Ladies and gentleman, it's that time. It's time for the onslaught of ever-multiplying award shows. It's time for Hollywood to trot out films that were released in N.Y. & L.A. in the waning weeks of December to qualify for Oscar consideration. And it's time for the nation's film critics to expound upon the best and worst of the previous year in film. They compile lists, they bemoan trends, they relish another chance to eviserate hated directors.
Now, I am not a film critic, but I do see a good many films, so here is my (admittedly idiosyncratic) take on the top ten films that came out the year we were supposed to make contact:
Memento [Christopher Nolan] -- I'm listing these films in the order I saw them, so Memento comes first, which is odd since it's the film that famously starts at the end and then works its way toward the middle (not the beginning as people who haven't analyzed the structure closely enough claim). Some labeled it gimmicky, but anyone who has seen Nolan's first film, Following, knows that he has fractured narratives hard-wired into his brain. This is a film that begs to be seen at least twice, and I complied, having just as good a time the second time around.
The Princess and the Warrior [Tom Tykwer] -- After being totally wowed by Run Lola Run and somewhat less wowed by Winter Sleepers, I wasn't sure how Tykwer's pet themes of chance and fate would play out a third time. I needn't have worried. The Princess and the Warrior is a powerful film that somehow was overlooked when it was first released (much like one of my favorites from last year, Nurse Betty). Maybe the success of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was a fluke and people still don't like reading movies.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch [John Cameron Mitchell] -- Hailed as the nth coming of the rock musical, and frequently compared to The Rocky Horror Picture Show (which is unnecessary since it can attract a cult following all on its own, thank you very much), Hedwig -- both the film and the title character -- knocked my socks off in a way that is difficult to put into words. The songs are great, the performances electric and the characters unforgettable. It even made my top ten list of all time (see below). In the end, it comes down to attitude, and this film's got it in spades.
Ghost World [Terry Zwigoff] -- In sharp contrast to Hedwig's brassiness, this is a quiet, knowing film about two disenchanted teens and how their lives drift apart after they graduate from high school. Based on Daniel Clowes' comic series of the same name (originially serialized in Eightball), the film takes events and characters from the comic, expanding them and adding new ones, always keeping the same tone of melancholy and loss. I don't mean to make the film out to be a downer. It's also frequently laugh-out-loud funny, but it doesn't shy away from showing the pain of its characters. The always-welcome Steve Buscemi will probably be overlooked for Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars, but he gives his best performance in years here.
Mulholland Drive [David Lynch] -- Like a lot of things last year, Lynch's latest weird-fest arrived in theaters with a lot of baggage. Originally created as the pilot for a series that never got made, Mulholland Drive plays like a series of unconnected, stand-alone scenes, disjointed and frequently incomprehensible. It's also effortlessly watchable, with the kind of beautiful imagery and oddball characters than you would expect from the man behind Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks and my personal favorite, Lost Highway. Just don't go into it expecting it to make a lick of sense. My favorite scene: The most fucked-up hit ever committed to celluloid.
The Man Who Wasn't There [Joel Coen] -- Another one that probably got lost in the shuffle, this one gained Coen the best director award at Cannes (shared with, no surprise, David Lynch). A genre exercise that takes its sad-sack protagonist and plunges him deeper and deeper into a nightmare of his own making, The Man Who Wasn't There puts the brothers Coen squarely back in noir territory, only this time they have the shimmering black-and-white photography to take full advantage of it. I haven't liked a Billy Bob Thornton performance this much since A Simple Plan.
Waking Life [Richard Linklater] -- A truly transcendent experience, harkening back to Linklater's earlier Slacker and also looking forward to the future, this film embraces technology -- in this case, digital video and computer animation -- and marries them in such a way that you're as bowled over by the look of the film (and no other film has ever looked quite like this) as you are by its dialogue and story. (And yes, for those of you in the peanut gallery, there is a story.) Familiar faces from earlier Linklater films populate the frame and everybody has something interesting to say. When was the last time you could say that about a movie?
Monsters, Inc. [Peter Docter, with David Silverman and Lee Unkrich] -- Pixar makes good on its promise to keep making animated films that adults can enjoy at late-night (read: kid-free) showings. It has a more traditional story than Waking Life (and it even has a moral, so you can say you've learned something), but both in their own way show off the ability of computer animation to create entirely new worlds. And, yes, that's Steve Buscemi once again as the slimy villain. (Why does he always get cast as the slimy villain?)
Ocean's Eleven [Steven Soderbergh] -- If any film seems out of place on this list, it's probably this one. I make no apologies -- I am huge Soderbergh fan and this is one heck of an entertaining movie. From the lead that was the 1960 original, Soderbergh and screenwriter Ted Griffin have spun cinematic gold. If Hollywood insists of doing remakes (and believe me, they do), then they should follow this example -- take a mediocre (if fondly remembered, in some circles) movie and make it better. Simple, huh? And with George Clooney leading the pack, the star power is out of sight. (Hey, was that a pun? Maybe it was two.)
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring [Peter Jackon] -- Another film that had to endure endless comparisons (Do I even have to tell you what to?), this was the proof that Jackson's expensive gamble is going to continue to pay off handsomely for the next two years. Filming the entire Rings trilogy at once may have been a long and torturous process, but Jackson and company have done the extraordinary -- they have made the story exciting. Tolkien fans may scoff, but this is epic cinema, an instant classic. If the film has one strike against it, it is the fact that it is by design the first third of a much larger story and therefore leaves things hanging at the end. I also saw this a second time in the theaters, but not before catching one last new release...
The Royal Tenenbaums [Wes Anderson] -- Structured like a novel -- in the same way that Rushmore is structured like a play -- The Royal Tenenbaums tells its story on a broader canvas with more -- and more eccentric -- characters. For all that, though, it manages a thematic and narrative unity that Anderson's earlier films have lacked. Certainly, we're meant to like these characters, and for the most part we do. We can even, at times, understand their motivations, even if their actions border on the self-destructive. Deep down, everyone just wants to be loved. This is not exactly an original idea, but it's all about the way it's conveyed in one of the year's most inspired -- and poignant -- comedies.
What? You're saying that was eleven films? Well, I never! Incidentally, some of my runners-up include John Boorman's The Tailor of Panama (great fun up until its compromised ending), Jerry Zucker's Rat Race (a much, much better film than its horrid marketing campaign made it out to be), John Dahl's Joy Ride (a suspense film done with style, aided by a terrific Steve Zahn performance) and David Mamet's Heist (also fun, but more generic than Mamet's usual fare). I would list my disappointments, but that doesn't seem like the right note to end on. I will say, however, that Robert Altman's Gosford Park was wonderful, and would have certainly made my list had it been released here in time.
In addition to my top ten (or -- in this case -- eleven) list, for the past several years running I have taken a page out of Steven Soderbergh's book (specifically the journal that accompanies the screenplay of sex, lies, and videotape) and compiled a list of my ten favorite films of all time. It naturally changes from year to year, but there are some constants. And certain directors are always represented, even if the film that gets them on the list changes.
Brazil [Terry Gilliam, 1985]
Clerks [Kevin Smith, 1994]
Dead Ringers [David Cronenberg, 1988]
Fargo [Joel Coen, 1996]
A Fish Called Wanda [Charles Crichton, 1988]
Hedwig and the Angry Inch [John Cameron Mitchell, 2001]
Living in Oblivion [Tom DiCillo, 1995]
Manhattan [Woody Allen, 1979]
Schizopolis [Steven Soderbergh, 1996]
This is Spinal Tap [Rob Reiner, 1984]
You will, no doubt, have noticed that no film made before I was born made the list, and fully half of them were made in the last decade. This is not because I do not like classic films. Rather, I am quite fond of the works of Luis Bunuel, Alfred Hitchcock, John Huston, Stanley Kubrick, Billy Wilder and others. In fact, this is the first year that Dr. Strangelove didn't make the list, owing to the fact that I have decided to retire it to make way for other, more idiosyncratic choices. I'm allowed to do that sort of thing because I'm not a real film critic. Ha!
Agree? Disagree? E-mail me at cjclark1973@yahoo.com