Ten for the High Road

Scottish films are for lovers.  Also drunks.  And junkies.  And feverish pagans with a torch to bear for law enforcement.  Since I identify with most of these categories, I feel a list coming on.

Top Ten Films Set in Scotland

The idea came to me last week as I exited the theater from a revival screening of the Powell and Pressburger classic, I Know Where I'm Going!.  Those who know me are well familiar with my belief that The Archers can direct circles around every filmmaker you hold dear, so little wonder that I left the theater that night in love all over again.  With Wendy Hiller, with P&P, and with the mystic Scotish Hebrides, a strong contender for my favorite cinematic backdrop.  Hence, I decided to cull together a little list.  Exactly what you were hoping for, I know.

Top 10 Films set in Scotland is what I chose to dub this.  Note that I didn't say Scottish films, though nearly all qualify for that distinction as well, but I didn't feel it fair to exclude several excellent foreign flicks that so beautifully capture the spirit of the land, nor did it seem right to make room for a (terrific) Scottish film like Morvern Callar, which spends much of its time abroad, when so many others would be equally deserving.  You will also notice the absence of Braveheart.  If this seems an oversight, then it pales in comparison to Mel Gibson's complete disregard for Highland fashion and historical fact.  And quality cinema.  The eviscerations abound.

Finally, a few honorable mentions, because there's a few other classics who's absence would not go unnoticed.  First, there's Andrea Arnold's modern surveillance drama Red Road, which truth be told, I didn't love as much as Fish Tank, but deserves a mention nonetheless.  Next, perhaps the definitive Scottish comedy, Whiskey Galore!, which treats a community's debilitating alcoholism with precisely the lack of gravity that it should.  Most drastically, I've just narrowly left off the heartwarming and hilarious Gregory's Girl, which perhaps I can only justify with another inclusion later on.  I was astounded that there wasn't room for this one in my top 10, but I do think the other inclusions make up for it.  Perhaps even more egregious is the lack of any adaptation of That Scottish Play, but we all know that the prize on that one goes to Throne of Blood, and feudal Japan is hardly the Scottish highlands, now is it?

And it's go, lassie, go.

10. Ratcatcher (Lynne Ramsay, 1999)

As atonement for my omission of Morven Callar, I threw Lynne Ramsay a bone with Ratcatcher, which admittedly, is a pretty fantastic inclusion itself.  Hands down one of the best depictions of youth in the last twenty years, and the exquisite framing and stunning photography are hard to resist.


9. The Wickerman (Robin Hardy, 1973)

Long before Nicholas Cage donned a bear suit and kicked the crap out of some women, The Wickerman had a reputation as one of the creepiest horror films of all time.  The original taps religious fanaticism for some truly terrifying situations, culminating, of course, in the disturbing and inevitable bonfire.  And Christopher Lee has the uncanny ability to make everything creepier, so more points for that.


8. Trainspotting (Danny Boyle, 1996)

The one you were no doubt waiting for.  Trainspotting more or less lives up to its reputation as the British film of the 90s (though it will always be Mike Leigh's decade to me), and it certainly made it abundantly clear that Danny Boyle was a force to be reckoned with.  The film is slick and cool and a total rush of blood to the head, and must-see viewing for any aspiring film buff.

7. Breaking The Waves (Lars von Trier, 1996)

Between this and Trainspotting, 1996 marked a great rebound for the Highlands, with Western culture still in the thrall of a Scottish history that never quite existed.  True, Lars von Trier is hardly on home turf here, but the breathtaking exteriors and Emily Watson's decade defining performance are so affecting that there's little else to notice.  Warm and fuzzy this film is not, but that's nothing new for fans of von Trier, who at least seems well suited to the Scottish fog and gloom.

6. The Edge of the World (Michael Powell, 1937)

Ye-gods, what a gorgeous film.  The single greatest argument for location shooting to come out of the 30s, with vistas as menacing as they are breathtaking (though curiously, Powell and Pressburger's Black Narcissus ten years later works equal wonders for the Himalayas, all on a studio lot).  This is a true labor of love for Michael Powell, and a unforgettable, endearingly pastoral movie-watching experience.

5. The Illusionist (Sylvain Chomet, 2010)

So this one's French.  Maybe, just a little.  And no less unconventional of a pick for being just shy of a year old.  That doesn't change a thing though, as The Illusionist was easily one of the great films of 2010, and not insignificantly thanks to the character that the brilliantly animated culture of Scotland lends to the proceedings.  The Edinburgh cityscape is something to marvel at, and the misty Scottish isle that the titular magician travels to is enchanting, but it's the local character that define the film, all lovingly drawn frame upon frame, for what may well end of being the animated film of the decade.


4. The 39 Steps (Alfred Hitchcock, 1935)

Though well-known enough in name alone, The 39 Steps remains one of Hitchcock's most underrated films, especially considering this belongs near the top of his top tier.  Any spy story that detours at length through the Scottish mores, and works in a train journey alone the way, is precisely my kind of movie.  The chemistry between Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll is staggering, and so their adventures across the countryside amuse and thrill in equal measure.


3. Shallow Grave (Danny Boyle, 1994)

Well look who's back: Danny Boyle and Ewan McGregor, in what comes dangerously close to the best thing either have done (better than Slumdog and The Pillow Book respectively?  the jury's still out).  What is certain is that Shallow Grave is a thunderous debut feature, a film that evolves from an above average apartment comedy to a disarming tale of suspicion and betrayal.  Shit gets real, and fast.  And Boyle's lively direction never lets our attention waver.  The guy's energy is remarkable, especially considering he has yet to slow down.

2. I Know Where I'm Going! (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1945)

The inspiration for this impromptu top 10 clocks in at last at #2, though on another day, it could land not only at the top, but near the top of my all time favorite films list.  I Know Where I'm Going! is one of the great movie romances, and certainly one of the most relatable of them.  And so much of that romance stems from the land itself, which is why this is for many the definitive Scottish movie.  It features a cadre of local flavor that could only exist on the mythic Hebrides, and the central romance is bound at the end to the very mythology of the isles.  It's a film of immeasurable beauty, one which has been proven to reduce a grown man to tears, though on that subject, I'm afraid I will have to keep mum.


1. Local Hero (Bill Forsyth, 1983)

There can be only one, one film to define my entire fascination with the people and culture of Scotland, and that film is the magical Local Hero.  Maybe it's that I find my love mirrored by the Western protagonist, sent to the fictional seaside town of Ferness as an emissary from Knox Oil and Gas, who falls truly, madly, deeply in love with the land he's been sent to develop.  It's a very simple film, but one with deeply endearing characters and the occasional well-deserved laugh, and it's a reminder of just how much mileage can be gotten from quality storytelling alone.  Without benefit of showboating that the Paddy Chayefsky's and Aaron Sorkin's of the world rely on, Bill Forsyth has here one of the greatest screenplays of all time.  Overflowing with local color, basking in the gray Scottish seaside, and knee-deep in tradition (is there a more rousing dance than a Ceilidh?), Local Hero is the one film I would steer and Celtophile to in a heartbeat, and one that's near and dear to my heart.

Terrence Malick's Party at the Dawn of the Universe

Terrence Malick's Tree of Life is going to either enthrall or infuriate you, and for the sake of laying all my cards on the table, I'll say I fall into column B.  The divided reaction has been par for course since the Cannes premier, and in retrospect it should come as a shock to no one, since Malick's films have hardly played to the widest demographic.  And yet it never occurred to me that my reaction would be anything short of awe, which could be on account of the hype, but I think more likely is because his last film, The New World, I'd proudly count among my 50-or-so favorite films of all time.  Nevermind that of his other three films, I only love Badlands, I was blindly certain that Malick wouldn't let me down.

Thing is, I'm hardly bitter about it.  Frustrated expectations don't equate to poor cinema, not in my book, and hopefully not in yours either.  Tree of Life was somehow everything I thought it would be, and yet not at all how I thought it would feel.  My opening pronouncement wasn't a pan so much as an attempt to chisel away at the wall of hype surrounding the film (an example of such excesses: Landmark Century was showing the film on four screens, mid-afternoon).  Of course, considering the scope of the film, from 1950s family tragedy back to the dinosaurs and out to the cosmos, hype was unavoidable, and let's not forget that at the helm sat the most mythically reclusive of directors.  Terrence Malick's fifth feature film in nearly forty years, Tree of Life is both his most ambitious and most personal, which oddly may be the very two things keeping me at a distance.

Ambition works in funny ways.  It's something I'd never want to curtail, and I'd rather watch an over-zealous misfire than something safe and lazy any day, but it can get to a point when there's just too damn much on the plate.  It's unfair to measure this simply through the amount of existing footage, but a correlation often exists there, and it only amplifies as things drift further and further away from linear narratives.  Somehow knowing scenes of a film are infinitely re-arrangeable takes away from the experience for me, not unlike the disappointment of grappling with various directors cuts and alternate versions of films.  That's not to say great successes can't emerge in this fashion, but Tree of Life never quite justifies its prehistoric tangents and other flights of fancy.  Makes for some breathtaking imagery though.

The deeply personal story at the film's core has more substance to it, though how resonant that will be probably hinges largely on your own upbringing.  Aside from the common ground of growing up with two brothers, very little here felt familiar to me, and I'd like to think that was why it never struck a chord.  For better or for worse, Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain are more embodiments of ideas than actual characters - to no fault of the actors, who are marvelous - because as the narration spells out all to clearly for us, they symbolize the way of nature and the way of grace respectively.  It's a dynamic that actually comes through magnificently with little help from dialogue whatsoever, save for the largely unnecessary voice-over, but again, it makes everything exceedingly hard to map onto most familial relationships, which are just a shade more complex.

But caveats aside, Tree of Life was still a very fine film, and that it's so obviously a labor of love isn't lost on me.  That's why when carefully considering what films, if any, this may have a counterpart in, I arrived at one and one alone, made of another mythic director of minimal output: Andrei Tarkovsky's Mirror.  Both are unabashedly personal journeys that we the viewer are asked to come along on, and while I get the sense that Malick, like Tarkovsky, got more out of his film than I did, it was still an expedition I was proud to come along on.  And with that, I hope I've found a way to sufficiently swing this review into the positive camp, because I really did like The Tree of Life, however miffed I may be that it didn't change my entire perception of cinema.  So, ladies and gentlemen, check your expectations at the front desk, but please, do give this film a chance.  I've got a feeling we'll be debating this one for some time.

Fear and Loathing on the Oregon Trail

There are a handful of reasons why Meek's Cutoff has attracted a trifle bit more attention than the average indie release.  Most notably, it's a Western, which in the current cinematic climate is like being the albino buffalo in the herd.  It also boasts a pedigree of indie film royalty, with a cast including Paul Dano, Bruce Greenwood, Shirley Henderson and the belle of the low-budget ball herself, Michelle Williams, who re-teams with director Kelly Reichardt after their critically lauded collaboration, Wendy and Lucy.  Notice that Williams takes the central role and, well, do the math from here, that makes Meek's Cutoff a female driven Western, albeit one that's low on dialogue and high on ensemble.  The results may bore casual viewers, or even offend fans of the genre's classic entries, but one could make the argument that Reichardt's film is a milestone for Westerns much in the same way McCabe and Mrs. Miller was forty years ago.

I don't know that I'd go quite that far.  Meek's Cutoff arrives in a year where female protagonists have taken almost as many beatings as they've given, but it plays out in a genre that practically doesn't exist anymore, and could make its point in a quieter way.  That sounds like a complaint, but it's actually a great strength of the film, and I wouldn't dream of holding against it all the problems in Hollywood it will fail to right.  What I love most about the film is the way it gradually assumes the female gaze, taking root early on as the important conversations of menfolk are observed at length from the road-weary wives.  Halfway through, William's character Emily has slid comfortably into the protagonist role, at one point even holding a gun to the titular Meek, the rugged, cocksure, and slightly bamboozled symbol of manliness in an outmoded genre.  The end, in one of those gloriously vague parting notes that will take some viewers time to come to terms with, is essentially a passing of the baton, and while it won't satisfy those looking for old western thrills, it perfectly fulfills the narrative Reichardt sets out to tell.

I suppose I can muster some sympathy for those seeking more excitement.  The stakes in Meek's Cutoff are clearly high, but I don't think they're raised sufficiently throughout the course of the film.  Fear exists in many shades on a trek across the Great Plains, but while Reichardt does a superb job establishing the dreaded threat of Indian attack, the cruel indifference of nature rarely resonates like it should.  But this is a minimalist Western, and since I did my homework, that's exactly what I went in braced for.  The nine characters of the film might as well exist in their own universe, and even the slightest hints of civilization are nowhere to be seen.  The barren screen still leaves a few things to marvel at, such as the postcard-worthy photography and lively costume design, but this is a film defined at first-glance by its pace.  If the thought of that turns you off, though, consider for a moment the second-glance, which through inverting the gaze of classic Westerns, has something valuable to offer cinema in 2011.

Top 30 Films of 2010

Otherwise titled, Tristan's 2010 Films Awards, Part 3.

I'm going to run some commentary as I go along so I'll keep the upfront talk to a minimum, but just to reiterate, 2010 was a pretty darn good year.  Hell, I could probably have stretched it to 40 with the likes of Please Give, Inception, True Grit, Easy A, Restrepo, How To Train Your Dragon, and even the totally bizarre Wild Grass.  But instead you get 30, which is a totally arbitrary number, though it does allow me to give shout outs to a few other films that I couldn't fit into the rest of the nominations, but are still worth a look.  But since this is has accidentally turned into the Old Country Buffet of awards lists, I'm going to be forced to make my cinematic ruminations similarly indigestible.  So be warned, little actual insight ahead.

Shall we proceed?

30. Map of the Sounds of Tokyo (Isabel Coixet)

Maybe it's not a good way to start a list with a film that I would call a mild disappointment, but I've been impressed with both Coixet and Rinko Kikuchi before and given the premise, I thought this tale of a Tokyo assassin has a lot of potential.  Turns out it was just good, enough to land a spot in my top 30, but then again, barely.  It's lovely to look at, and I can't fault the performances, but until the very end, it's a bit lethargic.


 29. Alamar (Pedro Gonzalez-Rubio)

Here's another gorgeous film to behold (look at that frame above, and if this suffers from anything, it's from being too fleeting.  It's a tranquil blend of documentary and fiction, and an insightful look into a culture that from a city-dweller's perspective seems full of simple pleasures.


28. Let Me In (Matt Reeves)

Egads, a remake!  And of the most sacred of all vampire movies no less. Sorry purists, I liked this one better, maybe not a lot better, because Let The Right One In was good too, but it is soooooo not even in the top 20 best vampire flicks ever.  And yes, I do hate puppies.


27. Secret Sunshine (Lee Chang-dong)

Some truly impressive, heavy Korean drama, the kind that cycles through 360 degrees of emotions in its nearly two and a half hour running time.  It's anchored by not one, but two terrific performances, and though future generations of film buffs will debate what year it actually garnered a release, it's down in my book as 2010.


26. Night Catches Us (Tanya Hamilton)

One of the better surprises of last year for me was this underrated gem from first time director Tanya Hamilton.  Sure, it helps that we get the always dependable Anthony Mackie and Kerry Washington, and a killer score by The Roots, but even the direction feels surprisingly assured for someone right out of the gate.  Looking forward to seeing more from her.


25. Micmacs (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)

It's no Amelie, but it probably rivals that as Jeunet's most fun film, which is to say it's never too bogged down by weirdness not to be simply enjoyable.  The main character lacks the spark of most Jeunet regulars, but the supporting crew is top-notch and a true delight to observe.


24. 127 Hours (Danny Boyle)

Funny that I still can't decide how whether I love this film or just really like it.  I do love Boyle's kinetic direction and A.R. Rahman's soaring score, but it's also the kind of film that without these elements I would otherwise want nothing to do with (see Castway).  Rest assured, any obstacles to the grueling human survival story are more than overcome here, and I really have no complaints to lodge whatsoever, but I also know that there are several other Boyle films I prefer to this one, including the far more uneven, if no less ambitious, Sunshine.


23. Fish Tank (Andrea Arnold)

Another great surprise, and one that I kept putting off all year because I wasn't sure I'd like it.  Wrong.  It seems to particularly hit its stride when dealing with the problems of love in all the wrong places, and Michael Fassbinder gives a terrific performance alongside amateur Katie Jarvis.


22. Around a Small Mountain (Jacques Rivette)

Alright, I cheat.  I saw this film back in 2009 at the New York Film Festival and even included it on my yearly awards last year.  But it didn't get a theatrical release until 2010, so in an effort to course correct, I'm considering eligible once again.  It also may very well end up being Jacques Rivette's final film, so how could I not include it twice?


21. Blue Valentine (Derek Cianfrance)

A bit of a downer, this one is, but thanks to two fantastic performances at the center, a beautiful downer through and through.  The flashback sequences and the central scenes in the sleazy motel with a "Future Room" were highlights.


20. Red Riding: 1974 (Julian Jarrod)

The start of murder mysteries are always so much more fascinating than the conclusions, aren't they?  That's why this first chapter in this saga of investigative journalism and police procedurals is the best of the bunch.  It also stars Andrew Garfield, Sean Bean, and a bloody fantastic Rebecca Hall.  Worthy a look?  Absolutely.


19. A Prophet (Jacques Audiard)

A superbly taught prison film that probably demands I justify why it's not higher on my list.  Well, I personally consider it a victory for prison films, a genre which I have very little interest in, that I could love something as much as I did this.  Tahar Rahim is a force to be reckoned with, and his transformation over the course of the film is surely one of the best performances of last year.


18. Animal Kingdom (David Michod)

One of the best written films of last year is this terrific Aussie crime drama of a family on its slow and steady way out.  A handful of great performances across the ensemble bring each character into the picture and wisely not all at once.  It's fantastic storytelling, and totally deserving of the supporting actress nod for Jacki Weaver, playing the menacing matriarch of the clan.


17. The Social Network (David Fincher)

Count me in the Social Network should have won camp, although I don't really hold a grudge against The King's Speech, which was perfectly enjoyable Oscar bait.  Here's a film that's certainly not without a few flaws, but it's timely as hell, and ambitious to boot.  The writing is sharp, if sometimes too clever, but thanks to Fincher's totalitarian hand in it all, everyone is playing to their strengths.  I'm eager to rewatch it, and I can see it gaining in my ranks even more, but suffice it to say, I'm impressed.  Fincher and I haven't always agreed in the past, but I'd call this a great success.


16. White Material (Claire Denis)

Claire Denis is probably the finest female director working today, and while I don't always love her films (though some, some I love unconditionally), I always leave them feeling totally familiar with her very regional approach to filmmaking.  Here she returns to Africa, the continent of two of her greatest successes, Beau Travail and Chocolat (no, not that one) and with the incomparable Isabelle Huppert at the front, she creates her finest film since Friday Night.  Beautiful and brutal at the same time.


15. Terribly Happy (Henrik Ruben Genz)

Best described as a Danish Hot Fuzz with the stakes upped considerably (Miles, I think you get credit for that), this was still one of the most entertaining movies I saw last year, and probably one of the best written.  Great performances - wish I could have singled some out - and I really loved the ending.  And with this one being instant-watchable, there's no excuse to miss it.



14. Winter's Bone (Debra Granik)

Given how much I hated Frozen River, I worried that I would be in for more of the same with Winter's Bone.  Couldn't have been more wrong.  As Ree Dolly, Jennifer Lawrence gives a tremendous performance, and she's tenacious enough to make a compelling protagonist out of.  The assist from John Hawkes only makes things better.


13. Vincere (Marco Bellocchio)

It's good to see the Italian movie industry on the rebound after a long and mostly unremarkable period following the passing of Fellini and the heyday of Giallo.  Marco Bellocchio's Vincere is a great feat of directing and a bold look into a side of Mussolini's life most are not familiar with.


12. The American (Anton Corbijn)

Here's one you probably have heard of, though that unfortunately doesn't mean this fantastic old-school, art house action film had been seen enough.  If you're wondering why, my description above should clear things up for you.  The American was just insanely good on a level I never expected of it, while Clooney doesn't have to do anything but carry himself like the classic movie star he is, I for one could use a little more of that in movies these days.  Unfortunately, he's one of the few who can pull that off.


11. Tangled (Nathan Greno and Byron Howard)

OK, here's one you've definitely heard of, and also the highest ranked film on the list not to show up in my previous nominations.  Tangled was exactly what I was looking for after finally having grown disenchanted with the unstoppable reign of Pixar.  Here's a film aiming specifically to recapture the glory of Disney's 90s era and damn near almost achieving it.  That's fucking impressive, and if it's still no Beauty and the Beast, it does so much right that I feel comfortable calling it a return to form.  The music was merely good, but the voice-work was fantastic and the art direction was stunning.  See above.



Which leaves us right on the doorstep of the top 10.  Drumroll, please.




10. The Ghost Writer (Roman Polanski)

Speaking of return to forms, here is Roman Polanski, at nearly 80 years old, turning out a most assured and masterful thriller that only just falls short of his masterpieces of ages past.  It helps that it goes out on such a memorable note - the final shot is picture, and jesus does it stick with you - but I knew right from when I saw it in March of '10 that it would remain one of my favorites of the year.  Plus, Olivia Williams gets to be awesome, and that alone will win me over every time.


9. Carlos (Olivier Assayas)

Carlos the Jackal gets an epic 6-hour feature film (or depending on your viewing platform, miniseries) from the multi-talented European art-house extraordinaire Olivier Assayas.  It's a monumental undertaking and easily one of the great cinematic achievements of the year, which makes it seem almost unfair to stack it up against these other measly two-hour features.  But my awe at the ambition of the project aside, I think it looks good right here in spot number 9.

 
8. Never Let Me Go (Mark Romanek)

Here's one where I won't spoil any surprises, because part of my love for this film was from how off-guard the turn in its premise got me (I haven't read the book, though now I know I must).  What I will say is that this is an overwhelming tragedy, and on a list with quite a few of those already, it handily trumps them all.  It's also got a trio of terrific performances from Carey Mulligan, Andrew Garfield and Kiera Knightly (who we can all stop hating now, right? because she's awesome), and some gloriously gloomy visuals.  Must see melancholia.


7. Ondine (Neil Jordan)

My, my, what a beautiful movie.  More than just turning his career around midway through last decade, Colin Farrell has actually grown into one of the finest working actors we have, and that he can take time so make such a stunning modern day fairy tale as Ondine is testament that he's finally got things figured out.  In fact, this could very well have made my top three except the script kind of fumbles the third act, but not nearly enough for me to turn against it.


6. Mother (Boon Jong-ho)

Here's the other film that appeared on my awards last year, garnering a similarly respectable placement.  Actually, considering that it's former inclusion probably influenced my ranking slightly, Mother would be totally deserving of a place in the top 5, and it was agonizing to decide between these.  There's really nothing I would change about this thriller, which from all I can tell is flawless from top to bottom, all stemming, of course, from Kim Hye-ja's phenomenal performance.  It's also a great entry point to Korean cinema, and just happens to be one of the best I've seen so far as well.


5. Another Year (Mike Leigh)

The film from last year that proved most impossible for me to shake, and it just steadily rose in my rankings the more I contemplated it that it settled all the way here at number 5.  Another Year is really just a continuation of Mike Leigh's career long probing of the UK working class, but it rings so true and delivers a brutal punch in the gut that could only ever happen from realizing how human these characters are.


4. Bluebeard (Catherine Breillat)

Bluebeard is important because it forced me to challenge the preconceived notion that I hated Catherine Breillat and her approach to filmmaking.  Granted, this bears little resemblance to the odious Fat Girl, but I still put this off for some time for fear of repeating past mistakes.  But instead, she's gives us an exquisite fairy tale (a recurring genre for me this year, like, really really recurring), executed with a minimalist touch that no one save Robert Bresson could have done better.  Quite and enchanting, it's everything I love in a movie, including its ability to confound my expectations.


3. Enter The Void (Gaspar Noe) 

The stuff of dreams and nightmares.  If you dig Gaspar Noe and his self-indulgent cinematic explorations (as I tend to), this may trend more toward dream, but for those not on board, it's going to be an interminable few hours.  At least the visuals are gasp-inducing, and even if I thought they were empty (which, nope, I don't) then they would still elevate the entire film to the level of something, well, something on the far left field of cinema.




2. The Illusionist (Sylvain Chomet)

Here's a recurring theme across every list of Tristan's favorites: I love animation.  Love it.  More than my unborn children (one of which who will almost certainly be named Nausicaa).  And what a coincidence, I also love Jacques Tati, the late, great master of French comedy.  So ever since I got word that Sylvain Chomet, of Triplets of Belleville fame, was adapting an unfilmed script of Tati's, I knew I would be there opening night.  It turned out to not quite be opening night, but I was there sure enough, and to use the most obvious term, it felt magical.  There's so much love and affection behind these characters, and such breathtaking animation surrounding them, not to mention that it made for the perfect love letter to one of the greatest directors of all time.  And even with a heart-breaking turn of events at the end, it's still never less than enchanting, and without doubt one of my favorites of the year.



1. Black Swan (Darren Aronofsky)

"It was perfect."

Much like Inglourious Basterds last year, Black Swan attempts off the bold feat of ending the film on a singular line that doubles as a self-appraisal.  And like Inglourious Basterds, against all odds, this somehow works.  No, the film isn't perfect, or not in the seamless sense that most will take it.  There are rough edges, a few inconsistencies, and a few lines of dialogue that just don't ring true, but whatever, perfection in that sense can often translate to boring, and I like my films a little rough around the edges.

I also like them, from time to time, to be batshit insane and not give a tinker's damn about the overrated concept of subtlety.  Black Swan is so committed to its indulgences that I can't help but stand in awe of Darren Aronofsky for pulling it all off, and that goes especially for the spectacular climax, the year's most superbly orchestrated scene by miles and miles.  Throw in a career defining performance by Natalie Portman and you've got what's sure to be one of my favorite pictures of the decade, let alone year. 


Thanks for dropping by everyone!  Looking forward to the year ahead, with a few great films already under my belt and some promising ones on the nearby horizon in Tree of Life and Melancholia.

And I don't know exactly how soon this is happening, but I have an exciting side-project along with a cinematic wiz-kid friend of mine that I can't wait to unleash on you all.  In due time though.

Cheers!

Certified Copy

One of the tragic realizations in the early stages of my movie fanaticism was the precious lack of great films that I had the chance to see in the theaters. For years, the only film that met that criteria for me was the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but I'd call that a small consolation compared to what it must have been like to watch, oh, say Chinatown or The Third Man or The Red Shoes when they first hit the town. But I don't know if it's because of my move to Chicago (most likely) or that movies in general are just on the upswing (entirely possible) but the last few months in the theaters have been the best stretch I've ever had.

Yesterday's feature was Certified Copy, and those who know anything about my taste in film won't be surprised that this one's been on my most anticipated list for a very long time (for those who don't, the short and sweet of it is that I could watch Juliette Binoche remake Jeanne Dielman as an 8-part miniseries and stare wide-eyed every minute of it). Bias prevailed - as it often does - and already as soon as March, 2011 has a film to rival the three goodness-to-gracious masterpieces that 2010 produced (which ones those are, you'll have to wait a few weeks for my yearly awards to find out). But if I know I loved it, I'm not entirely sure why, and it's telling that the primary thought on my mind as I strolled out of the theater was "I've got to find time to re-watch this." That's not happened yet, so bear with me as I stumble through this dicey recap.


There's a few things you need to know about Certified Copy and a whole mess of things you don't. The former are the facts, just the facts, and the later I will skirt around as much as possible while attempting to persuade you to find out for yourself. It's a very international film. Director Abbas Kiarostami, widely regarded as the greatest Iranian director of all time, has not only made his first film abroad, but also his first with an actress of professional caliber, and they don't come much more professional than Ms. Binoche. She's of course French and her onscreen partner James is played William Shimell, a British opera singer by trade. Their story (if it's really their story at all) plays out on an afternoon tour of Tuscany, a little in French, a little in Italian, and fair share in English too.

The result is something more accessible than I imagined, but I mean this more in the sense that I was never bored and I don't think most interested moviegoers would be either. Sure, there's a lot of intellectual debate on the nature of originals and copies raging on throughout the film, but Kiarostami seems to find amusement in undercutting these dry points whenever possible, so the conversation continues to play on while the camera (or, more often, Binoche) finds something new to preoccupy her attention. The result is that instead of blasting us with some cosmic point to it all, these ideas of duplication quietly lodge themselves in our subconscious, continually breeding reassessment of character dynamic as it morphs from one thing into another entirely.

A lot of people have been comparing this to Before Sunset, but that doesn't sit right with me. Spoken with due respect to the Linklater film (which I love), there's just a whole lot more going on in Certified Copy. Maybe if Before Sunset collided with Last Year at Marienbad while it had its nose buried in Walter Benjamin's essay "Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" we'd be somewhere closer to the truth. What that makes this is a member of the elusive genre of puzzle films, albeit a rarity even there because this is largely an emotional, not an intellectual, exercise. My desire to revisit it pronto has less to do with walking out befuddled than with the knowledge that there is definitely more here to be gained by repeat viewings.


All this has totally sidestepped what makes Certified Copy so intriguing. Suffice it to say that it's a very dynamic film, one in which the characters are not necessarily what they seem. This would almost certainly not work with a lesser actress than Binoche, who bears the full emotional heft of the movie squarely on her shoulders. I'm not kidding around when I tell people she's the greatest actress alive, and I can't fathom anyone else hitting the same joyous and tragic notes she delivers, all while being able to throw blind trust toward her director and screenplay. In that sense, I'm reminded much of Naomi Watts in Mulholland Dr., and this may just be the best performance since that perfect-storm ten years ago.

I'll wrap by reiterating that I'm dying to see this again, but also that I'm dying to sit down with someone else who's seen it and bounce thoughts off each other until new meanings and interpretations begin to eclipse everything I initially imagined. It's just that kind of film, and if that sounds intimating, I apologize, because all this analysis trash that I'm talking is ultimately irrelevant. The film, however, is not, and it deserves to be seen. This cannot be stressed enough.

The Leopard: An Appreciation of the Theatrical Experience

"Something will have to change, for everything to stay the same," or so the rough translation goes. It's a thought repeated twice throughout Luchino Visconti's The Leopard, and the second time it's uttered, here by Burt Lancaster's majestic Prince Don Fabrizio Salina, it's with a whimper of dignified resignation. He has come to understand that the life of decadence his class has been privileged must end and make way for a new order, even if the new will ultimately resemble the old. Indeed, by the end of the film, we meet the new boss, who is born in a lavish ballroom wedding that doubles as the funeral party for the old aristocracy. Fabrizio has time to come to terms with his fate, but that doesn't make his heartbreak any less palpable. Once more, he is a good man, a great man even, and it's devastating to watch Garibaldi's revolution make him a kind of sacrificial lamb. Yet as breeding and birthright compel him, he weathers it with grace. That is what the regal leopard does.


Lancaster is the princely model of physical strength, yet fraught with fragile emotion that will from time to time bubble to the surface. His presence in a foreign production (even of this caliber) is atypical for an American actor of the time, though soon to become a bona-fide trend, one that he, along with Ingrid Bergman and George Sanders a decade earlier, helped pave the way for. But his talents truly show here, and his interpretation of the proud and wounded Fabrizio stands as one of the ten best performances ever put to film (dubbing be damned, proof this can still be the universal medium). And it's not as if he's the only one pulling his weight. There's Claudia Cardinale, who heaves and quivers more convincingly than any actress I've ever seen, and is treated, as are we, to the greatest entrance among the cast. Romolo Valli's Father Pirrone racks up one hysterical moment after another, Rina Morelli's aging Princess conveys with volume the fears the Fabrizio so carefully restrains, and Lucilla Morlacchi successfully carries the burden of justifying, to both the audience and her father, exactly why it's time to put the old aristocracy to rest. Lastly, there's Alain Delon, displaced like Lancaster and at the top of his game, though the difference here is that the dashing Frenchman makes it all look easy. Adorned in the most opulent costumes ever captured on film, the cast comes together in a cinematic epic for the ages. Visconti was never better, and you'd be mad to think anyone could be.


Ah, time for context. Not that I'm not allowed to extol the virtues of any film I damn well please from this little pulpit I built for myself in this largely unexplored swatch of the internet jungle, but it's not been that long since I covered Visconti's masterpiece as part of my Top 100 Films countdown. But this was the occasion, a newly restored print of The Leopard screening at the Gene Siskel Film Center, and there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to see one of my favorite films on 35 mm (An opportunity that was unheard of while I was in Michigan, but I'm going to have to get used to now. The Siskel is also showing Repulsion, Cache, and Eyes Without a Face, and that's just this month!). In short, nothing could have kept me away from the theater tonight, and I'm immeasurably glad that I went. To all film lovers out there, never pass up a chance to see a favorite (or perhaps a classic you've never caught up with) on the big screen, especially if we're talking celluloid. If you think some time that you could never love a film more, then just wait till you see it projected in a black box, surrounded by dozens of other lifelong students of cinema.


I sound like I'm romanticizing the experience, but there's a genuine rush from the communion of viewers, not just in this theater, but across every theater showing the film (in this case, The Leopard) stretching all the way back to its premier (in this case, in 1963). Put less arduously, tonight I watched The Leopard as if for the first time, regardless of the fact is was my third. The colors and costumes exploded like they never had before (credit to the marvelous restoration for that) and the panoramic Italian vistas were never more breathtaking. And here I found proof that some films just haven't been seen until they've been beheld at the cinema. From my 17 inch computer monitor, I could recognize the brilliance of The Leopard, and even fall hard and fast for its scope and performances, but tonight I felt the electricity of one of the great films of all time, and that's something only a handful of my favorites can boast. If you'll pardon the ridiculously obvious (groan-inducing, even) comparison, it was the difference between seeing a leopard caged up at a zoo and observing one free in the wild. The moral of the story: let's never forget that the place to see movies is the theater, because that will be the day that cinema drops dead.