Rarely do films wind up more appreciated as the years go by, and even more rarely do especially sleazy B movies suddenly take on the reputation of "art." Wild Things is the exception that shows why, rarely, all the forces can turn potentially cheesy noir into a classic.
In retrospect, it's obvious that the film's stars were major talents at the top of their respective games. At the time, the film seemed like an unassuming little bit of nonsense dropped into theaters in the relatively dead month of March in 1998 that quickly achieved the level of "cult classic."
The film tells the tale of Sam Lombardo, an apparently straight arrow of a guidance counselor at a coastal Florida high school, who gets ensnared by a racy student (Denise Richards) who accuses him of rape after a student car wash. When a second teen (Neve Campbell, pre-Scream) comes forward with a similar charge, it seems like Sam's career is toast. but a last minute courtroom revelation turns the tables and Sam is apparently innocent... or is he?
Wild Things benefits both from strong writing - the scripts various twists are genuinely unexpected - and a string of solid performances, starting with Richards and Campbell, but also Matt Dillon's Sam and Kevin Bacon as the police detective investigating the girls claims (along with his partner, played expertly by Daphne Rubin-Vega). But the cast also includes Theresa Russell, Carrie Snodgrass, Bill Murray, and Robert Wagner, finally getting to play the grown up part in some version of Flamingo Road or Peyton Place, and swearing like a sailor to prove it.
A twisty, tasty plot is part of the film's charm, but what sells it is the sleaziness of the business at hand. Almost nothing this racy has been made for movie screens in years, and while some tv shows offer hints of debauchery, this film spares almost nothing. Renowned for Richards' nude scene, and full rear - and frontals - of Kevin Bacon, Wild Things shares with Cruel Intentions (1999) that sense of Hollywood smashing the last vestiges of innocence at the end of the century. Nothing is off limits, and everything is up for grabs.
In retrospect, Wild Things is simply a B movie noir flick that somehow got made with solid direction (John McNaughton) and a top flight cast, a reminder of what can happen when great talent really lets loose on good material, even the dark, smutty storytelling at play here. Dillon's slinky smoothness has rarely been used as effectively. Richards made a career out of this, and Campbell added this to a string of successes (The Craft, Scream) that established her as the smart star of dark films. And Bacon, well, aside from producing it, turns in one of his most solid performances, where the darkness only gets visible by degrees.
But mostly, Wild Things holds up as a great, crazy ride through a naughty funhouse of sex, deceit and murder. And really, how many films offer that, even now?
If there's an indication of Amy Schumer's intelligence throughout Trainwreck, it's actually apparent in the first shot: Colin Quinn - when did Quinn ever get a shot like this! - as the dad, riffing for his daughters on how mom and dad are divorcing over dad's interest in, well, other dolls. The doll metaphor puts near perfect uncomfortable childishness on the whole enterprise ("how about a slightly overweight cocktail waitress doll?"), while underlining the womanizing and how bad of a parent he can be. But the joy of it is Quinn, tearing into the bit with a relish only a smart comic can. How many comics put the tour de force moments in the hands of others?
Schumer's trust in the talents of others - of wanting, not just being willing, to join an ensemble - enriches Trainwreck on every level. Anybody could put a female protagonist into a bad job at a men's lad book (still around? Yes), but putting Tilda Swinton in as your nightmare editor, with coworkers like Vanessa Bayer, lifts the whole thing to amazing levels of insight - about women in the workplace, the hell of magazine writing, and a world bent on reinforcing the worst sexist roles and tendencies. (And Swinton, all spray tan and blonde extensions and East End accent, vanishes yet again into the magical depths of her near boundless talent, as if her next role was stepping into The Only Way Is Essex.)
All of that, and the real genius of Trainwreck is that Schumer, as a writer, is willing to lay all this insight into what could be, but really isn't, a standard romantic comedy. The romantic comedy has had a rough time of it until recently - distorted and tortured into the "rom com" "chick flick" where all women want is Prince Charming, and all men want to do is watch something else. There was a time when these tales of two improbable people finding love and each other had actual depth - complex characters, emotionally resonant stories, some insights into the human condition. Trainwreck can't do it alone, but it does suggest that the worst may be somewhat behind us.
Director Judd Apatow has done a lot of work, much of it very good, in this regard; he's helped redefine the roles for both men and women in these types of films, not losing sight of romance, while allowing modern, more aggressive comedy to find its place. A lot of this, still, comes from the SNL world of sketch humor - Trainwreck is loaded with performers from recent seasons - but mostly we're just living through a transition where comedy, and the world it makes fun of, have changed. And Schumer's voice has become one of the essential elements.
It's a woman's voice, and a woman's voice that's not bound by convention or traditional notions of any sort. Amy, the main character, is wonderfully her own woman, in ways both positive and negative. She's brash, independent... but stuck in a lousy job, with family issues, personal problems and a bit of chemical dependency. Her bad relationship with a lunky boyfriend falls apart over her one nights stands. Her dad is ill, And by chance she starts working on a story about a sports doctor - she hates sports - who might be a good guy.
Here too is more great casting - Bill Hader's in that wonderful underrated position (Steve Carrell is about the only other one I can think of) where he's both slyly funny and genuinely likable, an everyman who always makes it work without calling a lot of attention to himself. It's a role that has to sell sincerity without feeling stale, and Hader makes it just quirky enough to keep it out of the realm of utterly unbelievable.
But this is Schumer's first chance to shine on the big screen and she tears into it with such gusto it's hard not to be amazed. Sure, she's been offering variations on this gal in her standup and on her remarkable TV show all along, but here she takes the various pieces, and fashions the whole person, a not entirely likable young woman who nonetheless earns audience sympathy; and manages to make points about all the bullshit thrown at young single women, while reminding us that things defined as feminine - softness, tenderness, vulnerability - are essential and valuable for us all.
Arguably, Trainwreck, loses its way in the final 15 minutes, when the need for tidy endings overwhelms what's come before - oh look, another Hollywood "drinking problem" solved by cleaning your apartment of half empty bottles - though the sentiment works and you won't figure these characters simply go gently into that good night. Rarely do films tap into both the ecstatic laughs of comic genius and the real pain of love and loss so thoroughly. And almost never has film shown the kind of respect for women as their own agents, in ways both good and bad. Trainwreck marks an assured debut, and unlocks some real possibilities for women's roles and stories on film. And that, surely, is some very good news.
I started writing film reviews on this blog with The Prime of MIss Jean Brodie; a still-odd choice for me, because I tend to be a more modernist film critic, and less about the past... and because that film is really, really dark. And I at least try to cover up my love of really dark, really messed up entertainment. Not necessarily successfully.
So it's probably appropriate to attempt a return to form with Gone Girl, last year's easy winner in the messed up (or, for the less refined, f*cked-up) film category. Nobody's idea of a date movie, Gone GIrl arrived as the adaptation of a monster bestseller, hinged on the selling point that you, dear reader, had no idea of the astonishing twist the narrative would take.
On that selling point alone, I bought the book ...and promptly failed to read it. For years. The book would taunt me. I'd see others reading it; I would ask and to a person they said it was amazing, and the twist was unexpected... and it couldn't be shared. So naturally, I waited for the film adaptation.
The film version does not disappoint, either. Director David Fincher has brilliantly realized Gone Girl both as a tasty, chilling thriller, but also as a deeply subversive, equally chilly dismissal of current pop culture, of true crime "journalism," celebrity obsession, and the way we reward the showy, the glib, and the insincere. This is not the film to tell you that things get better, or to simply root for the good guy and truth will prevail in the end. If you want a light, upbeat tale of true love... this film is not for you.
The film starts quietly, simply: Nick Dunne is a nice guy on the day of his 5th wedding anniversary to Amy, when she disappears under mysterious circumstances. As we unpack the mystery, we learn more about Nick, Amy, and what seems to be a beautiful relationship put under stress by the economy, and the tensions of two people maybe growing apart.
Things get more complicated as a series of revelations suggest that Nick is not the simple, concerned spouse he seems - there's an affair, some curious financial doings, and more. Also Amy has layers of complexity hinted at from the beginning - there's her complicated relationship with her parents, author of a series of books whose child heroine, "Amazing Amy," is an idealized version of the real woman. Amy's diary seems to suggest an uncertainty about her life and her marriage that only adds more questions. And still, no one seems to quite know what happened or where she is.
That's where the twist comes in, and it's a doozy, a moment, rare in fiction these days, where all that's come before is simply turned on its head. It's here that Gone Girl becomes more than a simple whodunnit, to a dark examination of roles and expectations for men and women, and how easy it is for us to simply believe what we see, what we are told. Gillian Flynn, who wrote the book, also handles the adaptation to film, and she has a real sense for the old adage about "show, don't tell" - there's a lovely economy of actual dialogue, a trust that we will see for ourselves what is actually unfolding.
Davids Fincher's been on this kind of kick for years, but I think Gone Girl may be his best effort yet at adapting a novel to film, while still preserving his own icy, subversive worldview. He's not afraid to explore darkness and true madness (as with, say Se7en, or the Girl with The Dragon Tattoo), buit there's a quality to Gone Girl that seems lighter, playful; Fincher seems better able to deploy sarcasm that sees the sarcastic humor of it all.
And of course, he's helped immensely by a superb cast. Ben Affleck has labored for years against that certain lunky presence he brings to film, and Gone Girl, well, wallows in just that. As he shambles, as he gets caught in a carefully spun web, you can see the mix of decency and loutishness, the guy who wants to be good... ish.
Then there's Rosamund Pike as Amy, beautiful, tightly coiled, as enigmatic as the greatest screen beauties (Gene Tierney's Laura comes most obviously to mind... but so many others as well) and every bit as dangerous. Pike does a remarkable job of making a highly improbable character real, complex, and fascinating. And even dangerously amusing.
The rest of the cast is similarly focused and effective - perhaps none so much as Neil Patrick Harris, as Amy's most dangerous ex; but one has to shout out Tyler Perry as an over the top cross of Johnny Cochran and... well, Tyler Perry, as a well known, wily lawyer. Who's probably the closest thing the film has to a purely good guy.
Nothing is simple in Gone Girl, and the remarkable thing, I think, is how this film found an audience of enough sophisticates to actually be a success. Dark, defiant, and deadly, Gone Girl doesn't celebrate America's greatness, or wallow in our culture's false sorrows. Instead, it says that behind the most glowing successes is a pretty dark, messed up interior. And I for one, thinks that notion captures us pretty damn well.
Buzzfeed up-ended Oscar season this year with an absurd post (when is it not, with them) attempting to rank all 85 Best Picture winners from worst to best overall. It's a fool's exercise, made more foolish - and I say this from personal experience - because the writer was not well versed in all of the films. Don't get too far away from what you actually know, as a writer, especially as a critic. It shows.
The problem with the list, though, is deeper. It's not how good or bad the Best Picture winners are or can be seen to be. It's that, for pretty much all 85, there was at least one other film that a large swath of viewers and critics thought should get the top honor. For every Titanic, for every Forrest Gump, even for All About Eve or The Godfather... there's another nominee a lot of people really, really liked. (Okay, maybe not The Godfather. We'll see.)
The Buzzfeed list got me to thinking about this, and sketching out some options... but what really pushed me to pull out the pooter and start composing was this year's awards. Because this year's alternate is especially glaring, and it ought to be said. So that's where I'm going to begin.
Some caveats: I'm working backwards, because mass memory is about recent events, but don't ignore the classics from Oscar's early years - we are talking some great artifacts of film history, which deserve to be seen. Second, I haven't seen everything... but I will be up front about it where necessary. Third, this list is limited to Oscar nominees for Best Picture. If we get into a game of "what about that brilliant film that was shut out" we lose the plot all together, and really, the list of greatest films of all time isn't about Oscar. This is.
Finally, naturally, all of this is subjective. And yes, I'd love the feedback, and a healthy conversation. Don't be shy. And so, without further ado...
2013 - American Hustle. Talk about robbed - last year's smartest caper film woudn up completely shut out on all 8 of its nominations. And all of those were richly deserved. Since his brilliant dark comedy Flirting With Disaster, David O. Russell has made a string of smart, boundary chalenging films with great casts and intellgent scripts. And it's probably too much to ask that work this good get honored repeatedly, since Russell's Silver Linings Playbook was already a dominant winner. Still, Hustle's every bit as brilliant as The Sting, and even better in its attempt to recreate a period in costumes, sets, and songs. Were Hollywood less caught up in righting historical wrongs - including its own shabby history on race - 12 Years A Slave would probably sit in the perfectly acceptable position of having been a great adaptation of a dark, grim story of an horrific experience... but not Best. For my money, Hustle is what you reward for greatness, and timelessness.
2012 - Silver Linings Playbook.... while we're at it. Though I will say this one of those years where I think the Academy got it right - Argo is a great film, even with the overwrought ending.
2011 - Midnight in Paris. No, The Help does not deserve it. And yes, I love The Artist. But Woody Allen's filmmaking, even on Blue Jasmine, has rarely been as finely honed as it was on this gentle, loving film about not getting too caught up in worshipping the past. Masterful recreations of previous eras, gleeful cameos of past masters (especially a charming Zelda Fitzgerald, a drunk Hemingway, and explaining The Discreet Charm of The Bourgoisie to a confused Bunuel), plus a slew of masterful performances (has Owen Wilson ever been better? I think not).... what more do you need? Nothing, that's what.
2010 - Winter's Bone. Having not seen The Social Network or Inception, I feel underqualified to make the case for either; though I think Inception probably has a strong one. I can easily make the case that The King's Speech was sentimental claptrap that could easily be overlooked in the overall history of film. I can also make a strong case that this ambitious independent film, which snuck into major consideration, is way better than it has any right to be, in large measure because Jennifer Lawrence really was that stunningly good right from the beginning. A small, dark film where a win would have shown the Academy's ability to look past the obvious. And they don't, often.
2009 - Precious, based on the novel Push by Sapphire. In one of those harder than usual years (I could make my own compelling cases for The Blind Side and Up, just for starters), I'd say Lee Daniels was robbed; this film takes on nearly every American prejudice, and Hollywood's willful blindness to poverty, race, and size... and spins it into gold. Gabourey Sidibe's performance is undeniable. Mo'Nique will never be this glorious again. And just when you think you've heard or seen it all, the final ten minutes of the film will up-end everything you think you knew. Daniels will get there, eventually, but it will be because he already did.
2008 - Milk. Not a great year, not a great set of choices... but Lord, anything other than the ludicrous Slumdog Millionaire. It might as well be the engaging biopic of the gay community's greatest political hero, which hit the trifecta of a great script, inventive direction, and a bravura lead performance. Or we can give it to a magical fairy tale. Oh well.
2007 - Michael Clayton. An issue pic, a taut thriller, one of George Clooney's easy, masterful performances, the glorious Tilda Swinton. Is this a hard call? I think not. Instead... There Will Be Blood. It was a very dark year.
2006 - The Queen. Sentimental? Sure. Hogwash? A bit. I really wish the film had won rather than Helen Mirren. But I'd settle for both. The film, at the very least, offers a less varnished, less rosy view of the English royals than we normally get. And anything, to me, would be better than to reward Martin Scorsese for making a pale carbon copy of the vastly superior Infernal Affairs.
2005 - Brokeback Mountain. Obviously. Crash? Oh, where to begin. It's the decade's most inexplicable winner, one that made even its supporters wince as the reality sank in. And then there's Ang Lee's spare, brilliant, quiet paean to doomed love among the cowboys and the mountains. Easy call.
2004 - Sideways. Only because I think Ray was too conventional, too by the numbers in its depiction of a musician biopic. But certainly Charles is a compelling subject and the music soars. Still, Sideways is a charming, offbeat dramedy that stings in unexpected ways. Million Dollar Baby just never intrigued me.
2003 - Mystic River. In a year that's actually a hard choice - I adore Lost in Translation, and am just sentimental enough to love Seabiscuit - I'd reward Clint Eastwood for a mystery drama that captures the South Boston experience in all its conflicted glory. And I slogged through all 3 episodes of Lord of the Rings. Still, not even close.
2002 - The Pianist. There is a question, naturally, of how many ways we can slice World War 2 movies and Holocaust pictures, but Roman Polanski's take is every bit as masterful as you'd expect from him, an unexpected journey very well told. Yes, that's me overlooking The Hours. And I liked Chicago... but Best? Maybe not so much.
2001 - Gosford Park. Downton Abbey in its concise, feature film form, from the absolute master of overlapping plotlines. It's even got Maggie Smith. As the Dowager Countess. It also has every other british actor you could dream of, doing just the sort of British things you'd want to see them doing.
2000 - Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Because The Academy waffled and gave it Best Foreign Film. Which is totally embarrassing.
1999 - The Insider. How times change. I didn't pick it at the time, and I didn't entirely love it... but time has not been kind to American Beauty, which winds up less than the sum of its parts. I am moderately torn by The Cider House Rules, but in the end, I think its defenders were right - The Insider holds up best.
1998 - Elizabeth. Two films featuring the Virgin Queen will enter. Only one can win. Oops. Yeah, we could have picked the brilliant bloody epic that verified Blanchett as a star... or we could pick Shaespeare in Love. Oh yeah... oops.
1997 - LA Confidential. I would write a long defense of why, but why bother? Titanic. They gave it to Titanic. Big mistake. Huge.
1996 - Fargo. I am not a Coen Brothers fan, and I loved The English Patient. But if a film was ever overlooked while being quietly brilliant, this mystery thriller remains a truy hidden gem.
1995 - Apollo 13. I'm not married to any of the choices; I'd take reading the phone book over Braveheart. I'm sure there's a good case, even, for Babe. But Tom Hanks really likes those astronaut pictures. And people tell me this one's good.
1994 - Quiz Show. Robert Redford's film has never been appreciated for what it is - a searing indictment of WASP privilege and the lies we tell ourselves, especially via television. Even something as simple as opening his credits with Mack the Knife and closing with the actual Moritat from Threepenny Opera makes his point with knifelike sharpness. I can't even begin to discuss the travesty of rewarding Forrest Gump instead.
1993 - In The Name Of The Father. But yes, this is the year of Schindler's List. So let's not push it.
1992 - A Few Good Men. In a sea of good but not great (Howard's End, The Crying Game, and the winning Unforgiven, to be sure; less so Scent of a Woman), it's mostly a toss-up. But Rob Reiner's adaptation of a fairly routine courtroom/court martial drama holds up extremely well, features Tom Cruise and Demi Moore in surprising career highs, and gives Jack Nicholson's best scene chewing room to breathe. You can't handle the truth. And that's not even the best line in that speech. Or in the film.
1991 - The Prince of Tides. Does it outdo Silence of the Lambs? Maybe not... but let's factor in, honestly, the severe anti-Streisand bias of the Academy. Then let's point out that this is Nick Nolte's best work by far, assisted by a slew of strong performances, including the diva herself. And Streisand did a marvelous of distilling a watchable movie out of a really bad, melodramatic book (seriously. It's atrocious). A sweeping cross-generational story, full of dark secrets and stunning revelations... we've given more awards to less. But you could tell me to pick Bugsy instead, and I'd hear you out. But don't start with me on JFK.
1990 - Goodfellas. The real moment when Martin Scorsese was robbed, his finest hour of storytelling on the story he was meant to tell, an amoral fable of gangsters from the height of their cultural importance to the sad dissolution into drugs, degradation and incarceration. Just the dazzling sequence at The Copa alone deserves Best Picture. And instead? We rewarded Dances With Wolves. Seriously? Seriously.
So endeth the first lesson. Up next, the epics of the eighties, and the sad story of seventies realism.
Oscar nomination day may seem unfathomably late to put up a Best Of List for the year prior... but if it's good enough for The Academy, why not me? As I've made a regular practice of compiling this stuff, I realized that January was better than trying to glom onto the crush of December year-enders (a fresh palette, and a good time to encourage friends to catch up on quality product they may have missed), and this year, trying to resume blogging, at this point, well, I can pretty much do what I like when I want to. Rebuilding, restarting, rebooting... I think I've used up all the good words. Now it's just... get back to it.
I don't have a lot to say about the Oscar nods - it's the usual mix of some good, some bad, some just head scratching (Jackass for Best Makeup? It's actually explicable... but that don't make it right). Some of the nominees are in my mix, some not, but this list isn't just a great films list. When I started writing this down, I knew I needed a broader approach. So this list comprises everything, and anything, visually entertaining. I just didn't get to a lot of museums this year.
Without further ado:
1) August: Osage County. A raft of mixed to bad reviews, and a lot of overhyping made me nervous about the filmed adaptation of Tracy Letts' Broadway hit play. Sure it had Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts and a similarly dream team cast, but I'd missed the play and what I'd heard made me skeptical. Instead, I found myself blown away by a searing wound: Letts has peeled back layers of artifice from a classic setup - the wildly dysfunctional family in close quarters - and refuses to soften the proceedings with comedy or ease our tensions with melodramatic excess. Indeed, I think the dismal responses came, in part, because some mistook the drama oncscreen for excess, when those of us who've lived it can attest to what's displayed; and conversely, others were surely disturbed by the play's refusal to take easy shortcuts or artificially upbeat endings. Streep (with her 18th nomination!) reminds us, again, that she shines best in ensembles, and that she can play self involved monsters with the best of them, in a part worthy of Davis or Hepburn (though neither might have pulled it off this compellingly). Roberts, too, reminds us that she is capable of greatness, even in a dislikable role. But then, don't miss the amazing Margo Martindale or the sublime Juliette Lewis, either. And that's just for starters. Hard to watch, harder to turn away, brilliant in every painful detail. Yeah, that's just what it was like.
2) The Grandmaster (Ya Dai Zong Shi). The Best Film no one saw: Wong Kar Wai remains at the top of his game telling the story of the Martial Arts master who trained Bruce Lee, and thus influences nearly everything about the ethos and presentation of Asian combat on film. Ip Man's story has everything that's hip in Asian film - twenties gangsters in Shanghai, opium trade, rival warlords, fights in snow and rain and next to moving trains - but what's stunning is how Wong teases out a sensitive, moving drama with a point. Of course that looks all the easier when graced with superstar talent like Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Ziyi Zhang, but the point is, as usual, Chinese film is racing ahead of us in terms of marrying big budget action sequences to important, well told stories. That this film was ignored by The Academy is a reminder of their, and much of America's myopia to recognizing art beyond our borders. Happily, it seems pretty clear that Wong's not going aywhere anytime soon.
3) The Great Gatsby. Another long anticipated adaptation that could easily have flown off the rails (Hollywood has tried twice before, with generally disastrous results), but Baz Luhrmann proved that sometimes, a six month extension to completion is actually helpful and not a sign of impending doom. And Luhrmann found the heart of Fitzgerald much the way one would expect from his previous films: no one does the controlled madness of party sequences better, and no one has a surer feel for how to marry modern music to classic cinematic images. The result? A film that aurally and visually links the excesses of our own age to those of the roaring twenties, emphasizing the timelessness of Fitzgerald's keen insights into the worst of human foibles. Easily Leonardo DiCaprio's best performance in years, his Gatsby is both the star and dupe of his own show. And, too, Tobey Maguire embodies the contradictions of Nick, our unreliable, untrustworthy narrator. It may have taken 90 years for society to catch up to the sleaziness depicted by Fitzgerald in fiction so long ago, but arguably this film benefited simply from our willingness to put the worst of our natures onscreen as well as the best, finally. Thank God someone finally figured it out.
4) The Originals (Season One, The CW). It's hard to remember anything like the instant success achieved by spinning out major characters from one TV series into another, entirely new one. It's a testament to both the rich canvas painted on The Vampire Diaries and the strong appeal, still, of fantasy horror fiction that this series has bolted out of the gate, while the parent program soldiers on (just off this list). It helps that Joseph Morgan and Daniel Gillies, the two brothers at the heart of the story, are both gifted, sensitive performers and that the plotting and scripting are first rate. Can all of this be sustained? I'm not sure, but so far the growing pains seem limited to the parent show while this one, with its rich mix of vampires, witchcraft and New Orleans Hoodoo seems to stand alone just fine.
5) Supernatural (Season 8 on TV and DVD; Season 9, The CW). Even fewer shows still find fresh energy and insights past the 7th year, and for a while, it seemed as though, in its 7th season that Supernatural - aka the "Season go Splat" - was growing surly and cranky with age. The killings grew especially brutal, and our main characters seemed headed towards their natural ends. But then something magical happened: an 8th season that pulled the show back to its hard fighting roots, fresh blood in the producing and writing ranks, and a renewed sense of purpose put the brother hunters on a new path, one that became infinitely more complex as Heaven was invaded and the angels expelled. Now in a season of fallen angels and seemingly endless twists, Supernatural has revived itself as central to the fantasy sci fi and horror genre (this is one for the history books, now), the show that is known to every geek fanboy - and more crucially, girl - with myths and legends on an epic scale. Also, the leads are very goodlooking. Still.
6) The Company You Keep. Robert Redford's real proof this year - don't talk to me about the man vs. nature nonsense of All Is Lost - that he's still got it as an actor and director. Mining the rich tales of fading sixties radicals, Redford reopens a rough wound - those aging radicals who resorted to crime in the seventies, and then went into lives "underground". Blessed with a raft of talented old timers - can anyone resist Julie Christie? Ever? - Redford also elicited strong work from youngins like Shia LeBoeuf and Anna Kendrick as well. And Redford, as a director, still refuses to resort to pat answers or easy scenarios: what lifts "Company" ahead of other paeans to the wistful romancing of the radical past is his acknowledgements of the tensions and failures that lie within. Sure, there's a sob story here of old romance and missed parenting, but Redford's instincts for WASP classiness keep the tears to a minimum and the larger point never far away. Another Oscar overlook that's mostly a shame, even if its blink and you missed it release came and went too fast.
7) American Hustle. David O. Russell has been generally can't miss (though I skipped Silver Linings Playbook), and this time he's delivered near perfection: a brisk retelling of seventies era corruption and double dealing that plays as the long lost sequel to The Sting, with Coppola level emotional baggage in tow. Brilliantly scripted, the film is equally brilliantly performed by a near dream cast - at this point Jennifer Lawrence is unstoppable, and Amy Adams manages to bust down the doors of serial niceness, plus Bradley Cooper manages to upstage his own sexy dude asshole instincts, while Christian Bale reminds us of his sheer determination in physical transformation. No mistakes, not one missed note, and a crackling energized piece every bit as satisfying as Affleck's Argo. It's Russell's time, and he deserves the accolade.
8) Dallas Buyers Club. Here's to the freaks and weirdos, and here's to the film that doesn't try to clean them up or straighten them out. This tale of the early days of AIDS treatment and the desperate measures taken by patients to treat themselves would be compelling material in anyone's hands, but director Jean-Marc Vallee makes a particular virtue of guerrilla filmmaking and seat of your pants storytelling. Then too, this has been the year when Matthew McConnaughey made that last little leap to performing genius, when he didn't just play sexy laid back lotharios, but infused them with insight, depth, and pain. Dangerously thin, anxious and enervated, McConnaughey stalks this film in a way he rarely has ever, willing himself, those around him, and the audience to root for the right things. And then there's Jared Leto, no compromises, no fear, playing the best outrageous transwoman yet seen in a major film. Profoundly moving, thought provoking and angering... what more could you ask?
9) Teen Wolf (Season 3a, MTV). Zooming from interesting curiosity to underground hit, MTV's reboot of a middling eighties horror comedy could easily have been a misbegotten mess, but instead became an instant word of mouth addiction, not least because of a cast of eye candy nearly unequalled on cable or network (and, like the Vampire Diaries, it owes a debt to the teen television boom, and especially a whole previous generation of TV studs still on the casting open market). But eye candy alone doesn't make hit television (I know... right?), and the real surprise here, as with other fantasy TV successes, starts with the solid scripting and knack for tasty plot twists (no one does a cliffhanger nearly as well as this show is doing, week to week and season to season). All of the male leads - Tyler Posey, Tyler Hoechlin, Dylan O'Brien, Daniel Sharman - are delivering surprisingly rich, nuanced performances, as are Crystal Reed and Holland Roden, Roden perhaps most of all. Even MTV has learned its lesson, beefing up its series order and refreshing us with a "second half" third season that so far lives up to the hype.
10) Justified (Seasons 3 and 4, DVD and FX). Timothy Olyphant has found his true calling as Raylan Givens, the Kentucky-born and bred US Marshal who has to bring justice and beat back his worst instincts as he deals with both a complicated present and a disastrous past. Writing again is the real key here - can you mess up Elmore Leonard for source material? - but Justified continues to amaze in 13 week bites just by putting Appalachian culture up for examination, one of the last under examined subcultures left in this vast land (with Longmire's open west fast approaching behind it). Olyphant remains a captivating tall drink of water, the visual embodiment of "lanky", bringing with him virtually a whole sense memory of the classic western - even in an open field, you can almost see the tavern's swinging doors flutter behind him before he draws his gun to shoot. And yeah, if you get that whole double entendre in all its glory, then this show's success is fairly easy to see.
11) Kill Your Darlings. One of a small string of Beat Generation stories weaving their way to the screen, this one offers the real life story of Allen Ginsberg and his involvement in a high profile murder investigation during his years at Columbia, the murder committed by Lucien Carr justified as gay panic. Sure, there are other, more recent youthful examples of rebels blowing up the counterculture, but the real postwar engagement with artistically blowing up the status quo starts with this small band of risk takers, who probably nearly killed themselves in the process. This fim's loving depiction of Ginsberg and how he grew into the poet he became is well observed, and helped immensely by Daniel Radcliffe's already high wire approach to unexpected roles - he doesn't condescend or shy away for even a minute. The film may take a few liberties - and Carr's descendants weren't thrilled with reopening old wounds - but generally, this film captures a rebellious spirit and the possibilities afforded by that certain sort of liberal arts college experience. At least, that's kind of how I remember it, Ferlinghetti and all.
12) Blue Jasmine. Woody Allen continues to solidify his position in this late period of filmmaking as the Years Where He Puts It All Together. Comedy, drama, insights, madness... it's all there in the story of two sisters whose lives are deeply intertwined and whose fates are fairly far apart. Cate Blanchett's turn as a middle aged woman descending into madness, like other bravura performances this year, initially resembles the star turns of great actresses of yore, but Blanchett has the modernity and guts to go all the way, creating a genuinely jittery and unnerving mood where you're never quite sure where all this is headed. Allen's flirted with all of this material before - sisters, neuroses, failed romantics - but never before with this kind of assuredness and authority. The fact that Blanchett will likely finally get her Best Actress due is a detail. And that's the real hallmark of great film work.
13) Archer (Season 4, FX). Animated television's edgiest edge - and that's saying something - continued to find the envelope, push it, rip it up, and set it on fire. No one else so consistently "goes there" or let's us know that "there" is yet farther than we knew it was before, all in the guise of a simple spy comedy about the world's worst spy agency and it's cast of lovable, if kinky and depraved, misfits. If this wasn't their absolute best work (how long and how far can you go over the top, after all?), this was the year that Archer proved, sensibly, that they could reliably deliver outrageousness, badass adventure, and tremendously witty wordplay in satisfying doses. Which may explain why they've taken their wildest leap yet in last week's launch of Season 5. But that's for next year's list.
14) The Good Wife (Seasons 4 and 5, CBS). I'm probably listing it too low for the good work its doing, but then, that's what lifts this show above nearly everything else on network television. Take your Scandal, forget your Downton, don't bring me that cable bullshit... show me one other series that plays within the familiar rules of traditional scripted television - 24 episodes a season from October to May - and consistently delivers writing, acting... hell, existence, on a level as solid as this. Nobody, not Kerry Washington, not Mariska Hargitay, not any of those blondes on those shows you think you like so much, plays a cipher as glamorous or captivating, at this moment, as Juliana Marguies is playing, week to week. And hell, does she make it look easy, never breaking a sweat, rarely looking flustered, just taking it in, and dishing it out. No wonder Chris Noth and Josh Charles, never mind Matt Czuchry, continue to their best work dancing attendance around her. On any other show, Archie Punjabi would be upstaging them all; here, she's just another great addition to the ensemble. And Christine Baranski! Alan Cumming! Lord! Does it end? Will it have to?
15) 42. The best for last, or at least, the most decent. Just a simple, straightforward telling of the Jackie Robinson story, placing it in the context of that American moment when we had to stop looking at our pastimes and entertainments as separate but equal and do the hard work of integration. And Robinson... well, there's a hero for you, for everyone - damned decent, hardworking, mindful of the moment, but determined to do it right and do it well, so that, afterwards, we'd be better people and a better country. I mean, it's just a baseball movie... right?
By the way - sights unseen: I have to admit that this list looks like this, perhaps, because I have not watched the following: Gravity, Her, Lone Survivor, Saving Mr. Banks, Captain Phillips, The Secret Life of Walter MItty, Nebraska, Inside Llwewyn Davis, Mandela, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, or Breaking Bad. And if I didn't mention it... then yes, I probably saw it. And that's another list.
I've been on a serious media binge lately, which is a slightly pretentious way of saying "parked in front of the tube," but I like to think of my watching as vitally imprtant to my (unpaid) work as amedia observer and critic. We're too quick, these days, to dismiss the idea of being, and having, an audience.
Long topic for another day... but anyway, lots of my viewing has been in the "Sci Fi/ Fantasy" genre, when stretched to include everything from comic book adventures to vampire stories... and Supernatural, which is somehwere in between. Between these and police procedurals (from a renewed interest in Castle to a new fascination with Law & Order UK, plus a new season of Justified) my watching is pretty full. And still, I get bored and need more options.
All of which brought me back to Heroes, one of the more fascinating zags of NBCs recent zig-zag of desperation programming, most of which I blame on the disastrous run of Jeff Zucker as head of programming (and I, too, gleefully await what his disastrous hand will bring to CNN). Heroes sprung from the mind of Tim Kring, a veteran series showrunner, and the astonishing thing was the completeness of his reimagining and rethinking the notions of superheroes and comic books. The disaster, which accompanied this brilliance, was how a show which started so daringly and with such promise, could descend into a near incomprehensible muddle in the (for a series) short space of four years. Television is, yes, littered with such curiosities; but Heroes was, and remains, a real bright spot in glorious failures - no series in recent memory shot so far for the moon, and flamed out just as vividly.
The Season One DVD set of Heroes is a near must for anyone who cares about fantasy/superhero TV - nothing else in recent years comes as close to being so completely satisfying as this show's 22 episode arc called "Volume One." A combination of origins tales, along with a tasty string of mysteries and twisty turns, Heroes builds up a raft of interesting, dynamic characters whose overlapping storylines offer myriad possibilities for interactions (and surprsing insights along the way), and yet still manage to culminate in a sensible resolution while laying the groundwork for an interesting future.
That furture, alas, was pretty much squandered, and in no small part, Heroes was the highest profile victim of the deadly Writer's Strike of 2007, which hit the show in the midst of a crucial second season, and probably did as much as anything to derail the show's forward momentum at a moment when this, the show with some of the most complex writing on TV at the time, needed continuity and clarity most. And all of that, really, is clear in the first season, especially on DVD, where one can see the original cut of the pilot (expansive and probably rightfully cut down with a number of extraneous plot details excised), and a raft of deleted scenes from many episodes.
But savor, if you will, the possibilities: from Peter and Nathan Petrelli, the shy nurse and his ambitious poltical brother, both of whom gradually discover amazing powers, while testing nd strengthening their brotherly bond. Or Hiro Nakamura and his best buddy Ando, who tags along as his friend learns to bend time and space. Or Claire Bennet, the pint sized cheerleader amazed to discover her own indestructability. These five lay the groundwork for a new ideal of heroic action, with the threat of the end of the world merely weeks away. And that's just the beginning of a huge quilt of characters with conflicting motives, dangerous aspirations and secret plans. And through it all, there's Claire's mysterious stepfather, and his shadowy organization, identifying the "Specials" and erasing their memories... but to what end? And what of Sylar, the most dangerous, and possibly the most powerful of all?
The expansive cast is chock full of smart and nearly career making performances, starting most obviously with Hayden Panattiere's turn as Claire, the tough, brave cheerleader whose body can survive just about anything. No one will ever wonder if she can carry a series again. Masi Oka makes Hiro a transcendant presence, ably partnered with James Kyson Lee's understated turn as Ando. Milo Ventimiglia provides the emotional center of the show as pained, tortured Peter Petrelli, while Adrian Pasdar gives layers and layers of complexity to the ambitious Nathan. And Zach Quinto made his career with the devious, devastating Sylar.
The real star here is the show's brilliant and fully thought out premise, the idea of everyday people suddenly turned into superheroes, thrust into unanticipated dangers and demands they never expected to face. Every role, every story, and seemingly every detail is aligned with the show's premise and purpose, and each episode hurtles along on its way to the season's ultimate goal, a dramatic confrontation where every person and every power winds up tested and pushed to the brink. Kring's sense of passion and purpose for this project is admirable, even enviable. And visually, the show repeatedly evokes the comic books and graphic novels it consciously emulates, right down to the Comic Sans font used for its titles. That the show takes the time, money and effort ot get all these details right is a credit to the visionaries who built it, and to NBC, which spent lavishly to make it all work.
In the end, Heroes was a modest hit, but among the geeky fanboys it chased hardest, it became just the culty kind of hit its creators seemed to want most. Like many, I was simply dragged into it by friendly coworkers who shared the box set with me and won me over pretty much at hello (or, more precisely "Ya Ta!" as Hiro says). It's been amusing, over this blizzard, to revisit the familiar ground of Season One, finding new things to discover, and realizing how much I'd forgotten since moving on. Heroes deserves to be remembered, and cherished, and passed along to others like a delicious secret. It may not be for everyone... but TV this good deserves to live on, and shared.
When I started writing about some of my favorite older films, I said I had a hard time thinking of these favorites, and that, plus a general slowdown in writing (oh... who notices?), left me grasping for topics.
But a few things came to mind over time, including Quiz Show, the film I think probably best shows Robert Redford's evolution as a director of quality projects, which are especially clever at illustrating the dominance and decline ofmainline WASP culture in America.
Redford's first effort was the difficult, somewhat depressing Ordinary People, a story of the aftermath of suicide that marked Mary Tyler Moore's drastic departure from her role as America's midern sweetheart via her television show. The film speaks tense volumes in its silences, the uncomfortable distance between couples and between parents and their kids.
Quiz Show was Redford's 4th venture, 14 years after Ordinary People, but much of hwat he excavated in Ordinary People continued to resonate. Ostensibly, though, Quiz Show is - on the surface - much more glitzy and light, exploring the period of early TV history when the networks were dominated by game shows, mostly "quiz" programs where contestants demonstrated fantastic levels of knowledge on the most esoteric topics.
In particular, Quiz Show focuses on the collapse of Twenty One, and its biggest success, the Columbia professor Charles Van Doren, who had a spectacular run on the show. Van Doren replaced Herb Stempel, and he was selected in part for his looks and personality, a kind of WASP ideal projected over much of the fifties (Mad Men, especially in Season One, makes a lot of this similar point).
In the film, Van Doren, played by Ralph Fiennes, is pursued by Richard Goodwin, an investigator for a congressional committee looking into quiz show fixing. Good win is eventually able to confirm that producers of Twenty One were feeding answers to contestants, picking winners and sidelining contestants to keep ratings high. Van Doren repeatedly protests his innocence to Goodwin, even as he grows disillusioned with his role, and tries to pull himself off of the show, only to have NBC move him into a guest role on the Today show.
Redford is, admittedly, playing a bit fast and loose with the facts - the quiz show scandal was driven primarily by the discovery of a "briefing book" of answers found on the set of the show Dotto, and similar fixing was discovered on The $64,000 Challenge; and Van Doren's personal history was simplified as well. But the key moment of the film - where Van Doren makes an oblique, vague "confession" of his guilt to the congressional committee did actually occur, as did the moment when one of the Congressmen on the panel chastised him for not deserving to be rewarded for simply telling the truth - especially the truth of a massive lie.
The insight Redford brings to the material is to climb under and around the great lies of the fifties, about the worship of the WASP ideal, and the marginalizing of other ethnics (especially Jews, as exemplified by Stempel). Redford presents Goodwin as being seduced, initially, by the comfort and ease of Van Doren's preppy, upscale family, a world away form his own experience, even with his Harvard degree.
Fiennes is a big part of why the film works, providng both the surface glamour of Van Doren's easy charm and good looks, but also reflecting his growing unease with the deceptions and the highly public nature of his exposure. At the same time, he offers Goodwin a heartfelt, if troubled defense of his actions - "what would you do if someone offered you all this money?" His fall from grace, and that of his parents, is vividly displayed in that Congressional confrontation, and in the subsequent response of the press, and Redford makes the point, quietly but effectively, that only a group as unassailable as white upper missle class protestants could suffer such a fall at that time, when a fraud is revealed.
Even the score serves to underline the distacne between the glitzy illusions of the fifties as seen in pop culture and the grimmer realities. The film opens to the snazzy swing of Bobby Darin's "mack the Knife" itself derived from "Moritat", a selection from Brecht's Threepenny Opera, then enjoying a revival on Broadway (starring Brecht's wife Lotte Lenye, who gets a shout out in Darin's version). Redford closes the film with Sting's reading of the actual Moritat, which is when you realize that Brecht's actual lyric is far darker, and far less charming than Darin's slick ode to a sexy gangster. So is the film, as it peels away the layers of lies in America's pop culture. And that may be Redford's truly finest achievement.
When the subject of films comes up in my conversations, and I mention my love of them and the reviews I write, lots of people (strangers mostly) ask "So... what's your favorite film?"
Truthfully, I tend to say that I don't have one, or even a few; I've seen a lot of movies, and liked a lot (though certainly not all) of them. But I know myself and my likes well enough to know that the positive feelings for a film are often situational: it's where I was, who I was with, the way that film spoke to a particular moment or feeling I was in tune with at that time. I love sad movies most when I need a good cry. I really loved Truth or Dare when I saw it, but it was also the height of Madonna Madness, and I can't say that it truly holds up to what I thought at the time.
Still, when I say I "have no favorites," it's also a lie; I love movies, and I own a lot of the movies I love and I watch them repeatedly. I go out of my way to see and re-see certain films, certain stars, hear my favorite lines yet again. This afternoon, I caught the final dramatic courtroom denouement of Legally Blond, a film I still admire a lot, for those last lines of Elle Woods as she destroys the real murderer's fake alibi - "And as someone who's had, oh, thirty perms in her lifetime, shouldn't you be aware of the rules of perm maintenance?" Always makes me smile.
In that vein, I've decided, sort of, to stop lying: I'm going to try and make a regular habit of going back over the films I love and why. It's a way to push myself to more regularly write reviews, and also revisit the good stuff, and why it's good. It's also my way of being a better steward of film blogging: people I admire, like Self Styled Siren, who remind me to be passionate about the thing I love.
So first up: a film that speaks to the whole business of loving film - LA Confidential.
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