Best of the Decade: 50 Favorite Films Part 3

Bringing us to the end of the countdown are 10 films that I'll put up against the best any other decade has to offer any day. All in all, the 00s have been the best decade for cinema since the 70s, not too shabby I say. And I was going to say I'll let these films speak for themselves, but there's plenty of words still to come. I confess to getting a little carried away with a couple of my reviews. But hopefully these reviews will convince you of the urgency with which you must see all these films, before the decade is too far behind us. And if not the reviews, think of the pretty pictures. Because really, each of those expresses more than any of my reviews possibly could.

10. There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2008)It has apparently been agreed that there is nothing that can be said about this instant classic – and this is the only film I’ve ever seen in theaters that I could immediately make that claim of – that hasn’t already been said over and over again these past two years. Also out there is the notion that all of that critical ink spilled on its behalf cannot sufficiently sum up the greatness of Paul Thomas Anderson’s crowning achievement. I don’t dispute either claim, so I’ll keep this brief. Suffice it to say that this is one of the boldest, most ambitious works of film in my lifetime and seeing it in theaters I finally realized what it must have been like to catch the likes of Chinatown, A Clockwork Orange or The Conformist back in the early 70s. Daniel Day Lewis settles any question as to which actor gave the definitive performance of the decade (actress is far trickier). His Daniel Plainview, far from sympathetic, yet too humanized to be a true villain, is a towering character creation of the highest order. The screenplay delivers more quotable than ever other film on this list combined, and both the cinematography and the score prove equally ambitious as Anderson’s vision. But I’m merely repeating what everyone already ought to know by now, so with that, ladies and gentlemen, I’m finished. (Tristan)

9. Caché (Michael Haneke, 2005)
There are few movies that I might call truly disturbing. And no, horror movies generally don’t make the grade. Leaving aside the question of quality, most horror movies are easily rationalized, hence not disturbing. Cache is a film of a different caliber, a film that doesn’t leave your head, a film to make you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s watching.

Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche star as Georges and Anne Laurent, a successful French middle class couple who seem to have a prosperous and happy home life. Georges starts receiving videotapes of surveillance footage of their house and his activities. At first the tapes are seemingly benign but become more and more disturbing. I won’t give away anything else, but nothing is resolved by the end of the movie anyway. There are lots of issues raised along the way – French colonial guilt, the relationship between Georges and his wife, ingrained racism in French society. But this is a film about the things that are hidden – and the terror of knowing that some things are unknowable. (Rahul Ragunathan)

8. Gosford Park (Robert Altman, 2001)
Gosford Park beggars any description that can do it justice. Set in 1932, it is a multi-layered and complex story: ostensibly an English country-house whodunit, the film is laced through with an Upstairs, Downstairs examination of the relationships between the gentry and their servants, a dash of 1930’s Hollywood and a classic Altman sensibility. In Altman films, no scene ever begins on the screen, but the viewers wander into the story in progress, usually with multiple conversations and subplots evolving in each scene. Running at a mere 137 minutes, the film brings to life dozens of characters, including notable performances by Michael Gambon, Maggie Smith, Helen Mirren, Bob Balaban (as a producer of Charlie Chan films), Kelly McDonald and Clive Owen, just to name a few. If you’ve only watched it once, you haven’t really done the film justice and you’ve undoubtedly missed more than you know; multiple viewings are highly recommended, and put on the subtitles at least once to help fill in the gaps. The film is also notable for reintroducing Ivor Novello (played by Jeremy Northam) and his songs to US audiences. A British actor, singer and songwriter on a par with Noel Coward and Cole Porter, Novello is now all but forgotten in America, but his songs are catchy, clever and well deserving of being revived. (Kevin Johnson)

7. Lord of the Rings (Peter Jackson, 2001-2003)
The main strength of Peter Jackson's adaptation of Tolkien's masterpiece is the characters. It's not that Gandolf is as you pictured him in your head if you read the book, but that Ian McKellen becomes a Gandolf you can believe in. The same goes for Elijah Wood's Frodo, Viggo Mortensen's Aragorn, and virtually every other character, both major and minor, in this three movie epic. Besides this, the storyline is largely identical to the books and so deserves little note, but it should be said it is rendered remarkably coherently considering that the original three books often make reference to events detailed in many other volumes. This is largely because Jackson doesn't make the mistake of trying to explain everything that happens, actually believing that the audience is smart enough to look up unfamiliar references or just make the imaginative leaps required by the film. If there is any critique of this instant fantasy classic it is Jackson's addition of a modern sense of humor into several scenes throughout the film (Gimli the dwarf, for example, frequently comes off as the comic relief in the film), an addition that often seems in stark contrast to the otherwise intact Tolkienverse depicted therein. (Guiseppe Getto)

6. 2046 (Wong Kar Wai, 2005)
If In The Mood For Love is Wong Kar Wai’s La Dolce Vita, then surely 2046 is his 8 ½. After all, it’s certainly the most stylish film centered on a creative genius in the 1960s balancing the women in his life with his science fiction epic in progress since Fellini’s masterpiece. And until writing that last sentence, the similarities between the two had never seemed so apparent.

It had never occurred to me to consider 2046’s merits as an homage since I’ve always been more fascinated by the unique temporal lens through which it comments on the most peculiar state of the city, the great city of Hong Kong. That’s been a defining characteristic of Wong’s filmography, and twice now he’s rocked cinema with a film that bottles up the spirit of the city, with Chungking Express in the years prior to the 1997 turnover from British hands, and then a decade later with 2046, under ever-evolving political circumstances.

The numbers mean everything in the world. A brief history lesson: British relinquish control of Hong Kong to China in 1997, launching a 50 year period of gradual transfer to Chinese governance. The deadline, 2047, which means the titular date marks the final year in which Hong Kong legally retains something of its old identity. It’s a date always on Wong’s mind, and here it looms in an enigmatic science fiction story evolving from the mind of a 60s writer, one we’re already familiar with from In the Mood for Love. That makes it a film made in the mid 00s, set in the 60s, with visions of an uncertain future constantly on its mind. For Wong Kar Wai, that sounds about right.

And before I burn myself out digressing on the intellectual euphoria 2046 sends me into, I’ve got to make mention of just a few of the other things that are going so right here. If asked what I thought the sexiest film ever made was, this would be my runner up (marginally behind The Unbearable Lightness of Being) because it knows how to latch onto finer details and use them to elicit desire. It’s a stylization of fetishization, much in the way Mad Men often is, and the camera dwells at length on wisps of smoke, mysteriously gloved hands, shoes sliding back and forth across the hardwood floor. Passion simmers in these moments, building towards the elegant sexual release of each romantic tryst. And if you think can imagine how good it all looks, just wait till you hear how it sounds. The pulsating score will pull you into a symphonic spiral that carries you from the 1960s to the distant future and back again. Then there’s that cast, lead by the incomparable Tony Leung, who, like Guido Contini and Joe Gideon before him, is defined by the women in his life. They come in the form of Zhang Ziyi and Faye Wong, of Gong Li and Maggie Cheung, and they’re equally mysterious, romantic, compelling and, to be totally superficial, remarkably beautiful. And if that’s not enough reasons to watch, then I’m confused why you’ve read this far. (Tristan)

5. The New World (Terrence Malick, 2005)
I have not seen any other Terrence Malick films. And, typically, I get at least somewhat restless when watching any long film lacking a highly narrative plot. I hadn’t been sure of what to expec before watching this, but I know it hadn’t been one of extreme excitement. Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to like the film.

This movie proved that thought wrong. It showed me that, if I open my eyes a bit more, there could be a whole different world that I could experience, hidden within unusual gems of filmmaking. And this was one of them.

The film is long. I doubt I could recap the exact plot; I didn’t even catch all of it the first time I watched it. But that wasn’t the point. I was stunned at what I saw on screen. If a picture is worth a thousand words, than a movie should be able to inspire a million. Now, I’m not a man of many words, so I’m going to sum up the many adjectives that could be used to describe this film into one sentence: The New World is simply the most cinematographically beautiful film ever made. There is no doubt about it. For being two and a half hours long, it starts out gorgeous and never lets up. I did some research; the only use of CGI was to recreate a couple of extinct species. Everything else was naturally photographed, making it all that much more impressive.

The acting, too, is wonderful; I’ve really come to respect Colin Farrell within the past few years, due in most part to this film and In Bruges, and Christian Bale and David Thewlis are welcome additions in their supporting roles. But, at heart, the film is a love story set in the most natural of places; a world old to us, but entirely new to the characters. And the love is not based around dialogue, but rather the images, and the sounds, of the natural world surrounding the characters, immersing us viewers into a real world set so far away, proving a spectacle to the eye. Beauty can be found within every shot. There are few films I would consider to be true pieces of art, but The New World is definitely one of them. (Miles Johnson)

4. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr, 2000)
There are some films that have to be experienced first-hand; there’s really no way to coherently explain the plot of Werckmeister Harmonies, but one has to try. A circus comes to a small Hungarian town, bringing along the gigantic carcass of a dead whale, which may (or may not) represent natural order (harmony) in the universe. It’s deathly cold. There’s going to be an eclipse. Sinister political portents surround the ominous appearance of the “Prince” along with the circus. And suddenly, the entire metaphysical fabric of this town seems to dissolve in an orgy of violence.

Werckmeister Harmonies is not a film for everyone. It is extremely slow (only 39 shots in two and a half hours). It’s in a foreign language (which shouldn’t matter at all, but does, to many people). It’s in black and white (and has some of the most breathtaking tracking shots ever put to film). But I hardly notice the time when I’m watching this film. The goal is not to understand, but to feel, to let your mind wander, to immerse in the world of the film. It’s a truly rewarding experience. (Rahul Ragunathan)

3. Dogville (Lars Von Trier, 2004)
I was enamored with Dogville from the opening frame, a bird’s eye shot establishing the town as a shell, a blueprint built on an empty stage, where characters play out their lives in Our Town fashion with no realization of the theatricality of their living circumstances. The stage was quite literally set for a film that would challenge my perspective, and as I prepped myself for a ballad commenting on film versus theater, I was taken completely off guard as the film went on to tackle the whole of human nature. I should have expected nothing less from Lars von Trier.

Nicole Kidman at long last gets the role of her career. Grace, the mysterious stranger who stumbles into Dogville, is both the standard von Trier heroine and the best of them. Playing against her are the citizens of Dogville, the richest ensemble of characters in any film of the last ten years. To single anyone out would be to remove them from the fantastically compelling collective which they represent. They are Dogville, and Grace is the ever-present exterior force unto which they must react.

Non-specific spoilers: As Dogville approaches its final act, I find myself swept up in a swell of anticipation as I realize that rock bottom despair is about to shift abruptly into euphoric retribution. What I’m feeling seems to violate personal mores – the kind that sound good in theory, untested – yet there I am, deriving perverse glee from the brazen atrocities unfolding on screen. No film has ever incited such dramatic mood swings in me, and to answer the question of whether von Trier’s emotional fuckery is warranted, I say hell yes. Because like the results or not, Dogville challenges us. It rips us out of our comfort zone and forces us to consider what we might do in Grace’s place. And on paper it’s impossible to understand how misfortune could beget such rage, but von Trier’s cinema is as intimate as it gets, and Dogville awakens feelings we never knew we were capable of. It’s confusing. It’s scary. It’s great cinema. (Tristan)

2. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001)
Warning: Hyperbole ahead.

When asked to speak about Spirited Away, you will have difficulty finding the words, and not because you didn’t get it, or because you’re anything less than a master of words and wit, but rather for the fact that it is such a singularly unique vision that you are simply unpracticed in describing things so wondrous and new. Hayao Miyazaki animates with a fluidity that makes the most abstract of concepts seem grounded in reality. Colors so vibrant and alive that they almost become characters themselves. The film operates under the guise of a “coming of age” tale, but this mask stays on only long enough to immerse you so wholly in a world of magic and imagination that you simply have no choice but to, yourself, dive further into the adventure. While so many events and creatures in this film seem fantastic and unreal, there’s something very familiar about it all. Something you can’t quite describe, but you know it’s there. Things like love, loss, and growing up. And still other things like greed, fear, and betrayal. You realize quite quickly that you’re connection to the narrative is so powerful that it is a disservice to separate or segregate the film in any way from the pantheon of other amazing live-action films, simply because it is animated. Every frame a photograph, every line of dialogue too real to be written. The film transcends not just the decade in which it was made, but the medium itself, becoming a true work of art that will give even the most cynical realists pause to consider not just what it means to grow up, but what it means to be alive. (JD Forslin)

1. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch, 2001)Fall 2006, the point in time that I launched my Netflix account, was akin to the beginning of recorded history in my development as an incorrigible movie addict. I can point to a handful of films that I connected with on a meaningful level around that time, but not a one of them can hold a candle to Mulholland Drive. There was nothing before it, and in a way, there’s been nothing ever since.

Let me set the scene, fittingly, not such a different one from the way the film starts off. It’s in the middle of the blackest night, suck in a car on the roadside – for real, I was working as an overnight traffic attendant prior to an MSU football game. I sit in the car along with my friend Brian and to pass away the lonely hours, we watch movies from my laptop. I knew nothing of Mulholland Drive, and the only David Lynch film I’d seen was his comparatively normal The Elephant Man. But there, sitting in a car in pitch-black night, I first watched Mulholland Drive, and I’d like to think Lynch himself couldn’t have picked a better theater.

It changed me. I’d never before seen a film where I could spend the hour following engaged in serious debate over what exactly just happened. For that I’m lucky to have had Brian around, or I’d have gone mad on the spot from not being able to flesh out the thoughts running rampant through my mind. But Mulholland Drive is no intellectual mind-fuck of Charlie Kaufman caliber. No, what raises it beyond that is all the mystery and intrigue hits you on a truly emotional level. The definitive scene (of the film, of the decade, of all time?) two love-struck heroines sit together in the sparse and spooky Club Silencio. A chanteuse belts out a powerful song. A blue haired woman watched from the balcony. Our protagonists can’t help but cry, and inexplicably, we feel it. We don’t understand it, but we feel it.

And that’s what makes Mulholland Drive such a unique film experience. It allows us an astonish experience that runs the full emotional spectrum from passion to joy to devastation to terror without ever fully comprehending what’s going on. And what’s going on is entirely beside the point, not that it isn’t a blast trying to decipher the myriad riddles. For its sheer significance in my film development, for its brilliant sidestepping of narrative conventions, for its once in a lifetime performance by Naomi Watts, for its cryptic club that hits in the heart, not the head, for the man behind Winky’s and the foreboding cowboy of death, and for somehow, against all odds, actually working, there can be no other best film of the decade than Mulholland Drive. (Tristan)

Top 100 Films - 85-76

85.Ridley Scott convinced Harry Dean Stanton to sign on for Alien by likening it more to Ten Little Indians than the typical science fiction film. The comparison is apt. In the lonely isolation of space, the crew of the Nostromo is picked off one by one by an enemy they know next to nothing of. There’s a lot of terror to be mined from that situation, but the same formula has been mishandled by countless horror films ever since. Alien gets it right because it’s in no hurry to toss in a make-you-jump moment. There’s a solid 45 minutes of setup before things get critical, but those 45 minutes are so packed with a steadily building sense of suspense that when the infamous gut-busting sequence comes along, it’s justifiably one of the scariest things you’ve ever seen. And of course, that’s only the beginning of the crew’s problems.

Watching Alien is an instant reminder of a time when horror films could, on occasion, be great films. A cast of Ian Holm, John Hurt, Harry Dean Stanton and Sigourney Weaver on board does lend a bit of legitimacy to the project, but none of the characters just feel like bodies waiting to be torn limb from limb (even if that’s what they are). Weaver, in particular, is exceptional. It’s a performance as important as it is effective. Hollywood needed a female action hero. In Ripley, they got one to equal any male action heroes they had.


84.Sand clings to every frame of Woman in the Dunes. We’re used to sweeping cinematic shots of desert, but here’s the rare film that dissects that desert grain by grain. And if the vastness of the dunes seemed mind-boggling before, the idea of billions upon billions of particles surrounding you, keeping you in, is enough to overwhelm just about anyone. The entomologist finds himself trapped in a hole in the dunes, his only companion a woman who’s been there far longer than he has. They form a relationship that is beyond odd. They satisfy their every erotic need, yet can’t be bothered to help each other escape the sandy shack at the bottom of the hole. Faced with the infinity in grains of sand that surround them, they regress. Primal instincts take hold as their world closes in. It’s a film as haunting as it is beautiful, and like the grains of sand, its curiosities are endless.


83.Less a traditional choice than most films on the list, 8 Women earns its spot for successfully packing just about everything I love from movies into one. It’s a whodunit, and a clever one at that, so I was already bound to love it, but add to that the brilliant cast of classic French actresses, the high melodrama homage to Douglas Sirk, and the vibrant color palate that comes along with that and I’m hooked. Oh yeah, it’s also a musical. It’s by necessity over-the-top and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The cast is thankfully all in on it. The ladies are marvelous, from Catherine Deneuve and Danielle Darrieux to Emmanuelle Béart and Ludivine Sagnier. It’s Isabelle Huppert that steals the show though in a roll that’s fun to consider in comparison to her part in The Piano Teacher.

8 Women is based on a stage play that I’ve never seen and likely never will, but the adaptation to the screen seems to have been carried out successfully. The dialogue often fires back and forth at a rapid pace, and with no less than eight motives and alibis to keep track of, I find myself very thankful for the use of close ups. Yes, it passes my admittedly strict test of stage to screen adaptations. François Ozon uses the inherent advantages of cinema well. There are also the subtle references to classic films waiting for the right eye to pick up on them. Each character’s style harkens back to an actress of classic Hollywood for instance, and there’s that portrait of Catherine upstairs that seems to come straight out of Belle de Jour. But there’s no need to dig this deep. I fell in love long before I considered any cinematic merits it may have.


82.The film that ended Michael Powell’s career was among the best he ever worked on. Like any film tackling voyeurism head on, Peeping Tom is far creepier than it is terrifying, but that unnerving feeling that rides you throughout the film is all part of the horror. Powell brings back Moira Shearer for a far different dance than she stepped to in The Red Shoes, but here her audience is one man and his camera, and her stage a television studio. It was reviled upon release, unfairly so, but not unsurprising considering that the searing indictment of voyeurism here involves the camera itself, by extension the film, and therefore the audience. Its initial reception seems only to prove that the film hit its mark. It’s rightly considered a classic now, but to have seen it in theaters back in 1960, well, that would have been something.


81.
The entire experience of viewing Maya Deren’s Meshes of the Afternoon plays out like the most surreal of dreams. It last but a few minutes (around 14 I believe) but feels anywhere from mere moments to an eternity. That is, time steps aside as the viewer slips into a beautiful trance. A feverish mystery plays out before our eyes, but dissecting the dream while under its spell would do nothing except ruin the moment. Much as with a David Lynch film, it’s the experience of watching Meshes of the Afternoon that awakens the greatest emotions.


80.
Cheating, you say? Yes, well, I can’t really deny that. Kieslowski’s trilogy is connected only loosely, thematically and by an incident, but it just made more sense to include all three together rather than set aside separate entries for both Red and Blue (both would have made it regardless). And don’t get me wrong, White is wonderful, definitely the underrated one of the bunch, but the trilogy makes the list primarily on the strength of first and final installments. There’s far too much ground to cover so I won’t even attempt to break each film down measure for measure. Across the board we are treated to some of the most striking cinematography imaginable, adjusted for the appropriate color of course, with the visual resplendence of Red standing as the most unforgettable. Also present in all the films is Kieslowski’s empathy, perhaps the greatest asset in his direction. The performances he is able to glean owe much to his deep respect of the characters themselves. All are handled with the utmost delicacy. Irene Jacob and Jean-Louis Trintignant seem perfectly matched against each other, but the real marvel is Juliette Binoche. Her performance in Blue ranks among the finest ever.

Also, apologies on the lame graphic for the one. I considered picking through all three films (which I own) to make screencaps, but ultimately decided I’d never sum all three up in such few images anyway, so I might as well save myself some time. So yeah, between that and including a trilogy in one spot, I’m all about cutting corners here. Incidentally, if pressed to choose one, I’d go with Red.


79.
There’s two ways that I prefer to see horror films handled. They can be a spectacle, dramatic and elaborate deaths accompanied with buckets and buckets of blood, or they can run on practically nothing but the suspense and instability of their little worlds. Now, simple and stripped down are things I don’t abide well, but they can be strong assets in the best horror films. Repulsion witnesses a woman alone in her apartment gradually drive herself into madness. Catherine Deneuve has never been better, precisely because of the instability that her character brings to the film. Roman Polanski’s hand holds tight control, and lets the reigns loose at just the right time. His films often exist in collapsing worlds, and the mental world of Repulsion is darker than any other he’s given us. And trapped there in that apartment, we begin to mentally unravel with Catherine. It’s the best psychological horror film ever made.


78.I can only speak for the two Atom Egoyan films I’ve seen, this and Exotica, but damn do they have a way of lingering with you long after the credits stop rolling. The Sweet Hereafter, especially, really wrenches itself into your conscience. Like Exotica, the story springs from a tragedy, only here we’re familiar with the basic details from the outset. The fatal wreck of a school bus in a small Canadian town is enough to shake up life considerably for the community. Enter the lawyer, Ian Holm in his finest hour, urging them to sue for damages. Everyone involved has their reasons, and it’s a struggle to take a stand amid all the uneasiness these characters have toward each other. There’s a beautiful sorrow to it all, a sadness that extends far beyond the initial accident that looms over all the proceedings. And I couldn’t bear not to mention Sarah Polley as well. As the crippled survivor of the crash and the assumed voice of the community’s lost youth, she gives a positively devastating performance.


77.Few directors can get under our collective skin like Michael Haneke. Funny Games, as you may or may not have found out by now, is the great sadistic experiment of cinema. Cache isn’t quite as ruthless, and it certainly tortures us in a very different way, but Haneke’s mark is unmistakably there. That is to say, he’s still playing games with us. This time, it’s what’s held back that becomes maddening. An unknown stalker torments a family. The father hides a tumultuous past. The wife may be committing adultery. The son disappears. Secrets abound, but is doesn’t take long to come to terms with the fact that answers are not on the way. We’re treated to some disturbing memories, a continual accumulation of unsettling souvenirs and visual clues, and a brief moment as shocking as anything seen before on film, but they never come together in the end. But even the most tightly wrapped up narratives are rarely entirely satisfying. The ambiguity of Cache, driven home doubly by the shot that plays over the closing credits, gives us a film that never suffers upon re-viewings and can keep us scratching our heads time and time again. Also, Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche rock, but you already knew that.


76.Yes, I’m aware that this is the film sticking out in sore thumb fashion from the rest of my lovely list. Am I permitted a defense? Well of course I am, and I doubt it’ll convince you otherwise if you’ve already started scoffing. But here goes.

There’s obviously a nostalgia value here, but that alone wouldn’t have done it. I’ve trimmed countless films which I once obsessed over from my list because, well, they just weren’t that good in retrospect. Yet I’ve watched Clue more times than any other movie and while the direction is uninteresting and the set decoration is unusually stale for a mansion, it soars entirely because it’s running with one of the best ensemble casts ever assembled. The performances can’t get more campy and the clever, if ridiculous, dialogue is fired back and forth so fast that it’s a challenge to recover from laughing quick enough to catch the next bit. Most importantly, every last one of them is having a blast running amok in what is truly a madcap murder mystery. There’s not a week link, though Eileen Brennan as the overly dramatic Mrs. Peacock steals scenes like no one else, but then again Madeline Kahn’s icy husband-killer exterior is so perfect that I wish Mrs. White was always like that and not some stupid house maid.

Or maybe it gets a spot here just to deliberately knock my reputation as a movie-elitist down a notch. I’ll admit that it’s just plain weird to sandwich Clue in between Cache and the even loftier entry that’s to follow, but what the hell, these are my favorites and I couldn’t bear not to find some place for this one a list of 100.

Continue to 75 - 66.