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| Bub the Zombie in Day of the Dead (1985) |
In stark contrast to last year, during which I ran myself ragged trying to watch as many films as possible for no good reason other than I thought it would be funny, this year was pretty sedate. I spent more time trying to keep up with current movies rather than digging into movies from the past, and I also made the conscious effort to read more books this year, which necessitated watching few movies than usual. All of which is preamble to explain that this list is a lot shorter than previous years. It's still a pretty bumper crop of movies, even if the yield is not as hefty.
As always, the list is purely chronological based on release year.
Angel Face (dir. Otto Preminger, 1953)
Pitch-black noir that has all the luminosity and sensuality of Preminger's more renowned Laura (1944), but undercut by an even bleaker view of humanity. Jean Simmons is superb as a young heiress who goes to extreme lengths to free herself from her family life and get together with Robert Mitchum, but is then crushed by the realization that she’ll never be adequately punished for the things she did, or get the things she actually wants. She’s better in the second half when she gets to play guilt-ridden but with no chance of absolution, but I also found her quite compelling in the first half, playing less a femme fatale than a kid playing at being a femme fatale and taking it too far.
That Cold Day in the Park (dir. Robert Altman, 1969)
I filled in some Altman blindspots this year, and while I ended up being a little disappointed in Brewster McCloud (1970), a movie that a lot of people I respect love which I found merely good, this one kind of came out of nowhere and really impressed me. An effectively unnerving psychological drama that slowly ramps up the mental dissolution of one of its main characters until it hits its final fever pitch for an ending that is still quite distressing. It was interesting seeing Altman’s style being both clearly evident - particularly a pivotal scene at a doctor’s office where there is both overlapping dialogue AND an elaborate dolly shot - but not being quite there yet. Still, compared to some of his other early movies from this period, it's the earliest example I've seen of his style really being evident in the work.
Fedora (dir. Billy Wilder, 1978)
Comparisons to Sunset Blvd (1950) are pretty unavoidable given the obvious parallels - William Holden playing someone in the film industry (this time an old, down on his luck producer rather than a young, down on his luck writer) who gets involved with a reclusive retired movie star, directed by Billy Wilder in bitterly sardonic mode. But their differing perspectives on that material does make Fedora a rich text in its own right. Specifically, while Sunset Blvd had a jaded cynicism to it that comes from a young man mourning the fading stars of his youth, Fedora’s cynicism is much sadder; that of an old man mourning his own life and career. It’s a film made by a man afraid that he has become one of "the waxworks," supplanted by the “kids with beards” who had overtaken Hollywood in the previous decade. That gives a real acidity to all the lines about how they don’t make movies like they used to, since it no longer feels like a callow put on, but bitter resignation from an artist who knows his time has come and gone. Sunset Blvd is obviously the better movie - it looks better, the performances are better, the story is better (though Fedora’s plot does have an overcooked Gothic charm of its own) - but this feels like a potent bookend to it. Kind of a shame that it wasn't Wilder's final film, because it would have been a pretty strong statement to go out on. Certainly a stronger one than Buddy Buddy (1981).
Fast Times at Ridgemont High (dir. Amy Heckerling, 1982)
This has always been a movie that I see referenced in other things but had not actually seen myself until now. What a great time! Super funny, lots of memorable performances from future stars (Jennifer Jason Leigh, Sean Penn, Nic Cage) and perennial That Guys (Vincent Schiavelli, Taylor Negron, Anthony Edwards), delivered with the kind of furtive energy befitting a bunch of horny teens making bad decisions. It's easy to see why the scene of Judge Reinhold fantasizing about Phoebe Cates became the most referenced and parodied moment from the movie, but it's filled with some many great lines and small, authentic moments that it remains a tremendously rewarding and poignant watch, in addition to being very funny.
The Company of Wolves (dir. Neil Jordan, 1984)
A haunting and hypnotic fairytale that really draws out the sensuality and alluring menace of werewolf fiction, all delivered with impeccable production design. I thought this was going to be more of a darkly whimsical werewolf story, so was delighted when Stephen Rea started tearing off his own skin and it proved to be an altogether more visceral experience.
Day of the Dead (dir. George A. Romero, 1985)
Despite being a big fan of the first two …of the Dead films, and even a somewhat modest defender of Land of the Dead (2005) and Diary of the Dead (2007), I’d never seen this in its entirety. I'm glad I finally did, because it might be the best of the lot, and it’s certainly up there with Night (1968) and Dawn (1978) as one of the best zombie movies.
Romero’s social commentary is less obvious than in the other films, but the film is no less effective in its depiction of how society - even a small one in a bunker - falls apart from mistrust and an inability to communicate, and the various highly strung performances from the actors create a heightened atmosphere fitting the intense situation and the fable-like tone. Sherman Howard is the clear standout as Bub the zombie, giving one of the great horror movie performances that ranges from funny to sweet to heartbreaking.
Also features some of Tom Savini’s finest effects work, particularly in the final act when the zombies start overrunning the bunker. Extremely gruesome little details abound.
A tight thriller that makes great use of the contrast between its intimate settings - a couple of fairly small boats - and the scale of the location - the Pacific Ocean. That gives it a kind of two-fold claustrophobia; of being trapped in a confined space with a maniac AND also being miles away from anyone who could possibly save you. The three leads are all terrific, with Nicole Kidman being the highlight since she gets the most to do as 1. A grieving mother 2. A kidnapping victim and 3. A woman prepared to do anything to survive, all of which she excels at. I thought that they went one step too far with the final fakeout, but then they went and redeemed that with one of the best villain deaths I’ve ever seen in a movie, so it all balances out.
The White Balloon (dir. Jafar Panahi, 1995)
Ahead of the release of Panahi's latest film, It Was Just an Accident, I decided to dig into his earlier work, especially the films he made prior to being imprisoned and banned from filmmaking by the Iranian authorities, and this was the clear highlight. A delightful movie about childhood and the ways in which tiny dramas become mammoth through the eyes of a child, this story of a young girl trying to buy a goldfish, and the constant obstacles that keep getting in her way, is one of the best films ever made about being a kid. Equal parts funny and tense, I've never been riveted by people trying to fish money out of a grate.
Love & Pop (dir. Hideaki Anno, 1998)
As someone who finally watched Neon Genesis Evangelion during the pandemic and subsequently became fascinated by the broader works of Hideaki Anno (I also saw the re-release of Shin Godzilla in the summer, which was an utter joy and a real highlight of my moviegoing year), I'd been curious about this early live-action work of his for a while, and was very excited when it got a restoration which cropped up on streaming after a brief theatrical tour. The early digital cinematography is at times pretty harsh - even with the restoration there’s only so much you can do to clean up decades-old DV - but it is inextricable from what makes this such a compelling watch: the small, cheap handheld cameras allows Anno and his team the freedom to make a live-action film that matches the inventiveness on display in his anime work. The film is awash with unusual, startling compositions that convey the disjointed, shifting and confused emotional states of his teenaged characters, allowing for moments that are thrilling, giddy, and deeply upsetting. A great coming of age film, and a triumph of style as substance.
Platform/Unknown Pleasures/The World (dir. Jia Zhangke, 2000/2002/2004)
A little project I set myself this year was to catch up on the work of Jia Zhangke ahead of the release of his latest film Caught by the Tides, which is something of a culmination of his work to date. While basically all of his films from Platform on are great (and even his debut, Xiao Wu (1997) is very good, if rough), these three were the ones that made the most impact on me. That's in part because they represent a clear transition for Jia, with the first two films being made independently without approval of the state, and The World being the first of his films to be made with government approval. The difference really plays out in the scale of the films, with The World taking advantage of that official recognition to film at the Beijing World Park, a theme park consisting of replicas of famous world landmarks. You can immediately see a leap in ambition and scale in his work, even if his pointed critique of the impact of globalization on China remains unblunted. Yet even in those smaller earlier films, you can see a filmmaker wanting to make big points using small stories, trying to capture what it has felt like to grow up and live in a society that is transformed rapidly over the course of his lifetime. Of these three, I think I like Unknown Pleasures the best, but I was most impressed by Platform, which follows its troupe of performers over the course of a decade and manages to feel sweeping despite the understandable limitations of its production.
The Smashing Machine (dir. John Hyams, 2002)
Ahead of the release of Benny Safdie's (disappointingly shallow) dramatization of the life of MMA fighter Mark Kerr, I went back to the source and watched the HBO documentary that provided the inspiration, title, structure and tone of Safdie's version. (Though not without some difficulty, since the film isn't readily available anywhere at the moment.) It's an excellent, unvarnished look at the physical and emotional toll that fighting took on Kerr's life, which is never fully taken in by his soft-spoken, nice guy act. It's hardly surprising, watching this, that Hyams would later go on to be one of the most interesting action directors of his generation, since he shows an innate ability to use editing to make sure you feel every impact.
Metallica: Some Kind of Monster (dirs. Bruce Sinofsky and Joe Berlinger, 2004)
It's far from a new observation, but it is very funny that this documentary about the recording of Metallica's album St. Anger ends on such a note of triumph and catharsis, when the album was received as the nadir of the band’s output, and struck a blow against their credibility that they arguably never recovered from.
A fascinating, deeply unflattering portrayal of Metallica at a point in their career where they had been as much a business as a band for a decade, but were struggling to find the inspiration to keep the band side of things running, and were tearing into each other as a result. There’s a wry comedy throughout of seeing men who typified a specific kind of male aggression in metal trying to connect to each other through therapy speak, but it also is quite sweet seeing them try to find some way back to a friendship that seems to have slipped away while they weren’t looking. Far, far more compelling than any of the music they recorded during the course of it.
My Winnipeg (dir. Guy Maddin, 2007)
The fun of My Winnipeg, Guy Maddin's part documentary about the city of his birth, part fantastical reverie about the spiritual idea of the city of his birth, lies in how it blends real history and biography with whimsical imaginings so seamlessly that you very quickly lose the ability to determine what is bullshit or not. Horses running into a river and freezing in place to escape a racetrack fire? Seems plausible. Aged, possibly dead, hockey players getting together to play games in the ruins of a half-demolished stadium? Could happen. The city of Winnipeg stages a fake Nazi invasion of the city during the war to help sell war bonds? Obviously that couldn't happen! (It did.) Maddin's fascination with and mastery of the form of silent cinema allows him to muddy the waters about what parts of the history he's presenting actually happened and what is mere fancy, but in showing us what things he wishes had happened in Winnipeg's history, he also reveals something truthful about his own relationship to the city and his own past. To quote Leonard Nimoy on The Simpsons: it's all lies, but they're entertaining lies, and in the end, isn't that the real truth? The answer, is no.
The Angels' Share (dir. Ken Loach, 2012)
Very funny, both in the sense that it's a comedy that has a lot of good jokes, and in the more conceptual sense of seeing what it’s like when Ken Loach and Paul Laverty make one of those Full Monty (1997) copycats that break out every few years. What makes the film a pleasure is the inherent tension between Loach’s approach, which really focuses on the deprivation and precariousness of the characters - particularly the lead, Robbie, winningly played by Paul Brannigan - and the fact that it is another one of those scrappy underdog stories about a group of likeable misfits who band together to do something unlikely. (In this case: steal an extremely rare and expensive whiskey.) Rather than being in opposition, the approach and the genre synthesize very effectively. The scenes of Robbie being beaten and chased by his girlfriend’s brother and Brannigan’s depiction of Robbie’s hair-trigger temper make the more fanciful scenes funnier by comparison, and lend real stakes to the scheme. You truly believe that if they don’t pull their heist off, it could really be the end of the road for Robbie in one form or another, and makes their eventual victory all the sweeter.
Red Rocket (dir. Sean Baker, 2021)
Despite having liked several of Sean Baker's previous movies (particularly Tangerine (2015), RIP James Ransome), I skipped Red Rocket when it came out purely because the vibes seemed off around it. With Anora Fever gripping the nation during awards season, I finally watched it and, while the vibes were indeed off, it at least felt intentional since Red Rocket is a pretty great movie about a pretty terrible person. Baker and Simon Rex manage to make Mikey, a former porn actor who returns to his hometown and starts seduces a woman much younger than him so he can convince her to get into porn and be his ticket back to LA, so charismatic and compelling, while being totally clear-eyed about what a piece of shit he is. The way they slowly layer in his lies and deceptions creates a mounting sense of dread throughout, and you know that he's going to get found out somehow, just not how or how badly things will go for him when it happens. Lovely cinematography from Drew Daniels, too, which finds beauty in Texan oilfield malaise.