Sunday, January 31, 2016

Top Ten Movies of 2015

2015 may largely be remembered by most moviegoers as the year that dinosaurs and Jedi tore up the box office, and the Academy got shamed for its all-white slate of Oscar nominees. But strip away the nostalgia and controversy, and what you have is a very solid year for film. Generally, my favorite films fell into one of two categories: they were either steadily engaging, intelligently made, and well-acted, with no obvious fumbles or missteps, or they were flawed, but had moments of such beauty or emotional transcendence that they more than made up for the weak spots. Having these two categories also made it even more difficult than usual to rank my choices; does being consistently good trump being sporadically great, or vice versa? So with the caveat that the order could have been entirely different if I’d made this list a month earlier, or a month from now, here are my top ten films of 2015:


I saw this film before I saw most of the others on my list, yet it’s quietly maintained its place at the top. I’m a sucker for films about journalism and films with strong ensembles (the two often go together, of course), and “Spotlight” is an excellent example of both. It carries obvious echoes of “All the President’s Men” in its no-fuss, no-flash, yet utterly engrossing account of how a small team of investigative Boston Globe reporters methodically unraveled the Catholic Church’s systematic cover-up of its priests’ sexual abuse of children. But it’s also a fascinating study of the power of institutions and what happens when two long-established, amicably coexisting institutions come into direct conflict—and the different dynamics of being an insider, an outsider, or somewhere in between.


I had doubts that the novel Room could be successfully transferred to the screen, even if author Emma Donoghue was writing the screenplay. After all, it’s narrated from the perspective of a five-year-old boy who’s lived his entire life in a small room with only his mother for company, and doesn’t yet grasp the larger reality beyond those four walls; how could that possibly be translated into film? Quite wonderfully, as it turns out, thanks in large part to the stellar performances of Brie Larson and newcomer Jacob Tremblay—but also to Lenny Abrahamson’s sensitive direction, which manages to make the boy’s gradually expanding view of the world our own.


It may technically be about a master martial artist, but don’t see it for the fights, as they are not the focus of Hou Hsaio Hsien’s intensely idiosyncratic foray into wuxia. It’s breathtaking in a different way, creating an immersive poetry of motion, color, and sound that seems to hail from a different world. True, Hou’s complete lack of interest in providing narrative context can sometimes make it difficult to follow some of the plot threads or understand the precise nature of the relationships between the various characters, but in the end those details don’t really matter much. The film’s best viewed as a kind of cinematic ballet depicting an evolving moral consciousness against a backdrop of corruption and chaos.

4. 45 YEARS

This is the kind of outwardly unassuming film that gets under your skin the more you ponder the questions it raises. On the most basic level, it’s a psychological study of a woman’s reaction to the revelation that there’s a crucial part of her husband’s past she’s never known about, despite being happily married to him for over four decades. Does that sound like the setup for a horror movie? Well, it is and it isn’t. No, the husband doesn’t turn out to be a serial killer or an alien, nor does the wife start seeing any literal ghosts. But nonetheless, on its deepest level this is a ghost story, or rather, the story of a woman who realizes her entire marriage has been a ghost story—only she didn’t know it. Lots of subtle, spot-on directorial choices that contribute to the film’s haunting quality confirm that director Andrew Haigh (“Weekend”) is one to watch, while Charlotte Rampling is, in a word, stunning as the woman whose placid sense of self slowly dissolves as she delves deeper into her husband’s secrets.


The visual pleasures alone make “Carol” worth seeing: every frame is so exquisitely composed it could be a work of art in and of itself. The acting, too, is exquisite, balancing Rooney Mara’s blank slate, to be gradually filled in over the course of the movie, against Cate Blanchett’s polished woman of the world, her affect so mannered it seems artificial until you realize it’s a mask (or rather, an armor), and rounded out by poignant supporting turns from Kyle Chandler and Sarah Paulson as Carol’s husband and best friend, respectively. In the end, it didn’t quite land the emotional gut-punch of Todd Haynes’ other ’50s drama, “Far From My Heaven,” but it’s still the kind of film that leaves images, scenes, and expressions burned permanently into your brain.


It’s a pity the public decided it had no interest in seeing more movies about Steve Jobs, because this is really the one they should have seen. As scripted by Aaron Sorkin, it crackles with energy and sharp, entertaining, but highly economical dialogue that trims back the Sorkin bon mots in favor of sketching vivid characters with minimal exposition or background. Steve Jobs thus emerges quickly as a selfish if brilliant asshole, yes, but just as quickly offers hints of a more complicated man with conflicting traits and desires, while the small cast of key supporting characters reveal their equally complicated feelings about this man who would alternately inspire, exasperate, and disappoint them. Because the film’s structured around three product launches, it has the tight structure and hermetic setting of a three-act play, but the performances on which it turns are very much built for the big screen. Among a gifted ensemble, Michael Fassbender appropriately stands out as the sun around which the rest revolve. Despite looking nothing like Jobs, he makes you believe in the man’s genius as well as his peculiar admixture of cruelty, kindness, insecurity, and self-confidence.


Who would have thought a reboot of the “Rocky” franchise would end up being one of the most purely enjoyable movies of the year? Rising young director Ryan Coogler and star Michael B. Jordan, who previously worked together on the terrific “Fruitvale Station” (2013), score again with this rousing tale of Apollo Creed’s out-of-wedlock son, Adonis, who wants to live up to his father’s name and seeks out none other than Rocky Balboa to help him do it. The film should feel tired and formulaic, but instead shows why and how the formula works: Jordan is believably young, driven, and just a little unsure beneath his veneer of bravado; the fight scenes are fantastically shot to maximize suspense with each round; even the stock part of the love interest (Tessa Thompson) is given unusual depth and nuance; and of course, the ace in Coogler’s back pocket is Sylvester Stallone, who delivers such a warmly appealing performance as Adonis’ trainer and mentor, it’s easy to see why he’s become this year’s odds-on Oscar favorite for best supporting actor. You may not be surprised at any of the turns the story takes, but you’ll still draw in your breath and pump your fist as if you’d never seen a boxing movie before.


Another bittersweet meditation on aging, mortality, and art from the still relatively young Paolo Sorrentino, yet somehow its elegiac tone never rings false. While the narrative can feel a bit disjointed, as it tends to treat subplots as little more than vehicles for striking images, it’s anchored by the quietly melancholy performance of Michael Caine as a famous composer in his twilight years. Not as good as “The Great Beauty,” but like that film, seamlessly combines gorgeous cinematography and music for a ravishing sensory experience even as it elicits sober reflection on what constitutes a life well spent.


A lovely adaptation of the Thomas Hardy classic that fully captures the pastoral beauty of the setting and the romantic melodrama that envelops the (mostly) willfully misguided characters. Carey Mulligan is fetching and sympathetic as a Bathsheba who comes across less as the headstrong creature of caprice of the book and more of an intelligent free spirit who hasn’t quite figured out what she wants. Matthias Schoenaerts is appropriately swoon-worthy yet dependable as the moral fulcrum of the story, the aptly named Gabriel Oak, while Michael Sheen cuts a quietly tragic presence as the ill-fated William Boldwood. Not a masterpiece, perhaps, but a very pleasing, old-fashioned romance.


Shot on an iPhone, but you wouldn’t know it from the vivid hues and fluid camerawork in this fast-moving, high-energy jaunt through a particularly eventful day in the life of two transgender sex workers on the streets of Hollywood. Builds to a masterfully orchestrated comic climax that’s as hilarious as it is cacophonous, yet the scenes you’ll remember most are the quiet ones: a sad yet sublime Christmas Eve solo performance in an empty bar and the final shot of the two main characters in a laundromat, silently reaffirming their friendship.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Phoenix; Seymour: An Introduction; Bridge of Spies; Sicario; Amy; Inside Out; Clouds of Sils Maria; I’ll See You in My Dreams; Joy; The Big Short; The Man From U.N.C.L.E.; The Martian; Love & Mercy; Ex Machina; Chi-Raq

DID NOT SEE: Anomalisa; Mustang; Victoria; The Look of Silence; Diary of a Teenage Girl; Beasts of No Nation; Straight Outta Compton

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Fall 2015 Movie Preview

The end of summer snuck up on me in a big way, mainly because I’ve been completely swamped at work. The only movie I saw in a theater in the entire month of August was “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.,” which proved to be a breezy and pleasant surprise - worth catching if you’re in the mood for Bond lite. Not that there was much I regret missing: August is usually something of a doldrums period, as Hollywood catches its breath from blockbuster season before launching into prime time for more cerebral films, prestige projects, and Oscar contenders. This August proved to be the rule rather than the exception, the only notable movie event being the huge success of “Straight Outta Compton.” (Between that and the juggernaut of “Jurassic World,” this summer seems to have been the summer where ’90s nostalgia ruled supreme.)

But it’s past Labor Day now, and the Telluride and Toronto film festivals have come and gone, meaning the fall movie season has officially begun. Here are the ten films I’m most looking forward to this fall, in order of release date:

1. SICARIO (already in limited release)
Directed by Denis Villeneuve; starring Emily Blunt, Benicio del Toro, Josh Brolin

Blunt plays an FBI agent who joins an anti-drug cartel operation only to discover that the motives of her new cohorts may not be all they seem. I smell corruption, betrayal, and despair! But seriously, you gotta at least admit the talent is suited to the material: Villeneuve (“Incendies,” “Prisoners”) knows his way around dark, morally twisted films, and we’ve seen how well Blunt can play tough without sacrificing a whit of femininity (“Edge of Tomorrow”). And who better to play dudes of shifty moral sensibilities than del Toro and Brolin?

2. THE MARTIAN (Oct. 2)
Directed by Ridley Scott; starring Matt Damon, Jessica Chastain, Kate Mara, Michael Peña, Jeff Daniels, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Kristin Wiig

Although it’s based on a bestselling sci-fi novel about an astronaut who’s mistakenly left for dead on Mars, the premise of “The Martian” can’t help feeling a little like a retooling of Matt Damon’s character arc on “Interstellar”—one in which he presumably doesn’t go crazy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, and Damon can do stoic and resourceful as well as, if not better than, he can do crazy. The real draw here, though, is Ridley Scott. Has he finally brought us the riveting space adventure we’ve been waiting for since, well, “Alien,” and that he failed to deliver in “Prometheus”? Glowing early reviews suggest he has, and then some.

3. STEVE JOBS (Oct. 9)
Directed by Danny Boyle; starring Michael Fassbender, Jeff Daniels, Kate Winslet, Seth Rogen, Sarah Snook

Yes, this story’s been told before in multiple iterations (most recently, the documentary “Steve Jobs: The Man in the Machine”). No, Michael Fassbender looks nothing like Steve Jobs. But he’s really good at playing compelling assholes, and Aaron Sorkin is almost as good at writing them. I’m sold.

4. BRIDGE OF SPIES (Oct. 16)
Directed by Steven Spielberg; starring Tom Hanks, Mark Rylance, Amy Ryan, Alan Alda

The Cold War is hot right now, both on the world stage (thanks, Putin!) and in entertainment (if you aren’t watching FX’s “The Americans,” get it on Amazon Prime stat). So it’s as good a time as any for this film about a historical 1960s incident in which a U.S. spy plane was shot down by the Soviet Union and the pilot released as part of a prisoner exchange for a Soviet spy. If anything, I’m surprised the film is so under the radar right now, given the involvement of Spielberg and Hanks – hope it’s not a sign of quality issues. Hanks plays the lawyer who negotiates the exchange; Rylance plays the Soviet spy.

5. ROOM (Oct. 16)
Directed by Lenny Abrahamson; starring Brie Larson, Joan Allen, William H. Macy; based on the novel by Emma Donoghue

I liked the book a lot more than I expected – an initially harrowing, ultimately thought-provoking read about a boy who’s spent his entire life imprisoned in a tiny shed with his young mother, until the latter begins to plot their escape. While I wasn’t sure how well it would translate to film, I’m encouraged by positive early reviews from the Toronto Film Festival, including a rave from a highly trusted source. By all accounts, and to the surprise of no one who’s seen “Short Term 12” (a woefully smaller number than it should be – definitely see it if you haven’t!), Larson – one of the best actresses 25 & under working today – knocks a difficult role out of the park. The rest of the casting is a plus too, and I quite enjoyed the director Abrahamson’s previous feature, the quirky but unexpectedly poignant “Frank.”

6. SUFFRAGETTE (Oct. 23)
Directed by Sarah Gavron; starring Carey Mulligan, Helena Bonham-Carter, Ben Whishaw, Brendan Gleeson, Romola Garai, Meryl Streep

If you share my peculiarities, you may be tempted to break into a chorus of “Sister Suffragette” from “Mary Poppins” every time this movie is mentioned. But this is a very different, much more earnest treatment of the women’s suffrage movement in turn of the century Britain. Possibly too earnest, if early reviews are any indicator. Still, as a woman and a fan of Carey Mulligan (reportedly excellent as the chief protagonist), I can’t not see a film about the history of women’s rights that’s directed, produced, and written by women. There are sadly too few of those to let this one pass by.

7. CAROL (Nov. 20)
Directed by Todd Haynes; starring Cate Blanchett, Rooney Mara, Sarah Paulson, Kyle Chandler

Based on the novel The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (of Ripley and Strangers on a Train fame) about a lesbian romance in 1950s New York, this film won raves for both Blanchett and Mara at Cannes, with the latter nabbing a surprise best actress win. Performances aside, the themes of gender and sexuality, class, and 1950s social mores are totally in Haynes’ wheelhouse (“Far From Heaven,” “I’m Not Here,” “Velvet Goldmine”), and I fully expect him to have made the most of them.

8. MACBETH (Dec. 4)
Directed by Justin Kurzel; starring Michael Fassbender, Marion Cotillard, Paddy Considine, David Thewlis

Generally well received but not rapturously acclaimed at Cannes, the film got picked up by the Weinsteins, which isn’t good news for any film’s distribution unless it turns out to be one they deem worthy of a massive Oscar push. This doesn’t seem to be one of them, alas; it looks like it may get the “Coriolanus” treatment (limited release, minimal marketing). However, with that source material and that cast, it’s a no-brainer for anyone who likes Shakespeare on screen.

Directed by Ron Howard; starring Chris Hemsworth, Cillian Murphy, Tom Holland, Ben Whishaw, Brendan Gleeson; based on the book by Nathaniel Philbrick

The inspiration for Moby Dick! Ok, one of them, anyway; Melville drew from various sources besides his own imagination, including this true story of a 19th century whaling ship that was sunk by a whale, forcing its crew to desperate measures (read: cannibalism) to survive. It should be a gripping yarn, and adventures at sea naturally lend themselves well to the big screen. Some may question whether Ron Howard, the director film snobs love to hate, is up to the material; but a recent rewatch of “Apollo 13” reminded me how good he is at white-knuckle survival scenes and conveying the unspoken language of male bonding in tense situations. Plus I’m not going to miss a film that has Thor, Cillian Murphy, and Ben Whishaw in it.


Do I really have to explain this one?

Other fall releases of note:
“99 Homes” (drama set against the 2008 housing meltdown, starring Andrew Garfield, Michael Shannon, and Laura Dern); “Spotlight” (about the Boston Globe’s unraveling of the Catholic Church sex abuse scandal); Guillermo del Toro’s gothic fest “Crimson Peak” (starring Tom Hiddleston, Jessica Chastain, and Mia Wasikowska); “Spectre” (007’s latest outing); “Brooklyn” (lush period romance starring all-grown-up Saoirse Ronan as a mid-century Irish immigrant to NY): “The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part II”; “The Danish Girl,” true story of the first known transgendered woman ever, starring Oscar winner Eddie Redmayne and Alicia Vikander (I’d be more excited if it weren’t directed by Tom Hooper, who has yet to do anything but severely underwhelm me – though he does get good performances out of his actors); “Son of Saul” (highly acclaimed Holocaust drama); “Joy” (David O. Russell’s latest outing with Jennifer Lawrence, who plays the inventor of the Miracle Mop); “The Revenant” (more Oscar bait from last year’s big winner, Alejandro González Iñárritu, and Leo Di Caprio); “The Hateful Eight” (Quentin Tarantino’s latest bloody Western).

Wednesday, July 22, 2015


For those of you who are still checking this blog occasionally (thank you!), apologies for my recent inactivity. I got sidetracked partly by life, partly by the fact that I was invited to start writing for my favorite movie blog (which you should *totally* be reading if you aren't already and you like this blog), THE FILM EXPERIENCE. Most of my blogging energies inevitably got redirected to TFE; you can find my posts - including the rest of my MAD MEN recaps - under my name tag.

I'll still try to post on my own blog when I can - I meant to do a spring movie roundup/summer movie preview, but to be honest was feeling "meh" enough about both the spring and summer lineup that I didn't bother. I may do a fuller roundup by Labor Day, but at the mid-summer point, here's an overview of what I've thought of the movies I've seen since March:

Movies I really liked:
SEYMOUR - AN INTRODUCTION (must-see for anyone who loves classical music, but worth seeing for anyone interested in the art of teaching, performance, or both)

Movies I liked:

Movies that were just ok:
MAD MAX: FURY ROAD (I know I'm in the minority there)
ME & EARL & THE DYING GIRL (I go back & forth on this one, but it isn't aging particularly well in my memory)

Movies I thought were stupid:

Movies I'm still hoping to see:
AMY (the Amy Winehouse documentary)

Tuesday, April 07, 2015

Mad Men 7-8: Severance

“Is that all there is?”

Only “Mad Men” would have the balls to frame its final (half) season premiere with a song lyric that could also serve as a perfect query for the show. Not that it matters. Because the answer to that question, it’s always been strongly implied, is “yes.”

For these people at this time—yes.

But maybe for us, too?

There’s a tendency to see “Mad Men” as a form of anthropology, or at least an objective deconstruction of a bygone era. I don’t think it would exert the power it does, though, if viewers didn’t feel a more immediate connection tying us to its characters and their quest for self-fulfillment. After six and a half seasons, we know these people, their dreams and disappointments, their most and least appealing qualities, more intimately than we might know some of our friends. We take an interest in these exquisitely styled fictional creatures, not because they’re sympathetic (for the most part they are not particularly, something I rarely tolerate in TV shows), but because they could be us. Strip away our sense of presumed superior self-knowledge, our historical hindsight and cultural enlightenment, and most of us will find the same struggle between the desire to live a better life and the inertia of our habitual desires, our learned patterns of behavior, and our own worst, most self-destructive tendencies.

Still, you’re far from alone if you're shaking your head as you watch our Mad Men and women cycle yet again from elation to deflation, from comity to friction, from generosity to pettiness and spite. Most of us at least subconsciously expect TV drama characters to progress in a cleaner, clearer fashion than ourselves. “Mad Men” doesn’t just subvert such expectations, it couldn’t care less about them. There are few shows in which the arc of a character’s development is so long it’s not clear it’s bending towards…well, anything, for good or for ill. Certainly not towards justice.

Take Don, for instance. Everything about his life, or at least the decade of it we’ve observed, could be encapsulated in his brief, marvelously telling interaction with Rachel’s sister. She knows who he is, or rather who he was to Rachel, and has no reason to think kindly of him. Nor does he have anything to show for the intervening years that would prove her wrong. As he admits, he’s had two marriages fail since he and Rachel parted ways. His eyes say Rachel was important to him, maybe more important than either of his ex-wives, but what is that to her (or himself) now? He hadn’t spoken to her in years, he was with a different woman the night before and he’ll be with a different woman the night after, and he’s seeking a connection with a mysterious, evasive brunette. The more things change…

And yet, some things have changed. In the diner, he’s willing to tell a story from his childhood – Dick Whitman’s childhood. Certain details are excised, but, as Roger notes, not the fact that he came from a dirt-poor background. And we’re reminded that this background, the shameful secret that prompted his disastrous attempt to run away with Rachel so many years ago, is now out to the world. Has he become reconciled with his past? Possibly. But he still doesn’t appear to know how to be happy with the present.

Then there’s Peggy and Joan, each seemingly at the peak of her career, only to find that its most precious fruit, professional respect, can still be snatched away and cavalierly tossed around by a roomful of leering cretins from McCann Erickson. (That scene was almost cartoonish in its awfulness: it’s as if the McCann boys’ club never got out of season 1.) Rather than uniting in the face of such piggishness, the two women lapse into old, familiar mutual resentments: Joan seething at being “appreciated” for all the wrong reasons, Peggy frustrated at not being appreciated at all, each bitterly convinced the other will never, ever understand what it’s like to be her. And let’s face it, they don’t and perhaps can’t understand each other’s grievances because they’re too different; their entire lives, as we’ve witnessed, have been a study in contrasts. They’ve always been more allies of convenience, or frenemies, than true friends, and at this point it’s hard to see that dynamic changing.

Whether they can at least change how they see themselves is a more open question. There’s some hope for Peggy judging from that delightfully giddy date, where she discovers she can be both very much herself and someone quite other than herself—the kind of person who would fly to Paris on a whim. But she wakes up hung over, back to being the Peggy who blanches at the idea. Joan, meanwhile, finds some solace in the fact that she can now buy the kind of luxuries that she once could only receive as gifts from men. She surely hasn’t forgotten, though, that the path to her newfound purchasing power included a calculated decision to sell herself at a critical juncture. How can she forget, when she’s still constantly reminded that to many a male eye she’s nothing more than a body to be possessed?

And finally, there’s Kenny Cosgrove, once one of the more likable figures on the show, who’s been edging towards the rancorous darkness ever since he lost an eye for (to?) the Man. Now, shoved unceremoniously out of the firm by a McCann exec with a long memory (longer than mine – I’m still not clear on whether we’re supposed to know what Ken did to piss him off), he seems poised for a fleeting, glorious moment to seize the freedom his wife envisions for him and return to the sunny-tempered yet contemplative, fiction-writing Ken we once knew. Alas, given the choice, he chooses revenge instead. That, at least, is a new character development for him, as his career-induced PTSD from last season gives way to the gleeful bomb-throwing cynicism of someone with nothing left to lose. It should be entertaining to watch. It doesn’t, however, offer us much hope for the “life not lived” he was so ready to celebrate. Perhaps the life not lived was never anything more than an illusion. Perhaps the life being lived, however well or poorly, is all there is.

Random observations:

-Holy facial hair! We’re now in 1970, and does it ever show, in the increasingly unfortunate fashions (why, oh why, were houndstooth checked jackets ever a thing?) and even more unfortunate hairstyles of the men folk. Roger’s and Ted’s mustaches, while magnificent, both pale next to the showstopper that is Stan’s head of hair, which now resembles nothing so much as a lion’s mane. Don, of course, ever old-school, remains clean-shaven.

-Don’s interaction with Diana, the sullen waitress, had a distinctly surreal, almost David Lynchian vibe. But on a more prosaic note, I wonder if Roger’s joking callout to “Mildred Pierce” has any implications for her relationship with Don. Then again, it’s entirely possible we may never see her again.

-If you’re wondering why Devon Gummersall, the actor who played Peggy’s date, looks vaguely familiar, you may remember him as Brian Krakow from “My So-Called Life” – the Ducky to Angela Chase’s Andie.

-Wonder of wonders, Meredith is still Don’s secretary. Even more wondrous: she actually seems almost competent now!

-That last shot of Don sitting alone at the diner counter was very Edward Hopperish.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Oscar predix - 2015

Whew, this year is a tough one for Oscar prognosticators. Well, maybe no more so than usual - as in other years, plenty of the awards are locks (including three of the four acting slots), and it's not at all unusual to have close races for both Best Picture and Director, with the final result being a split between the two. But I can't remember the last time that it was so uncertain which way the split would go or whether there would even be a split at all. And so it's with something much less than my usual confidence that I present my predictions for this year's major awards.


Nominees for Picture: Boyhood; Birdman; The Grand Budapest Hotel; The Imitation Game; American Sniper; Selma; Whiplash; The Theory of Everything.
Nominees for Director: Richard Linklater, Boyhood; Alexander Gonzálex Iñárritu, Birdman; Wes Anderson, The Grand Budapest Hotel; Morten Tydlum, The Imitation Game; Bennett Miller, Foxcatcher

What Will Win: I'm taking these two awards together because, as I see it, there's about

30% chance of Birdman for Best Picture, Boyhood/Linklater for Director
25% chance of the reverse - Boyhood for Best Picture, Iñarritu for Director
20% chance of Birdman getting BOTH Picture and Director
15% chance of Boyhood getting BOTH Picture and Director
10% chance of both splitting the vote with neither getting Picture, but one of them is definitely getting Director (50/50 shot between them in that scenario)

Even though Boyhood has been the sentimental favorite for a while now, and beloved by everyone I personally know who's seen it, Birdman has won all the recent Guild awards (Producer, Director, Screen Actors) and seems to be resonating more with the likely Oscar voter population because it deals so directly with the stress of being in show business, the hunger for recognition, and the fear of obsolescence. The Artist won just a few years ago for likely similar reasons. As for Director, it comes down to whether voters were more impressed by Linklater's incredible 12-year labor of love or Iñarritu's technical finesse (the whole single tracking shot thing).

Upshot: Some combination of Birdman and Boyhood; at this time, I'm going with Birdman for Picture and Boyhood for Director, but it could just as easily be the reverse - with only a slightly lesser chance of Birdman taking both awards.

What Should Win: Well, my personal favorite of this group is Whiplash, but I would be pretty happy with a Boyhood win for both Picture and Director.


Nominees: Michael Keaton, Birdman; Eddie Redmayne, The Theory of Everything; Benedict Cumberbatch, The Imitation Game; Steve Carell, Foxcatcher; Bradley Cooper, American Sniper

Who Will Win: Another tight race between Keaton and Redmayne; Keaton has a lot of goodwill going for both him and Birdman generally, but it's hard to bet against actors who play real-life people with serious disabilities - and play them as well as Redmayne does. I'm giving the edge to Redmayne.

Who Should Win: Redmayne. His performance was more than a technical impersonation of Stephen Hawking (though an uncannily accurate one); he really inhabited the man emotionally, through and through. That said, there is a part of me that hopes Keaton will get it.


Nominees: Julianne Moore, Still Alice; Marion Cotillard, Two Days, One Night; Rosamund Pike, Gone Girl; Reese Witherspoon, Wild; Felicity Jones, The Theory of Everything.

Who Will Win: Moore. This one you can take to the bank.

Who Should Win: Moore. I've seen all five performances and it's a strong lineup, but there's a reason Moore's a lock beyond the fact that she's way overdue. She's fantastic.


Nominees: J.K. Simmons, Whiplash; Ed Norton, Birdman; Ethan Hawke, Boyhood; Mark Ruffalo, Foxcatcher; Robert Duvall, The Judge

Who Will Win: Simmons. 100% certainty on this one, too.

Who Should Win: Another strong lineup, although I haven't seen The Judge (and frankly have zero interest in seeing it). Among the rest, Simmons' is the most bravura performance and deserves all the accolades it's been getting, but I also really loved both Norton and Ruffalo - one all high-wire energy, the other understated, intelligent, and wonderfully nuanced.


Nominees: Patricia Arquette, Boyhood; Emma Stone, Birdman; Keira Knightley, The Imitation Game; Meryl Streep, Into the Woods; Laura Dern, Wild

Who Will Win: Arquette. Another lock.

Who Should Win: I agree with the consensus - Arquette was very moving and believable as an all too human mom just trying to do her best. But Emma Stone did have that one killer scene.


Nominees: Birdman; Boyhood; The Grand Budapest Hotel; Foxcatcher; Nightcrawler

What Will Win: Grand Budapest Hotel. The Academy is finally ready to reward Wes Anderson's quirky ways.

What Should Win: Eh, I don't think any of these movies were so remarkable for their script as for other things, so I guess I'll just go with the one I thought worked best overall - Boyhood.


Nominees: The Imitation Game; The Theory of Everything; Whiplash; American Sniper; Inherent Vice

What Will Win: The Imitation Game, though Whiplash has an outside chance of an upset.

What Should Win: Whiplash. It's not perfect, but it's by far the tightest and packs the most punch.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Top Ten Movies of 2014

2014 was a solid year in film—meaning that I saw a lot of movies I liked, but not so many that I truly loved. Which actually made this list more of a challenge, as there wasn’t that significant a gradient in how I felt about most of the movies that ended up on it. That’s particularly true for those in the lower half and the ones that just missed the cut; depending on my mood or how recently I saw the movie, the ranking order could be different on a different day. But for now, here are my favorite movies from 2014:


This one’s personal for me, as someone who grew up watching Siskel and Ebert and continued to follow the latter as he transitioned seamlessly to the “Everyone’s a critic” Internet age. The only published movie critic of our time with household name status, Roger Ebert used that status not to separate himself from the larger moviegoing population but to engage them in ongoing dialogue, even as he fought the cancer that would cost him his jaw and his ability to speak—but not his voice. “Life Itself” beautifully captures how that voice, and the man behind it, developed and endured.


What’s most striking about this firecracker of a film is its intense energy. Even in its quieter moments, you still feel it, like a tightly wound coil about to spring, all emanating from the push-pull of a single relationship between a gifted pupil (Miles Teller) and a teacher (J.K. Simmons) whose demands and expectations border on sociopathic. (The other, gentler relationships in the film serve only to throw the main one into sharper relief.) Is what we’re seeing true to the spirit of jazz or art, probably not; does it stretch plausibility at times, definitely; is it abuse, plain and simple—well, it’s abuse all right, but there’s nothing simple about it. Some may view the ending as a tacit endorsement of the abuse, but I see it more as the culmination of a power struggle that, in the process, produces something truly electrifying. It helps that both Teller and Simmons deliver propulsive, career-making performances that play off each other brilliantly.

3. IDA

Although it’s not a historical film per se, there’s a whole lot of post-WWII Polish history and national psychology packed into Pawel Pawlikowski's film about a young Catholic novice in 1960s Poland who discovers that she’s Jewish by birth. Her quest to learn more about her family history is short in duration and modest in scope, yet it offers a thoughtful examination of survivor’s guilt, religious faith, and the ability of an individual (or a society) to move past a painful legacy. Exquisitely shot in black and white, “Ida” is a quiet film – almost too quiet, marked by minimal dialogue and remarkable emotional restraint – but don’t be fooled: beneath its austere surface lies a deep well of feeling.


While all of Richard Linklater’s films feel like labors of love, this one takes his brand of experimental “let’s see where this goes” filmmaking to a whole new level. It isn't so much new in terms of its filming method, which definitely borrows a page from the “Up” documentary series, but new in how it subtly infuses that extra tinge of authenticity into what’s already a naturalistic, episodic chronicle of growing up. Emotional authenticity married to narrative discursiveness is a Linklater hallmark, but their combination here feels especially personal and, by that token, rings especially true.


What does director James Gray have to do to get noticed? Sadly, I fear the answer is to be less subtle, less contemplative, less anthropological-on-a-small-scale in his approach to his subjects—yet those are precisely the qualities that make his films so memorable. They’re in full force in this early 20th century tale of a young Polish woman (Marion Cotillard) who steps off the boat at Ellis Island only to find herself confronted with a barrage of impossible choices on which her survival depends, including her complicated entanglement with a pimp (Joaquin Phoenix) who’s obsessed with her. That sounds more melodramatic than it really plays, and in fact the movie’s strength lies in how quietly and convincingly it presents what could be melodramatic situations. Much of the credit belongs to the actors, especially Cotillard, who manages to be haggard and luminous (but not saintly) at the same time.


Despite featuring one of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s final performances (and an extraordinarily good one at that), this adaptation of a late John le Carré novel appears to have been virtually forgotten already; the perils of a summertime release? Or maybe the movie’s jaundiced view of post-9/11 counterterrorism geopolitics was just too bleak for audiences to embrace. Nonetheless, that bleakness is the source of its power, as embodied by Hoffman’s character, a classic le Carré protagonist—the jaded intelligence agent who still latches onto a thread of rectitude beneath his protective layers of cynicism and moral compromise. When that remaining thread is finally snapped, the effect is devastating.


So, to those of you who thought “Interstellar” was too long, too slow, too dumb, too sappy, or all of the above: I feel you. Chris Nolan’s biggest movie yet was also his most polarizing, and as deeply flawed as it was ambitious. There were times when I was a little bored, and other times when I was reminded—not in a good way—of “Signs,” the first of many M. Night Shyamalan disappointments. But there were also times I felt genuinely transported, both visually and emotionally, and those are the parts that stayed with me. Granted, seeing the film in 70mm IMAX probably helped. A lot. Still, it had a soulfulness and, dammit, a grandeur that you don’t see often these days, and that I’d like to see more often.


A vampire movie for people who can’t abide vampire movies – both the classic horror and the “Twilight”/Vampire Diaries variety. Indie stalwart Jim Jarmusch takes an amusing, if silly and paper-thin conceit – vampires as eternally cool artistes (a perfectly cast Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston) who feed as much off the finest fruits of human civilization as they do off human blood (immortal hipsters, if you will) – and parlays it into a wonderfully languorous mood piece that flirts with melancholy without ever really succumbing to it. Actually, it’s just as much a comedy, albeit a gentle one, particularly once it introduces trouble in the form of Mia Wasikowska as a younger, less sophisticated vampire with raging appetites and virtually no impulse control. But it’s Swinton who holds the movie together, with her unearthly pale beauty and her air of having lived centuries (she did once play Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, after all) – if nothing else, the movie’s worth seeing just to hear her elegant drawl dismissing traditional vampiric feeding methods as “so fucking fifteenth century.”


Pure popcorn, but who doesn’t love good popcorn? The tightest, best-constructed, and most all-around entertaining of the Marvel franchise movies, and that’s no small feat. Chris Evans continues to impress as the superhero who struggles to be a beacon of moral clarity in a hopelessly corrupt world, and he’s well-paired with Scarlet Johansson as his much more morally enigmatic ally. (The movie also happens to feature the best elevator fight sequence you’ll ever see.)

10. Tie: BIRDMAN and SELMA

Here we have the “experimental” movie vs. the “great man/historically significant event” movie. “Birdman” is a trip to watch, especially for theater lovers, and features crackling performances from all its major players, but ultimately tries to fly a little too high (literally, and not just because it features a fictional superhero called Birdman). By contrast, “Selma” stays successfully grounded in depicting how the famous civil rights marches unfolded with a gripping immediacy and fluidity that, unlike, say, Spielberg’s “Lincoln,” sometimes makes you forget you’re watching a movie. It's also anchored by David Oyelowe’s riveting turn as an all too human MLK who’s as much canny political operator and strategist as stirring orator and civil rights hero, and who’s also racked with moments of weakness and doubt. The one fly in “Selma”’s ointment is Tom Wilkinson’s dour portrayal of LBJ, whom the movie somewhat unfairly characterizes as more hostile to MLK’s move for voting rights than he was in reality. (Still, it bears noting that the amount of dramatic license taken with that bit of history is no more than what many other highly acclaimed historical movies get away with on a regular basis – see, e.g., “The Imitation Game.”)

Honorable mentions:

The Imitation Game – despite playing fast and loose with historical facts and cleaving to a tried-and-true Great Man Oscar Bait formula, it’s an eminently watchable, surprisingly affecting film; a good example of why and when the formula works.
The Two Faces of January – wannabe Hitchcock, but oh how gorgeously executed
Begin Again – forgettable music, but memorable charm
The Skeleton Twins – well received when it came out, it, too, seems to have been largely forgotten. It shouldn’t have been: Kristin Wiig and Bill Hader are magic together.
Frank – a little too much quirk (even for a movie about a musician who wears a giant paper-mâché head at all times), but it’s grown on me rather than fading away; the final couple of scenes really stick with you
Gone Girl – skillful adaptation of a hard-to-adapt novel
Dear White People – bracingly funny, fresh, and irreverent take on what it’s like to be young, black, and matriculating
The Lunchbox – at first glance, a cute Indian rom-com, but what’s stayed with me is its quietly poignant portrayal of loneliness in a big city.
Under the Skin - really. fucking. weird. Will try the patience of any but the most devoted moviegoer. But also mesmerizing, and sticky - I can't get it out of my head.

And yes, I liked “The Lego Movie” and “Guardians of the Galaxy,” but not quite enough to put on this list. In a weaker year, they’d likely have made it.

Monday, November 03, 2014

"Birdman" glides on Keaton's wings


Directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu
Starring Michael Keaton, Ed Norton, Emma Stone, Zach Galifianakis, Naomi Watts, Andrea Riseborough, Amy Ryan, Lindsay Duncan

Let’s face it: most of us will never know what it’s like to be famous. Most of us will also never know the strange joys and travails of putting on a professional theatrical production, much less a Broadway premiere. On the other hand, most of us do know what it’s like to have a relationship falter or fail, and to be haunted by whether we could have saved it.

Somehow, and for the most part successfully, “Birdman” brings together all of these disparate threads in the story of Riggan Thompson (Michael Keaton), a movie star who’s staking what remains of his celebrity status on a self-written, directed and produced theatrical adaptation of a Raymond Carver story that's about to open on Broadway. The play, as Riggan admits in an unguarded moment, is more than a vanity project: it’s his last-ditch attempt to reassert his cultural relevance, which has diminished sharply since his decades-ago decision to walk away from the blockbuster superhero franchise that made his name.

Unfortunately for Riggan, the wheels seem to be coming off his dramaturgical bus as opening day draws near. One of his lead actors has to be replaced at the last minute by a brilliant but difficult theater star (Ed Norton) whose ego threatens to hijack the entire production. One of the female leads (Naomi Watts), who’s dating Norton’s character, seems perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, while the other (Andrea Riseborough), who's also Riggan’s girlfriend, informs him she may be pregnant. Meanwhile, Riggan’s daughter (Emma Stone), whom he’s ill-advisedly hired as his assistant, can barely speak a civil word to him; his anxious lawyer/agent (Zach Galifianikis, playing it completely straight) informs him they’re running out of money; and through all these setbacks, Riggan is repeatedly visited by the specter of Birdman, his superhero alter ego (voiced by Keaton, naturally, and hilariously), who mercilessly mocks the entire enterprise.

It's a potentially grim situation, but “Birdman” has a verve and comic energy that’s a welcome change in M.O. for director Alejandro González Iñárritu, up till now best known for the gritty “Amores Perros” and cosmic misery-fests “21 Grams” and “Babel.” Here, he vividly captures the peculiar behind-the-scenes universe of a Broadway play, its fluidity heightened by impressive camera technique (courtesy of the great Emmanuel Lubezki, previously seen performing his magic for directors Alfonso Cuarón and Terrence Malick) that makes the entire film look like it was shot in one long, continuous take. Iñárritu underscores that sense of hyperrealism verging on surrealism with moments in which Riggan, left alone to vent his frustrations, manifests seemingly superhuman (surely imaginary?) powers. Not coincidentally, Birdman almost always makes an appearance—vocally, if not physically—in these scenes. Are such moments signs of a mental crackup, or mental clarity, or maybe, paradoxically, both at the same time? Is anything we’re seeing actually happening outside of Riggan’s mind? The film resolutely, and maybe a little irritatingly for some viewers, declines to answer these questions.

“Birdman” has already been hailed as both a huge comeback for Michael Keaton and a meta-commentary on his own Hollywood career, even though Keaton has said in interviews that he doesn’t personally identify with Riggan, Batman/Birdman comparisons notwithstanding. That may be true. But it’s nice to see Keaton playing in the big leagues again—although, in another quirk of parallelism, or life-imitating-art-imitating-life, he’s very nearly upstaged by his co-star, Ed Norton, who’s a delight to watch as the prima donna Riggan comes to regard as an interloper trying to take over “his” show. Emma Stone, too, vies for most valuable supporting player, taking what could have been a thoroughly grating, clichéd character and rendering her unexpectedly sympathetic. It helps that she has great chemistry with both Norton and Keaton; but then Emma Stone seems to be one of those rare actresses who has chemistry with any co-star, whether it’s Jonah Hill, Ryan Gosling, or Colin Firth.

Still, the movie turns on Keaton’s performance, and Keaton delivers. However staunchly he may disavow the parallels between himself and Riggan, at some level he must understand – and certainly conveys – the bittersweet brew of feelings that drives any man who has lingering regrets as he approaches his twilight years. For all its high-wire technical virtuosity and flirtations with both fantasy and satire, the film’s emotional core is a familiar one. It’s not so much about fame as it is about mortality and its obverse - the desire to leave one’s mark, correct one’s mistakes, reaffirm connections with loved ones, before it’s too late. As such, it leaves open to interpretation whether Riggan succeeds in finding the validation he craves, in an ending that’s sure to divide audiences and that I had to think about for a while before deciding I liked it. It reminded me a little of the ending of Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon: In some dimension, on some plane of existence, in someone's (perhaps our collective) consciousness, the Birdman learns to fly.