for 12 straight years, and to see such raw emotion from a woman who'd essentially just wrapped on Little Nicky before the cameras first rolled is utterly astounding.
Runner-Up: Emma Stone as Sam Thomson in Birdman
Best Ensemble Cast
Gone Girl
Every part in this incredible machine of intrigue, from anchors Ben Affleck and Rosamund Pike to minor blips on the radar like Casey Wilson and Scoot McNairy help create a truly believable world of the dark fantasy they're performing. Yes, there are villains (essentially every soul you see on screen is a damaged one), but every single one is entrancing, pulling you to the darkness deep within yourself, and while some credit can and should go to David Fincher and Gillian Flynn, the utter charm of this otherwise bleak tale is thanks to its incredible cast.
Runner-Up: Inherent Vice
Breakout Performance of the Year
Rosamund Pike as Amy Dunn in Gone Girl
She may have been around before, in truth she's been in many films you've probably seen. But Rosamund Pike didn't exist before this year, not in the way we know her now. Not with that haunting stare, that chillingly charming voice with that slight rasp that draws you toward it like a spider nimbly creeping. Her erratic "Amazing Amy" is the driving force behind the year's best thriller, and while it may not have taken home the top prize, here or at the Kodak theatre, it's the kind that will be remember well after most films this year have faded from memory altogether.
Runner-Up: Tessa Thompson for Samantha "Sam" White in Dear White People
Best Animated Short
The Bigger Picture
There were certainly some impressive shorts in this year's batch of animated nominees, but none were as remarkable or innovative as Daisy Jacobs' "life-sized animation" The Bigger Picture. Playing with perspective and style to tackle the rather dour subject of two brothers dealing with their ailing mother, Jacobs chose to paint her characters frame by frame on the walls of a white room, incorporating cardboard and paper ache to craft furniture and even limbs to the otherwise two-dimensional figures to breath a life heretofore unseen perhaps in the entire history of animation. It's a truly remarkable film that breaks the mold and commands the intrigue of any desperate for a taste of something new.
Runner-Up: Feast
Best Live Action Short
The Phone Call
Though it didn't crack my Top Twenty, there was a notable cinematic experiment this year called Locke, which took place almost entirely within a car, it's dialogue almost solely phone calls. While I hate to ever use the term "gimmick" (a pointless and derisive word in film criticism today, thrown around to discredit the innovation of any film the speaker doesn't like, whether or not they've seen in, re: any disdainful objections to the success of The Artist, Birdman, Boyhood, etc.), the experiment of Locke does grow tiresome after a while, and after a point of the same four or five reused shots, the film rides entirely on the charm and talent of Tom Hardy (and thankfully he has a lot of both to spare). The Phone Call, however, employs the same idea, a singular space and a phone call in which there's two voices but only ever one face, and does it to far greater effect in far less time, perhaps in part due to its shorter span. Sally Hawkins is, as always, exquisite, and the tension is absolutely raw and human, culminating in an ending that, while its song choice causes it to teeter on cheesy, still effects in a profound fashion.
Runner-Up: Too Many Cooks
Best Documentary Short
Joanna
Were it not for a certain former superhero stealing the big thunder of the night, the biggest crime at the Oscars this year would have been the absolute worst Documentary Short of the nominees (Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1, a point and shoot doc which takes a tense moment of reality and passes it off as the filmmaker's artistry) beating out the most memorable documentary short in years, this beautiful and heartrending portrait of a Polish woman facing her own mortality, seeing the sands of time slip away in the eyes of her young son. The filmmakers weave moments both powerful and passive into a tonal narrative that delivers more of a message than all the voice-over narrations and talking heads footage in every documentary feature and short this year combined.
Runner-Up: The Reaper/La Parka
Best Animated Feature
Song of the Sea
Runner-Up: How To Train Your Dragon 2
Best Documentary
Jodorowsky's Dune
Runner-Up: Virunga
Most Overrated Films
Citizenfour/The Lego Movie
Well, once again, another year down, another Oscar season over, and another set of films massively overhyped. On the one hand, critics slathered praise all over the unworthy cut and paste self-important Citizenfour, on the other the general public was outraged the one movie they saw this year wasn't nominated for every award, and therefor everything was not, how should I put it, awesome.
Now, look, I personally enjoyed the Lego Movie just fine, but having seen all the other animated nominees, it simply didn't make the cut. The Lego Movie is a fine little piece of entertainment that relies maybe a bit too heavily on pop culture references and self-awareness and not enough on humor that may stand the test of time, but fair enough, so did Shrek (albeit with enough snark-less charm to survive in the pantheon of classic animation, something the Lego Movie may struggle to do). The problem is the troublesome third act, the "live action" portions where the film's momentum dies and it attempts to tie everything up into a sentimental bow in a film that lacked any genuine sentiment before. It shifts gears in a really unnatural way, changing the entire purpose of the film and seemingly altering its sights on a different target audience, jumping from Toy Story 1 to Toy Story 3 with a somewhat cliche "Cats in the Cradle" kumbaya message upon the entrance of Will Ferrel's live action form. From there it never really recovers, and causes the viewer to question whether the film itself has any real heart or substance besides the sentiment disjointedly plugged on at the end, like a MegaBlocks base shoved onto a Lego brick building: It sort of does the job, but something's off about it.
As for the least deserving Documentary Oscar winner since Al Gore made a PowerPoint presentation, it appears critics have once again focused on the topic rather than the technique in its praise of this self-important exercise in showing off, which at its core fails, whatever your feelings are on Edward Snowden. Of course, die hard "he's a real American hero" fans of the whistle-blowing Deep-Throat-with-a-publicist will likely, as critics did, ignore the film itself, focusing their praise on the bravery of the film's subject, ignoring that the film is simply a portrait of self-praise and paranoia. Even if you enjoy watching the at points ultimately useless footage of Snowden in his hotel room, there are some compelling moments the filmmakers captured, like the paranoid (whether justifiable or not, we'll never know) Snowden worrying his phone is bugged, but then these moments are deflated when they decide to take the cameras off him to turn them on each other, so that we see their concerned faces, that we remember they are also heroes for making this film, as though they forgot they were supposed to be making a documentary and got swept up in the "I'm Jason Bourne" emotion of the moment. The film, in the end, squanders a golden opportunity. Regardless of your feelings, Snowden is one of the most significant figures in recent history, and they have sole access to him, so where were the questions? What did we actually get to see in the film? What do you actually come away from Citizenfour knowing that you didn't before? Whose opinion was swayed? Imagine if Woodward and Bernstein had squandered their interviews with Deep Throat repeatedly asking "How are you feeling?"
This is, of course, to say nothing of the half of the film's run time Snowden isn't even on screen, showing us instead a lecture about government spying, providing information we all already know. Yet the "information we already know" that it would actually behoove the film to convey, namely exactly what Snowden did, the timeline leading up to the events in the film, which might have made the movie a fascinating piece of viewing for future generations, the film completely glosses over. Conversely, the film had plentiful opportunities to take a different stance on Snowden, if even to play devil's advocate, get him to defend himself on camera (he's pretty captivating for a guy who makes sure you know he has no media experience). Rather than hear Snowden flip-flop between whose calls room service should patch through to his room, how fascinating would it have been for the filmmakers to charge Snowden to answer for why, if he's such a supporter of transparency, he covers himself with a blanket to type on his laptop, squirreling away from the cameras he himself invited to the room. Perhaps he would have had a good reason (some have posited various reasons online, but if you have the horse in front of you, its kind of your responsibility to try and get the words from its mouth). Or maybe ironically you could have had Snowden express that he feels some secrets should stay secret, that for his or other people's safety, some information shouldn't be made public, which could have made for a fascinating film about just who should get to make those decisions. Because by covering himself with a blanket, Snowden's clearly saying he knows what should and shouldn't be public info. He is watching the proverbial watchmen. But who's watching him? We are. And that's all we're doing. Because instead of probing, instead of prying, the camera just stays on the blanket, gazing with almost starry eyes at the film's focal point, but not its subject. Its subject, if we can apply the term loosely, are the documentarians themselves, who make sure we see in the opening scrawl (because they chose to retype their emails rather than screenshot them, which makes trusting the film a bit more difficult) about how dangerous their other films were to make, how bold they were to make them, how Snowden hand selected them as the only people he could trust to make the film, and that in itself should put a bad taste in your mouth. No political figure (and make no mistake, Snowden is. He is the face of a political movement, a dissident not unlike Malcolm X or Boris Nemstov), whether the one in power or in hiding, should get to select their documentarians. Why Alex Haley's portrait of the polarizing Civil Rights leader works is because, in the end, he was not beholden to Malcolm, and indeed before the interviews had expressed disdain for the Nation of Islam movement X espoused. As with any other figure, had Malcolm from the blue selected his chronicler, it would have been less a portrait of a tumultuous figure and more akin to Soviet propaganda depicting Stalin.
Now, this is not to suggest Snowden is a scheming despot, but rather that, from a political standpoint, he made the right call. He sure as hell wasn't going to call Bill O'Reilly to tell his story, but a more self-aware documentarian should have been wary when they were contacted as "the only people who could tell my story", because that's really saying they're the only people he can trust to tell the story he wants to tell. And the film does just that, content to take jabs at the government without even scratching the surface of their intended subject, instead choosing to fill their film with shots of lectures and cadaverously candid clips of Edward in what feels like a desperate attempt to ride the coat tails of their actually important subject to show just how important they are for making a film about him. It feels desperate, it feels toothless, and in the end, it feels empty. Even if Snowden really is the selfless American messiah the film tries to paint him to be, then he deserved a lot better than a devotional puff piece, adrift in its own self-worth. And we, the American people, deserved a lot better either way.
Now, look, I personally enjoyed the Lego Movie just fine, but having seen all the other animated nominees, it simply didn't make the cut. The Lego Movie is a fine little piece of entertainment that relies maybe a bit too heavily on pop culture references and self-awareness and not enough on humor that may stand the test of time, but fair enough, so did Shrek (albeit with enough snark-less charm to survive in the pantheon of classic animation, something the Lego Movie may struggle to do). The problem is the troublesome third act, the "live action" portions where the film's momentum dies and it attempts to tie everything up into a sentimental bow in a film that lacked any genuine sentiment before. It shifts gears in a really unnatural way, changing the entire purpose of the film and seemingly altering its sights on a different target audience, jumping from Toy Story 1 to Toy Story 3 with a somewhat cliche "Cats in the Cradle" kumbaya message upon the entrance of Will Ferrel's live action form. From there it never really recovers, and causes the viewer to question whether the film itself has any real heart or substance besides the sentiment disjointedly plugged on at the end, like a MegaBlocks base shoved onto a Lego brick building: It sort of does the job, but something's off about it.
As for the least deserving Documentary Oscar winner since Al Gore made a PowerPoint presentation, it appears critics have once again focused on the topic rather than the technique in its praise of this self-important exercise in showing off, which at its core fails, whatever your feelings are on Edward Snowden. Of course, die hard "he's a real American hero" fans of the whistle-blowing Deep-Throat-with-a-publicist will likely, as critics did, ignore the film itself, focusing their praise on the bravery of the film's subject, ignoring that the film is simply a portrait of self-praise and paranoia. Even if you enjoy watching the at points ultimately useless footage of Snowden in his hotel room, there are some compelling moments the filmmakers captured, like the paranoid (whether justifiable or not, we'll never know) Snowden worrying his phone is bugged, but then these moments are deflated when they decide to take the cameras off him to turn them on each other, so that we see their concerned faces, that we remember they are also heroes for making this film, as though they forgot they were supposed to be making a documentary and got swept up in the "I'm Jason Bourne" emotion of the moment. The film, in the end, squanders a golden opportunity. Regardless of your feelings, Snowden is one of the most significant figures in recent history, and they have sole access to him, so where were the questions? What did we actually get to see in the film? What do you actually come away from Citizenfour knowing that you didn't before? Whose opinion was swayed? Imagine if Woodward and Bernstein had squandered their interviews with Deep Throat repeatedly asking "How are you feeling?"
This is, of course, to say nothing of the half of the film's run time Snowden isn't even on screen, showing us instead a lecture about government spying, providing information we all already know. Yet the "information we already know" that it would actually behoove the film to convey, namely exactly what Snowden did, the timeline leading up to the events in the film, which might have made the movie a fascinating piece of viewing for future generations, the film completely glosses over. Conversely, the film had plentiful opportunities to take a different stance on Snowden, if even to play devil's advocate, get him to defend himself on camera (he's pretty captivating for a guy who makes sure you know he has no media experience). Rather than hear Snowden flip-flop between whose calls room service should patch through to his room, how fascinating would it have been for the filmmakers to charge Snowden to answer for why, if he's such a supporter of transparency, he covers himself with a blanket to type on his laptop, squirreling away from the cameras he himself invited to the room. Perhaps he would have had a good reason (some have posited various reasons online, but if you have the horse in front of you, its kind of your responsibility to try and get the words from its mouth). Or maybe ironically you could have had Snowden express that he feels some secrets should stay secret, that for his or other people's safety, some information shouldn't be made public, which could have made for a fascinating film about just who should get to make those decisions. Because by covering himself with a blanket, Snowden's clearly saying he knows what should and shouldn't be public info. He is watching the proverbial watchmen. But who's watching him? We are. And that's all we're doing. Because instead of probing, instead of prying, the camera just stays on the blanket, gazing with almost starry eyes at the film's focal point, but not its subject. Its subject, if we can apply the term loosely, are the documentarians themselves, who make sure we see in the opening scrawl (because they chose to retype their emails rather than screenshot them, which makes trusting the film a bit more difficult) about how dangerous their other films were to make, how bold they were to make them, how Snowden hand selected them as the only people he could trust to make the film, and that in itself should put a bad taste in your mouth. No political figure (and make no mistake, Snowden is. He is the face of a political movement, a dissident not unlike Malcolm X or Boris Nemstov), whether the one in power or in hiding, should get to select their documentarians. Why Alex Haley's portrait of the polarizing Civil Rights leader works is because, in the end, he was not beholden to Malcolm, and indeed before the interviews had expressed disdain for the Nation of Islam movement X espoused. As with any other figure, had Malcolm from the blue selected his chronicler, it would have been less a portrait of a tumultuous figure and more akin to Soviet propaganda depicting Stalin.
Now, this is not to suggest Snowden is a scheming despot, but rather that, from a political standpoint, he made the right call. He sure as hell wasn't going to call Bill O'Reilly to tell his story, but a more self-aware documentarian should have been wary when they were contacted as "the only people who could tell my story", because that's really saying they're the only people he can trust to tell the story he wants to tell. And the film does just that, content to take jabs at the government without even scratching the surface of their intended subject, instead choosing to fill their film with shots of lectures and cadaverously candid clips of Edward in what feels like a desperate attempt to ride the coat tails of their actually important subject to show just how important they are for making a film about him. It feels desperate, it feels toothless, and in the end, it feels empty. Even if Snowden really is the selfless American messiah the film tries to paint him to be, then he deserved a lot better than a devotional puff piece, adrift in its own self-worth. And we, the American people, deserved a lot better either way.
Most Underrated Films
Two Days, One Night/A Million Ways to Die in the West
I've said my bit above about the gorgeous Two Days, One Night, and my reason for deeming it underrated is that too few people saw it, so instead, let's take a quick minute to focus on the benign burlesque everyone dubbed inoperable cinematic cancer. In terms of both humor and forgettability, Seth McFarlane's sophomore cinematic endeavor is on par with The Lego Movie, so its bizarre that one was so beloved and the other so reviled by grown men and women. Perhaps since McFarlane's also-not-as-bad-as-people-made-it-out-to-be Oscar stint, people have been out for the Family Guy founder's blood, and this perfectly enjoyable if flawed film was their sacrificial lamb. No, it's not Ted level undeniable joy, but its the same brand of naughty humor that people seemed to (reluctantly) love about that. From humorous cameos (Doc Brown and Django both appear) to genuinely witty commentary on the lack of realism in Westerns (including Seth's character dissecting why spicy food came to prominence, and its not nearly as folksy an origin as you'd like to believe), it never reaches the heights of Blazing Saddles, but critics were determined to hate it simultaneously for not being as daring as Blazing Saddles and for having the same kind of non-PC humor Saddles did in a time where that just won't fly (the intentionally tasteless Runaway Slaves shooting gallery, for example, is right up there with any race joke in Saddles, and I thank god every day HuffPost wasn't around to ridicule Mel Brooks into box-office failure). I'll never suggest West is a great film, but you can't help but feel there's more of an agenda to the folks declaring it one of the "Worst of the Year" (it's really not) than there is objective criticism, like they were walking into the theater already armed to destroy, possibly with the same weapons they used to take down last year's not-at-all-as-bad-as-they-said-it-was Lone Ranger. For a group always ready to lament the death of the Western, boy howdy do you guys seem to hate cowboys more than Eli Wallach in The Magnificent Seven.
The Bottom Five
I have never done a "Bottom Five" before. I've always refused, even when my companions took digs at the "worst of the year" to do so, maybe in part because I try quite hard to avoid bad films (I put faith in critics, even if film criticism isn't quite as reliable as it once was). Certain failures you can spot from a mile away, so no, I never saw the Twilight sequels, or the most recent Transformers films. Every other year, while I do have every film ranked on a list, there were never 5 truly dreadful films on my list. One of two at the bottom, sure, but most years were I to do a "Bottom Five", films that were halfway decent but simply faltered like Godzilla or Million Dollar Arm would have made the cut, and it didn't feel fair to kick a film while it was down. But somehow between films I had really high hopes for, and films that were praised upon release that didn't hold up upon viewing, 2014 was the year that broke me. That burned me so bad, so often, I needed to make a Bottom Five, to warn those who put stop in my writing to avoid these turkeys at any damn cost (hence, unlike above, I've not included the availability of these films. The bold and masochistic can seek them out themselves). It should be noted that two of these films were on my Most anticipated list last year. Hell, four out of the five are from directors whose work I've adored, and who I've vehemently defended time and time again before this, so if you sense a hit of betrayal, you're not wrong. So, if you're willing, let's dive into 5 flicks that are such trash Harmony Korine's about to film people straddling them.
You see, the film, being from Disney, stripped away all of the sexuality of the stage show, both the overt (the Baker's Wife sleeping with and being abandoned by one of the princes) and the subtextual, and their absence made their very existence in the original material noticeable to me for the first time. The very existence of Red Riding Hood's character and her interactions with the wolf in the show highlight the sexual nature of the Little Red Riding Hood story and the eroticism of innocence, especially with the wolf's predatory song. Of course, casting an actual child instead of a grown woman in the role of Little Red means having to tone all of that down, giving us instead a bland and pointless dalliance in the woods, resulting in the most toothless rendition of Red Riding Hood's song ever performed, and the whole film follows suit. Indeed, there's a powerful expression of budding youth in the lyrics that, somehow, feel really creepy coming from an actual youth, so much so the film goes really hard to avoid any Nabokovian conclusions being drawn about Depp's wolf, castrating what's usually a poignant song:
5) Into the Woods
Despite it's ranking, I actually owe a debt of gratitude to Rob Marshall's big screen adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's beloved musical, since before the film, I far from loved the show Into the Woods. Indeed, the fairly tale stage show was my least favorite of the theatre legend's career, seeing it once around high school age and never glancing back again. I found it insipid, devoid of any meaning or depth, and an absolute waste of time. But in being all of those things itself, the film version helped show me that the original production had more to it.You see, the film, being from Disney, stripped away all of the sexuality of the stage show, both the overt (the Baker's Wife sleeping with and being abandoned by one of the princes) and the subtextual, and their absence made their very existence in the original material noticeable to me for the first time. The very existence of Red Riding Hood's character and her interactions with the wolf in the show highlight the sexual nature of the Little Red Riding Hood story and the eroticism of innocence, especially with the wolf's predatory song. Of course, casting an actual child instead of a grown woman in the role of Little Red means having to tone all of that down, giving us instead a bland and pointless dalliance in the woods, resulting in the most toothless rendition of Red Riding Hood's song ever performed, and the whole film follows suit. Indeed, there's a powerful expression of budding youth in the lyrics that, somehow, feel really creepy coming from an actual youth, so much so the film goes really hard to avoid any Nabokovian conclusions being drawn about Depp's wolf, castrating what's usually a poignant song:
"I should have heeded/Her advice.../But he seemed so nice./And he showed me things/Many beautiful things,/That I hadn't thought to explore."
"And he made me feel excited-/Well, excited and scared./When he said, "Come in!"/With that sickening grin,/How could I know what was in store?/Once his teeth were bared,/Though, I really got scared-/Well, excited and scared-/But he drew me close"
"Isn't it nice to know a lot! And a little bit not..."
Now imagine a whole film of that, but with all of the deeper meaning stripped away, and you'll see what a painful enterprise enduring the film version of Into the Woods is.
4) Nymphomaniac Vol. 1 & 2
Well, from a film that stripped away all exploration of female sexuality to a film that tries to explore it while fumbling around blindly with both hands in its pants, we get Lars Von Trier's divisive, painfully long and horrifically unsexy Nymphomaniac. Tying together vignettes with varying degrees of eroticism is the most uninteresting framing device since that framing device you totally forgot The Scarlet Letter had. Left bloodied and beaten in the street, Charlotte Gainsburg (She in Antichrist) is discovered by Stellan Skarsgard (Bill in Mamma Mia!) and brought back to his home to recover, so she offers to tell him her entire life story in order to show that lust led to her downfall (there are literal pornos that deliver this message with more subtlety than this fucking movie). Now, were that just the bookend of the two tediously long installments of this near five hour barring of balls and buttocks, maybe we might be able to at least enjoy the graphic sex, but no. Because each sequence is continually interrupted by an interjecting Stellan, who genuinely sees parallels between Stacy Martin giving head on a train and fly fishing, or Shia Lebouf sodomizing a girl and math equations. Honestly, try and imagine that gorgeous erotic sequence in Blue is the Warmest Color, but every 30 seconds its interrupted by the naked Swede from Thor ranting about subatomic particles. Not fun, is it? Well, neither is the actual sex in Nymphomaniac, which alternates between tediously artsy and, more often than not, astoundingly amateurish, as though someone handed a 12 year old boy a budget and a lot of unfortunately willing actresses. There's no other way to explain a sequence where two young girls attempt to orally please as many men as possible on a train in the hopes of winning a bag of candy to be set to "Born to be Wild". Honestly, it's that bad. It's so bad, you genuinely question whether Von Trier is just fucking with us. There's an almost astounding array of bad decisions on display, and such pointlessly sexually frustrated sequences of self-importance it makes The Brown Bunny look like Eyes Wide Shut. Hell, there are scenes that make the Kendra Sutherland OSU Library video look like Eyes Wide Shut. For both eroticism and depth, you're better off watching actual pornography. At least there, someone involved actually understand female sexuality. And that reminds the of the Fibonacci Sequence!
3) The Amazing Spider-Man 2
Admit it, you forgot this came out this year. We all did, it's ok. I won't spend much time on this one, because unlike the other films in this list, AS2 wasn't the failing of ego or hubris. It was simple lack of caring, and too many cooks spoiling the broth (and we really could used that Machete guy from Too Many Cooks to cut out a lot of extraneous characters). Though comic book movies have gained a lot of prestige over the years, a total of six Oscar nominees in its cast could save this cash-grab sequel to a cash-grab reboot from managing to be worse that the film that killed the Spider-Man franchise way back in not-long-enough-ago-to-even-need-a-reboot time. A mishmash of ideas reeking of desperation to have a Marvel stye franchise of their own (everyone is trying, no one is succeeding) leaves us with this dreadfully horrendous mishandling of one of the comic industry's greatest successes. There was potential for a good sequel to come from the halfway-decent Andrew Garfield original, but even when the film goes to the source material (for the iconic Death of Gwen Stacy), something still feels horribly wrong. Thankfully, the fact that the historic deal with Marvel from departing Sony exec Amy Pascal means the company already got the message, and the fact that no one is upset means I don't really have to sway anyone to my point of view on the film. Besides, when it comes to kicking a movie when it's down there's much better people for that.
2) Sin City 2: A Dame To Kill For
From the first few minutes of screen time, something feels off. The visuals feels cheaper. The use of color is more prominent and less consequential. It’s unclear whether Rourke forgot how to play Marv, or Marv is just written radically different. Of the four stories presented in the film (though really three stories and a brief segment of Marv murdering a deranged man’s idea of fratboys), none feel worth the time, not even the surprisingly unfaithful adaptation of A Dame To Kill For. We’re introduced to Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who true to form as of late is miscast and dull, as a fantastic gambler out to swindle the “big bad” of Sin City, Senator Roarke, played by Deadwood’s Powers Booth. After the standard “cool guy” poker game victory with the (atrociously acted and inexplicably polychrome) pretty girl on his arm, Levitt naturally finds himself in deep with Roarke, and suffers the standard, uneventful consequences. “The Long Bad Night”, as this segment is dubbed, is the film’s longest, divided into two parts and proves to be so by-the-book noir that you basically play the entire second segment in your head before it even hits the screen.
Splitting up “The Long Bad Night” is the titular segment where Josh Brolin tries his hardest to bail out the nightmarish retelling of the beloved Sin City story, but a de-emphasis on the personalities of the prostitutes of Old Town (as though you can just hear Frank Miller saying “Whores is whores” with a shrug and a cigar) renders the segment empty and an overly long and unnecessary diversion into the cliche with Christopher Meloni and Jeremy Piven bring the story to a screeching halt, to say nothing of the absolutely horrendous (even by the seemingly al-forgiving standards of the neo-noir genre) Eva Green not only sinks the segment, but indeed the entire film, managing to beat out the shockingly cheap visual design as the greatest sin committed by Sin City 2, to say nothing of the (literal and figurative) hack job done to fan favorite Nancy in the final segment “Nancy’s Last Dance”. While the less said about that bit of character assassination the better, it is worth noting that the segment and therefor the entire film end so abruptly that in any other film it would be unforgivable, but here such a swift evacuation from the story feels merciful.
It’s hard, as a fan of films like Desperado and Once Upon A Time in Mexico, to shake your head and think “This is a bad flick from Robert Rodriguez” because it doesn’t feel like Rodriguez was involved. It’s not a glorious failure, like Machete Kills or even The Spirit, where ambition wasn’t met by ability or the pieces just didn’t quite come together. From the lack of energy and sensibility to the erratic use of color and “comic book” panels, the slowly paced storytelling and misunderstood characters, Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For feels more in line with 300: Rise of an Empire or even Community Season 4. It feels like they made a sequel without the original creative team behind it, and what we got was a cheap, heartless imitation. Sin City 2 plays like some studio picked cronies who don’t understand the nuances of the original, bound to stay within the minuscule budget without a thought for the finished product, just churned out a sequel for quick cash. It wasn't worth the drive to the theatre, its not worth the rental, its not worth a damn at all. It’s a tragic misstep that feels inauthentic and misses every mark, and a massive disservice to one of the comic book genre’s finest.
It’s hard, as a fan of films like Desperado and Once Upon A Time in Mexico, to shake your head and think “This is a bad flick from Robert Rodriguez” because it doesn’t feel like Rodriguez was involved. It’s not a glorious failure, like Machete Kills or even The Spirit, where ambition wasn’t met by ability or the pieces just didn’t quite come together. From the lack of energy and sensibility to the erratic use of color and “comic book” panels, the slowly paced storytelling and misunderstood characters, Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For feels more in line with 300: Rise of an Empire or even Community Season 4. It feels like they made a sequel without the original creative team behind it, and what we got was a cheap, heartless imitation. Sin City 2 plays like some studio picked cronies who don’t understand the nuances of the original, bound to stay within the minuscule budget without a thought for the finished product, just churned out a sequel for quick cash. It wasn't worth the drive to the theatre, its not worth the rental, its not worth a damn at all. It’s a tragic misstep that feels inauthentic and misses every mark, and a massive disservice to one of the comic book genre’s finest.
1) Noah
My god. Oh, I'm sorry, my "creator". Darren Aronofsky may have tried to build an ark, but in the end his hubris built a Tower of Babel, and some divine power really should have struck it down before it made it to theatres. Now, I am a huge Aronofsky fan, and I'd been looking forward to this film for years. I've defended and praised every film the man has made (even the divisive The Fountain) and held him second only to P.T. Anderson in my esteem for contemporary filmmakers. Yet this overly long retelling of the classic story of faith, minus the faith, is damn near unwatchable. From its super serious tone undercut by strange attempts at humor (I'm willing to admit, I missed the mention of rock monsters in the original Genesis story, and was corrected that they were meant to represent the Nephilim, but that hardly excuses the "they're in good hands" pun one makes as Noah goes to visit Hannibal Methuselah Lecter). For an atheist who wanted to take a realistic approach to the Noah story, there are quite a lot of logical missteps here.
Of course, were this a straight forward Biblical film, it would be silly to try and apply logic to it. Unless you're an absolute literalist (which no one is, cause ain't nobody sacrificing doves and goats when someone gets their period), then to a certain degree Biblical stories are just those, stories and sometimes allegories about faith. But once you decide to make a "realistic" retelling as Aronofsky does, you invite a realistic level of critique. So whether its Emma Watson's magically quick pregnancy and bizarre labor, or the astounding level of distress Noah's son has about a girl dying when you literally straight up know there's a God and angels and heaven where she'll be eternally happy rather than living on the most miserable depiction of Noah's Ark in history, there's countless moments that swap out triumphant "Hosannah"s for perplexed and frustrated "Huh?"s. Russell Crowe and co. do what they can with the abysmal script, and the truth is all of the fault lies with the director. The sheer audacity to think he can tell a better story than the (arguably) greatest book in history, and the overly long, overly dark, overtly pointless product of that audacity, indeed serves as a more fitting Biblical parable for humility and faithfulness than the story he chose to "adapt". I thought the worst thing that happened if you strayed from the Word of God is you'd end up in hell, but it turns out there's something worse: you could wind up making Noah.
Of course, were this a straight forward Biblical film, it would be silly to try and apply logic to it. Unless you're an absolute literalist (which no one is, cause ain't nobody sacrificing doves and goats when someone gets their period), then to a certain degree Biblical stories are just those, stories and sometimes allegories about faith. But once you decide to make a "realistic" retelling as Aronofsky does, you invite a realistic level of critique. So whether its Emma Watson's magically quick pregnancy and bizarre labor, or the astounding level of distress Noah's son has about a girl dying when you literally straight up know there's a God and angels and heaven where she'll be eternally happy rather than living on the most miserable depiction of Noah's Ark in history, there's countless moments that swap out triumphant "Hosannah"s for perplexed and frustrated "Huh?"s. Russell Crowe and co. do what they can with the abysmal script, and the truth is all of the fault lies with the director. The sheer audacity to think he can tell a better story than the (arguably) greatest book in history, and the overly long, overly dark, overtly pointless product of that audacity, indeed serves as a more fitting Biblical parable for humility and faithfulness than the story he chose to "adapt". I thought the worst thing that happened if you strayed from the Word of God is you'd end up in hell, but it turns out there's something worse: you could wind up making Noah.
Looking Ahead!
The Films I'm looking Most Forward to in 2015
- Avengers: Age of Ultron: Because let's face it, the only folks not onboard the Marvel hype train at this point are the stubborn and the super-serious. Because the terrifyingly tinny rendition of "I've Got No Strings" has haunted film fans since the trailer's debut. And because, for long time fans, holy hell, we're getting Ultron and Hulkbuster armor on screen. Trailer
- The Hateful Eight: Ah, yes. The Hateful Eight. That movie we were so pissed Tarantino wasn't going to make that he's now got less than a year to make. Now, while I wish he wasn't doing another Western (as some of the most fun of Quentin is seeing how he interprets different genres), and most of his Tarantino-esque touches grow tiresome over time (similar to how the ever-vocal director feels about Altman), Django Unchained proved to be his most inspired film since perhaps Pulp Fiction, and more than made up for the abysmally inconsistent Inglourious Basterds. Maybe sufficient time has yet to have past that I might find the point of diminishing returns on the assault-heavy auteur's debut Western, but for now I'm quite excited to meet the eight. Trailer
- Star Wars: The Force Awakens: I've never been more wary of anything I've held so highly in anticipation, but J.J. Abrams doesn't exactly have the most stellar track record here. Let's set aside his fetishizing of Spielbergian elements which culminated in the infuriatingly unwatchable (at least for one who despises all the 80's kids film cliches) Super 8, and recognize that Abrams managed to haphazardly revive and then murder the Star Trek franchise with a shaky but intriguing reboot and the offensively bad and logic-less Into Darkness. The Abrams "mastery" many praised is just mediocrity desperately aping far superior directors like Richard Donner and Spielberg, and his work is often far too convoluted for its own good, so desperately trying to maintain his "mystery box" aura as to bold-faced lie to fans (leading to a huge let-down when Benedict Cumberkhan made so very little sense). And yet, with all of this reservation (and the inclination to beg Disney leave well enough alone with the Star Wars franchise), I am so absurdly excited for the newest entry in the saga. Its pitch perfect trailer to the faintest hints of spoilers that have revealed themselves, like Luke's beard, I'm willing to let Abrams take me on a ride one last time. After all, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice... Trailer
- Mad Max: Fury Road: In no way should this film look as good as it does. There's a certain window within which a sequel can normally come out without being irrelevant (a window Avatar has already missed by 4 years, but by all means, Cameron, give the public three more). With the exception of those films in which there is a built in need for the elapsing of time (the Before franchise, Clerks 2), a prolonged delay just gives us Godfather 3-syndrome, the unnecessary misshapen cash grab, or Superman Returns, the unnecessary misguided recast nightmare. Yet here we are, with a recast, nearly 30 years past the window follow-up to a franchise, and it could end up being the sleeper hit of the year. Tom Hardy takes the reigns from the original Max who actually went mad, and the films near-surreal camera work feels more in line with 90's European cinema than the Australian outback (unless you count Baz Luhrmann's dizzying Red Curtain Trilogy, which utilized the same camera and editing tricks to a much different end), so we may be in for a very thrilling May indeed. Just when emotions of Ultron have subsided, we can sit down to watch Bane battle Beast and Aeon Flux in the desert, and I for one can't wait. Trailer
- Silence: Later years Scorsese can, lets face it, be pretty hit or miss. Hugo was a fine display, one that I've put in a special place on my shelf for when I have kids (but admittedly the far end, as I can't see myself watching it terribly often before then). The Wolf of Wall Street was a misunderstood masterwork, sure, but for every one of those as of late, there's an overhyped spinning of the wheels like Shutter Island. Scorsese grappling with the subject of faith has always lead to fascinating cinematic meditations, be it the subtle (Charlie's literal playing with fire in Mean Streets) or the direct (1988's controversial and masterful The Last Temptation of Christ), and the tale of two persecuted Jesuit priests promises more of the same. And while all of the actors taking lead in this project have their share of blemishes on their records of late (Adam Driver's still slogged down by Girls, Garfield is finally out of the sinful Spiderman franchise, and Liam Neeson, well, his entire IMDB page post-Taken), there's still a great deal of promise in Silence.
- Spectre: Sam Mendes saved James Bond from himself, there's no two ways about it. After drowning in a sea of shaky cam and gritty super-seriousness we'll call the late 00's, Mendes brought Bond back from the brink of irrelevance in a movie whose central question was whether the character was still relevant at all. Dazzling set pieces, daring action scenes and a diabolical villain later, and we had our answer. Then, of course, the worry came of whether that glimmer of hope called Skyfall was the start of something new or just a bright blip in a declining timeline, a worry which subsided when Mendes agreed to return and presumably relaunch the antagonistic organization Bond battled in the Cold War, Spectre. Short of a teaser image, not much is known about Spectre, but after the brilliance of Skyfall, I think we're all comfortable with the hands MI-6 is in.
- Tomorrowland: Sure, live action films based on Disney rides (still can't believe that's a thing) have had a lot more hits and misses, but when the man who gave us The Iron Giant and The Incredibles wants to do something, you damn well better let him. The man may very well be imagination incarnate, and his surprisingly adept turn with Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol showed he can handle real-life action with as much intensity and inventiveness as he displayed in animation. Of course, I got to see some of that action on display in a 10 minute sequence shown to NYCC attendees this year, the old-school thrills of which the official trailer only touches upon, but even with just a glimmer of Clooney, a taste of jetpacks and the promise of Brad Bird's exuberant energy, you should be very excited for Tomorrowland. Trailer
- Ex Machina: Sure, we could talk about how brilliantly tense this near-Hitchcockian sci-fi thriller looks. We could examine the small-space setting, the cliched and yet captivating premise, and the massive caliber of talent involved in a film which looks to be the Edge of Tomorrow undersign gem of 2015. But if you haven't already bought your ticket based solely on Oscar Isaac's majestic beard, I don't know what I can say to sell you on it. Trailer
- The Man From U.N.C.L.E.: Hey, remember when Armie Hammer and Henry Cavill each took on an iconic character your grandfather adored on the radio and made films that underwhelmed at the box office (The Lone Ranger and Man of Steel, respectively)? Well, now they're teaming up to ruin one of your dad's favorite TV shows of the 60's. At least, that's how it looked from the outset, viewed with the kind of sneering cynicism that tanks films no one has even seen yet. But from two underrated films, one horrifically so (I'll leave it to Josh Paige and Tom Lorenzo to defend Man of Steel from its attacker {Tom fanatically so}, as I preferred Gore Verbinsky's horribly derided yet terribly thrilling Lone Ranger adaptation) comes a film on no one's radar until Warner Bros. moved Guy Ritchie's 60's spy romp from the graveyard of January to a summer release, and after a joyously kitchy trailer, suddenly The Man From U.N.C.L.E. became a think to look out for, and I for one can't wait (hell, maybe it will up Hammer's profile enough to get us a Lone Ranger 2. A man can dream, right?) Trailer
- Ted 2: Much like Man From U.N.C.L.E., here's another endeavour I had absolutely no hope for until the first trailer hit. Nothing about the end of MacFarlane's first talking teddy bear film makes a sequel necessary, and this seeming cash-grab by all accounts was made with a gun to Seth's head (a gun whose hammer was cocked by the box-office misfire that was A Million Ways to Die in the West, which likely put a bullet in many other attempts at written/directed/starring vehicles MacFarlane wanted to launch unless he could prove he could still shot a sure-fire hit once more and his last movie was a Western so I'm gonna stretch this gun metaphor as far as I can............yeah, that's about all I got), yet the chemistry between the oddly funny Mark Wahlberg and the foul-mouth Boston bear is enough to draw us in once more, as the trailer's most humorous moment involves the two simply improvising what they believe are "lawyer terms". Of course, it could be a train-wreck, as anything below the Fury Road line on this list has the potential to just be shooting blanks (boom, got one more in), but even if the trailer did recycle a Family Guy joke (the sperm-bank scene), and the film has to go back and reedit (Tom Brady is now a 3-time MVP. Also, can anyone else believe they said hand job in a Super Bowl ad), I still have a bit of faith in the ol' MacFarlane funny farm, even with the occasional mentally-handicapped sheep. Trailer
- Ant-Man: Ever since the Age of Ultron trailer displayed undeniable brilliance (and more importantly, darkness, which the anti-Marvel fanboys value over all else), Ant-Man has become the new punching bag. Ever since Marvel fired the egotist with two good movies (Edgar Wright), the film has apparently been "doomed to failure" by folks who'd been crying out Marvel's impending failure for months, marking the inevitable misfires that became top-grossing films like Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Guardians of the Galaxy. So set the naysayers aside, if you will, and let's focus on what we do know. We know that this film has ties to the larger Marvel universe, which is overseen by Kevin Feige, who has thus far proven very adept at managing this ever-expanding franchise (the one branch almost universally derided, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is the one Feige had no control over). It stars Paul Rudd as Scott Lang, a career criminal who (if he's anything like the rebooted run of the comics) reforms his ways without losing his wit. It features acclaimed actors like Michael Douglas and Corey Stoll, and contains flashbacks featuring John Slattery's Howard Stark and the character that might be the true highlight of the entire MCU, Hayley Atwell's Peggy Carter. And while director Peyton Reed has no action films or blockbusters under his belt, that didn't stop neither did the Elf director, the Community guys and the ex-Troma writer from crafting the current tentpoles of the MCU (Iron Man, Captain America 2 and Guardians of the Galaxy, respectively). Now, if any of that seems like an absolute death knell for the Marvel movies, you're trying really hard to find it. Trailer
- St. James Place: Setting The Adventures of Tintin aside (as many unjustly did upon its release), Spielberg's last bit of brilliance was Munich, the 2005 thrill-ride of espionage that explored the Isreali reaction to the Black September attacks. Now Spielberg is taking another dip into the covert, this time with frequent collaborator Tom Hanks and a script by the revered Coen Brothers in what could be Spielberg's return to form, especially if the Coen's return to their sepia-toned Miller's Crossing roots, and Steve delivers the kind of taught historical accuracy he's known for.
- Paddington: Yes, it's already out in theaters, but it wasn't when I made this list, and I still haven't had the chance to see it (unlike Kingsman, which I chose to exclude to keep an anticipatory tone to this list rather than gush about Matthew Vaughn's thrilling....see, I'm already doing it), so it's still upcoming to me. All the same, what made this kids flick to highly anticipated in my book isn't the joy of watching Lord Grantham interact with a CGI ursine companion, nor to hear Nicole Kidman say "bear" in an Australian accent (the only accent the word should ever be pronounced on) is the confusedly rave reviews it received upon its European release, with the critics themselves even astounded they esteemed a children's movie so highly. Trailer
- Furious 7: Look, if you bailed on the franchise at any point after the fourth film, you're going to want to back out now from this piece. The truth is, a halfway decent street racing movie spawn three awful sequels, and then seemed to suffer a stroke (and some would argue a stroke of genius) which produced 2011's absurd, moronic to an almost savant level action thriller Fast 5. These films know exactly what they are now, even if its impossible to praise the films without sound like its a criticism. Clicking play on the newest trailer gives you a car parachuting from a helicopter, then using grappling hooks on a coach bus which stores turret guns within its luggage compartments. And mind you, all of that is the first 14 seconds. I cannot fault anyone for hating these films. Honestly, I'm pretty sure I do too, deep down. Yet, for some reason, perhaps the gleeful love of the absurd, I continue to buy the ticket and take the ride. Trailer
- Cinderella: I can't really explain it. I hated Maleficent, I hated Alice in Wonderland, I hated The Sorcerer's Apprentice. So why on earth would I want to see Disney do yet another live action take on one of their cartoon classics? It's a cop-out to say I can't explain it, but the truth is there's just something so entrancing about the sight of Kenneth Brannagh's fairy tale. It's not just the Downton and Thrones alum, but the lavish sets and costumes, the score, everything that seems to promise to envelope the viewer in fantasy. Unlike Maleficent or Wonderland, this promises to hold true to the original tale, so even if I'm just afforded two hours to get lost in a colorful fairy tale, I'll take it. Trailer
- The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2: To be fair, I have yet to see the first part of the final film in this YA franchise-turned smash hit. Nothing has indicated it was necessary to pay twice for one film (especially since Peter Jackson has already bled us three times for what really only needed to be one film). Yet the truth is this may well be the one YA franchise that not only exceeds its source material, but actually improves each film, and cares dearly about the quality of the finished product. Anchored by Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence (which needs to be told only to those living beneath a rock, I know), the series wraps it all up in a climactic and chaotic conclusion well worth the watch.
- Inside Out: Pixar's been on the downward spiral during Disney's post-Princess and the Frog revival, in no small part due to an insipid obsession with sequels (I sincerely hope Monsters University was the rock bottom, but the Finding Dory on the horizon seems to suggest there's still deeper to plunge). Yet, this tantalizing take on emotions seems to be a hint of the old Pixar spark, even if it is far more formulaic and cutesy than the Pixar pinnacles of Up and Wall-E. Trailer
- Black Mass: Hopefully pulling Johnny Depp out of his rutt, this story of Whitey Bulger could be as memorable as Donnie Brasco, as Oscar-worthy as Finding Neverland, or as bland and misguided as Public Enemies. Only time will tell.
- Chappie: Neil Blomkamp is truly in Kevin Smith territory now. No, not Tusk-era Smith (though I didn't hate Tusk nearly as much as Josh or Tom did). Rather, at his third feature. When Smith entered the scene with Clerks, he was showered in praise, quickly accruing a slew of fanboys for his unique take on his under seen slice of the world. His second-coming status was quickly diminished, however, when the absurdly high expectations for his over-hyped (but nonetheless undeniably impressive) debut weren't met by the admittedly weak sophomore slump of Mallrats. His golden boy accolades fallen to the wayside, Smith's next film could well have been his last. Instead, he exploded back out onto the scene with his most thought-provoking and mature film to date, the honest and introspective Chasing Amy. The trajectory of District 9 and the fall down to Elysium may have been far greater than Smith ever experienced in his day, but the pattern is still the same, and one can only hope Chappie delivers the same career-saving stroke Chasing Amy did, otherwise the new Alien-helmer may be staring down the Richard Kelly syndrome: Donnie Darko+Southland Tales+The Box= Bye bye Trailer
- The Good Dinosaur: Well, if Inside Out is a swing and a miss, it's up to this second of the year's Pixar films to save their reputation, and with the added prep time (originally the film was meant to be due this past year) it had better damn well be good. We know very little about the film, but it should be something to see, as either the saving grace for the Pixar name, or the nail in its coffin.
That's it for my 2014 Film Wrap-Up. Agree? Disagree? Think I missed something? Chime in in the comments. Want a second opinion, or even a third? Check out another year's write-ups from Josh Paige and Tom Lorenzo.
