Poltergeist (Tobe Hooper,* 1982)

As always, there's some stuff in here that could be construed as spoiler-y. Happy Snowy Halloween, folks!

Just like the Steven Spielberg-directed films Close Encounters of the Third Kind and E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (which was released a week after this film), the Steven Spielberg-produced supernatural horror film Poltergeist takes its audience to American suburbia. However, whereas those first two films are (in their own way) celebrations of suburban life, Poltergeist is a condemnation. In fact, Poltergeist reveals that suburbia's underbelly is quite literally teeming with rotting corpses.

Poltergeist is a haunted house film where the house in question is far too new to have ghosts. In fact, the house is being haunted precisely because it is new and its very presence offends the spirits.

I put the asterisk next to Tobe Hooper's name above—perhaps unfairly—to indicate the mini-controversy/debate surrounding who really directed Poltergeist. Although Hooper is credited as being the film's director, numerous accounts (as well as simple observable details) suggest that Spielberg (on top of being the credited writer and producer) was the true director of the film.

Though Spielberg has since insisted that Hooper was (is) the true director of Poltergeist, comparing the film with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (Hooper's prior directorial effort) then with Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, or Close Encounters (Spielberg's) suggests otherwise. Poltergeist unmistakably looks like a Spielberg film, from its shot compositions to its score (where Jerry Goldsmith is doing his best John Williams impersonation).

Again, this could be incredibly unfair (I obviously wasn't there on the set and have spoken to absolutely no one involved in the making of the film), and I don't mean to disrespect Hooper (who did direct my favorite horror film of all time, after all) but I'd assert that Poltergeist ultimately represents Spielberg's, not Hooper's, vision. And ultimately, that's where I'm coming from with this entry.

Just as Gremlins would later be the dark and twisted version of E.T., Poltergeist is the evil twin of Spielberg's 1977 film Close Encounters. In fact, if watch the scene in the former where Carol Anne (Heather O'Rourke) and Robbie (Oliver Robins) Freeling are attacked and abducted, followed by the scene in the latter where little Barry is taken from his mother, you could be forgiven for thinking they're from the same movie.

Whereas E.T. and Close Encounters ultimately evoke wonder while offering a touch of dread, Poltergeist reverses that balance—it evokes dread while offering a touch of wonder. And make no mistake: early in the film, when Diane (JoBeth Williams) notices the chairs in the kitchen slide across the room, the paranormal activity taking place in the Freeling family's house does inspire wonder. Then later that night, when the giant misshapen tree in the yard reaches into the kids' room and tries to eat Robbie and Carol Anne is sucked in through the closet wall to some sort of alternate dimension, the sense of wonder ends and the enervating horror begins.

(In fact, the movie does a really good job of conveying how draining the haunting is for the Freelings. After Carol Anne disappears, look at Craig T. Nelson's face in the following scenes. Through the bulk of the second act he looks as though he literally hasn't slept in days.)

Here's one example of how the spirits within the house torment and terrorize its inhabitants. I suppose I'd label it NSFW. I mean, if your boss walks by and sees you watching it, it may lead to some awkward conversations:

(I'd also like to point out that, like Jaws, this film was rated PG when it was originally released.)

In Poltergeist, the suburbs are not romanticized—they are a literal source of evil. When the opening credits roll, we see row upon row of sprawling identical houses, spanning out indefinitely. "I can't tell one house from the other," says one prospective homebuyer when Steven (Nelson), a real estate broker, shows off a house in Cuesta Verde, a suburb that, in Steven's words, his "company built."

In another early scene, Steven's wife Diane discovers that their daughter Carol Anne's pet bird has died. So, she and Carol Anne give it a funeral by putting it in a cigar box with a napkin for a blanket, a rose, some food, and other items, then burying it in the yard. We'll see later that all this care and respect will be for nothing, as a bulldozer will unceremoniously dig it back up and spill it back out onto the ground.

I realize I'm describing it to seem like a heavy-handed and clumsy bit of foreshadowing, but in execution it's actually quite deft and subtle—primarily because we're not let onto why all this aggressive paranormal activity is taking place in the Freeling family home.

And just why is all hell breaking loose in the house? This could be a clue as to why.

Thaaaat's right. The company that built the town unceremoniously mowed over a cemetery and desecrated the graves of countless souls. Oops.

Sure enough, the Freeling family gets the hell out of there before the house literally implodes and Steven's boss (who apparently gave the go-ahead to move the headstones but leave the bodies behind) inexplicably gets no comeuppance. Cue the subsequent following of two horrible yet inevitable sequels.

And because no write-up on Poltergeist would be complete with a reference to the traumatizing evil clown doll in the kids' room, here you go. You're welcome.

(Seriously, what little kid has that fucking thing as a toy? I suppose the same little kid who has a poster for Ridley Scott's Alien on his wall.)

With Poltergeist, which had another director credited, Spielberg was able to explore the dark side of his more wondrous, child-friendly creations yet keep himself at a safe, arm's length distance. Yes, Spielberg gave the world E.T. But the week before, he also gave the world that goddamn clown doll.

Never sleeping in a room with a clown doll,

James "Just...Smart That Way" Comtois

Hazardous Cargo by Bryan Enk

Nosedive Central's good pal Bryan Enk, producer-director of The Big Bad, made this short film, Hazardous Cargo, last year for Nosedive's 10th Anniversary Gala. It's now up and available online. It makes me smile. Featuring Becky Byers.

Happy he has his thumbs,

James "Hazardous Playwright" Comtois

Cranking 'Em Out

I've always admired those creative types that consistently turn out new work at a rapid rate. Folks like Woody Allen, Steven Soderbergh, Stephen King, Louis CK, Dave Sim. People like these—and several others—who produce new works in their respective field at least once or twice a year (or in Sim's case, once a month). Prolificacy is something I've always looked up to. Hell, even with creative types whose work I hate, I've still been impressed with their productivity.

Some of it's motivated by compulsion. No matter how many times he's announced his "retirement," King clearly just can't stop—or slow down—writing. Woody Allen has said in interviews he makes a movie every year because it takes his mind off his life and feels restless when on vacation for too long (he also comes from a background in television, where you don't have the luxury of waiting for inspiration to strike before creating—you have to produce content week in, week out, no matter what). Some of it's dictated by the rules of the field. Monthly comics, like television, have to produce on a fixed schedule. And some of it's motivated by good old-fashioned work ethic. Louis CK announced that he's going to start from scratch with material every year, and come up with an hour's worth of new material annually. (Even amongst other professional stand-ups, this is unheard of.)

Whatever the reasons—and look, I don't know these people personally, so I'm not interested in engaging in too much mind-reading armchair psychology—there are creative types that are known for being unusually prolific in their medium, and it's something I've found incredibly inspiring and compelling.

This is not to say that the output of these people is always gold (there are many films by Woody Allen that I've found seriously rushed and underdeveloped), or that I don't appreciate, admire or enjoy the work of those artists who meticulously take their time with seemingly forever to complete their projects (the Kubricks, the Malicks, the Flauberts, the Brian Wilsons and Lauryn Hills). It's just that when contemplating my own work, I've always wanted to be in the former camp in terms of creative output.

I'd rather write and stage 20 plays or more in 10 years that are hit-or-miss than two in the same timeframe that are considered (by either myself, the audience, critics, or some combination of all three) masterworks.

Although I'd like to consider myself prolific in the playwriting field, it really seems I'm just on par with the scene (my buds and colleagues Qui Nguyen, Derek Ahonen, Joshua Conkel, and Jeff Lewonczyk among many, many others, are all staging one new play a year or more). I guess for folks like us, it's inconceivable to do less. I mean, we love doing this, we can do this, and we're fortunately in a position where we can get our work staged the way we want it staged. So what's the alternative? Just not write?

Lately, however, I've wondered about the advantages of taking considerably more time to work on a new script or project. Now that Nosedive is over 11 years old, we no longer have Something To Prove (we've done over 20 shows in 10 years and have two new shows lined up for the summer; I think we can be seen as an actual theatre company at this point). We can afford to take time between productions.

Also, at this stage of the game, I don't want to just be producing solely for the sake of producing: writing a play simply because we've got an open slot in the upcoming season that needs filling.

In other words, I don't want to just be marking time.

And again, hey: I'm still a huge fan of Stanley Kubrick. Maybe there's something to taking a substantial amount of time in creating something. So maybe, after 11 years of writing and producing theatre at a steady clip, it'd be worth looking into being more meticulous with the next project.

Besides, wouldn't it be fun to spend over a decade producing two to three new works a year, then go into hiding for a year or two (or three), then unveil some new long-in-the-works secret project?

(This isn't to say that I'm against revising or rewriting, but just that the revision process is still part of the fast turnaround—a month writing the rough, a month putting it away and working on something else, then a month revising.)

Well, it doesn't seem to be sticking. I've quickly found that "taking my time" rapidly devolves into "procrastinating writing," which in turn rapidly devolves into "not writing at all."

It's not that I've run out of or am having a tough time coming up with ideas. Quite the contrary. I've currently got a number of ideas I'm contemplating. But I'm really only doing just that: contemplating. I've been procrastinating, dragging my feet, waiting for one of these ideas to grow on its own before making a decision to cultivate (translate: write) one.

Yeah, clearly this method of creating just isn't for me. In some ways, at this stage in the game, I wish it were. But I don't think I have it in me.

So, although this season—Blood Brothers, Captain Moonbeam & Lynchpin, and possibly Infectious Opportunity—has already been written (not counting if we're invited back to the Vampire Cowboys' Saturday Night Saloon), there's currently nothing yet written for 2012. Which means that needs to change. And soon.

This also means I need to make sure this isn't just a case of me marking time: it means I need to follow Louis CK's philosophy of keep working, keep producing new material, but make sure every new work is better than the last.

We'll see how this goes.

Back to work.

Breaking for nobody,

James "Spaceball One" Comtois

Speaking at the December Fear Mongers

Hey, gang. For those of you still in the city, I'll be speaking at the Clay McLeod Chapman-curated lecture and Q&A Fear Mongers: Fireside Chats About Horror Tuesday night about the first horror film I saw in the theatre: Gremlins.

The fun takes place at Dixon Place on 161A Chrystie Street Tuesday, December 21 at 9 p.m. It's free, so make your reservations by calling 212-219-0736.

Also, check out clips, talks and interviews from previous Fear Mongers events here.

I've had a blast being an audience member for this series since Clay launched it in September, and now I'm doubly-psyched to be one of its guest lecturers.

Utterly terrified,

James "Public Speakerphobe" Comtois

Accidental Genius

Over at the AV Club, Leor Galil interviews Michael Stephenson, former child star of the wonderfully inept Troll 2 and director of the new documentary, Best Worst Movie, about the cult phenomenon behind, well, you guessed it.

With Bad Movie Night being a staple over at my sister's place, we've discovered that some nights are indeed busts. That's because it's easy to find bad movies, but it's not the easiest thing in the world to find sublimely enjoyable bad movies, no matter how many good friends you surround yourself with, and no matter how many judgement-impairing chemicals or social lubricants are available (or drugs and alcohol, as the kids are calling them nowadays).

Some movies are just horrible pieces of shit: cynical "high-concept" studio films without an original idea behind them. Karate Dog. Santa With Muscles. Theodore Rex. These are not fun bad movies to watch; they're depressing and soul-crushing. They've been made solely to pander to the lowest common denominator by people with no talent, and it shows with every frame.

Some movies are just unpleasant to sit through, no matter what frame of mind you're in.

Then you have the films that are clearly (or at the very least, suspiciously) aiming to be fun bad movies, and they suck precisely because they're trying to be bad movies, like After Last Season and (to a lesser degree) Repo: The Genetic Opera (although this isn't so much trying to be a bad movie as it is trying to deliberately be a "cult" film) These movies are trying to gain cult status, and therefore missing the very point (cult films becoming such after organically cultivating a devout following).

Finally, if you're patient enough, or get a good tip, you come across the genuinely enjoyable bad movie: something that you watch multiple times and encourage those who haven't seen it to watch it multiple times with you. Movies that are, in odd ways, deeply personal misfires, sometimes (almost painfully) revealing the souls and psyches of their makers.

Here's part of the exchange between Galil and Stephenson that nails the appeal of Great Bad Films:

AVC: When directors promote their movies as bad, does it somehow negate the very reason people go to see bad movies?

MS: I think it takes away a little bit from the very reason why people come together and enjoy these types of movies, and that's because they are genuine failures. They weren't meant to be what they are. What's happened is accidental, and it's accidental brilliance nonetheless, but it is not something that was strived for in the production of these films.

AVC: Aside from the accidentally bad qualities of these films, what else do you think qualifies a good-bad movie?

MS: The fundamental quality, obviously, is complete sincerity and absolute lack of irony.

Now, obviously, there's no formula for Great Bad Movies, precisely for the same reasons why there's no formula for a genuinely Great Movie. The elements that make Tommy Wiseau's The Room a Great Bad Movie are different than what make Tiptoes a Great Bad Movie. Hell, we've seen some achingly sincere, personal films during Bad Movie Night that are crushingly dull, and clearly focus-grouped-to-death films that are excellent (if not great or Great) bad movies.

But sincerity does go along way: trying to make one kind of picture and ending up with something completely different out of sheer ineptitude and/or insanity (contrary to the retconning/backpedaling ads calling The Room a "laugh riot," it's pretty clear there's not an ounce of irony in the movie itself).

(The only reason why I'm not saying sincerity is essential is because some genuinely enjoyable bad movies, like Hard Ticket to Hawaii or Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf aren't born out of any compelling desire from their makers to communicate something personal or profound with its audience. But although sincerity isn't mandatory, it's more often than not crucial; and irony is death for a Great or great bad movie.)

Ultimately, you have to wade through lots and lots of different kinds of crap before you get to the genuinely good butt-nuggets (to coin a lovely phrase). Sometimes, it's definitely worth it. Other times, you end up watching Sorority Boys.

Wanting to share The Butterfly Effect with the gang,

James "Advocate of Ass" Comtois

Inception

UPDATE: There are elements of the discussion in the comments section of this entry that may qualify as spoilers.

Christopher Nolan's Inception may be one of the best movies I found massively disappointing. Is it fun? Definitely. Is it inventive? It sure is. Is it worth seeing? Absolutely. Is it the mind-blowing masterpiece that many critics and audience members are calling it? Not even close.

For a movie where people seem desperate to avoid any sort of spoilers, this is a doggedly linear film with very few—if any—twists (a la Memento or The Prestige). It's being touted as another puzzle or maze film (much like Memento), which I actually find misleading and inaccurate. For a movie that takes place in dreams within dreams within dreams, it's pretty damn straightforward.

Also, for a film dealing with going into the realm of dreams and the subconscious, it's pretty mundane. I kept thinking, "This isn't a dream landscape, this is the set of a James Bond film showdown," or, "The inner recesses of one's mind looks a great deal like downtown Chicago." And when you consider there are so many (better) films out there that deal with the realm of dreams and the subconscious—Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Mulholland Dr., Synecdoche, New York, even popcorn entertainments like The Matrix and Total Recall—I couldn't help but think that Inception's take on dream logic was strangely lacking.

But enough slapping Inception around. I don't want you to get the impression that I didn't enjoy this movie (I did) or that I don't recommend it (I do).

(I should also point out that Memento and The Dark Knight are two of my favorite films to come out in the past decade, so I will admit that my expectations for this film was pretty damn high.)

So let's talk about what Nolan & Co. get right with this movie (which is a great deal).

Without giving too much away, Inception is about a team of corporate thieves led by Leonardo DiCaprio that specializes in stealing ideas by infiltrating their dreams. Don't worry about how this works: the bulk of the first act is spent explaining the rules of this job and world. After a quasi-botched job, they're approached by a mysterious corporate bigwig played by Ken Watanabe who wants to hire them not to make an "extraction," (their term for stealing ideas), but an "Inception." In other words, he wants them to implant an idea in a competitor's mind and make him think it's his original thought.

DiCaprio's partner, a surprisingly dapper and badass Joseph Gordon-Levitt, says it's impossible, since the mind can always trace the origin of an idea, but DiCaprio begs to differ. We in the audience do, too; not for the same (deliberately untold) reasons DiCaprio knows, but just from simple common sense. (Studies have shown that the mind actually is notoriously bad at tracing the origin of ideas—but I guess never mind that.)

At first DiCaprio & Co. refuse due to the excessive risk and difficulty, but Watanabe makes DiCaprio an offer he can't refuse. I won't reveal what it is, but it has to do with Leo's deliberately elusive and troubled back-story. Then we get into the "getting the team together to organize the heist" portion of the movie, which is actually quite fun. This is where we meet Ellen Page, who's brought in to serve as the architect for the dream world they're creating for their target (Cillian Murphy).

The story is actually very fun and engaging. It's also one of the few movies where I didn't mind that it stopped for 45 minutes to simply explain the rules of this world to Page us. (This is, after all, how most heist films are done; after getting the team together, the team then plans out the heist in semi-meticulous fashion, a la Rififi). And, at two hours and 45 minutes, it flies by.

And my previous complaints about the mundane look and feel of the dreamscapes aside, the effects are quite nice and not aggressively in your face. The effects serve the story, not the other way around, and the action sequences are clear and coherent (although again, this may be a detriment for a movie like this). They also range from the spectacular (the anti-gravity fight in the hotel lobby; the opening sequence) to the disappointingly mundane (the previously-mentioned James Bon-esque setting).

The acting, as is the case with the acting in almost all of Nolan's films, is top-shelf. DiCaprio is breaking out of his pretty-boy routine and looks quite well, and looks downright haggard and downtrodden in this. (He actually also looks a bit pudgy and bulky in this movie, which works in his favor, oddly enough: it adds some metaphorical weight to his screen presence as well.)

As for the rest of the cast, Page works well as the audience's surrogate. Michael Caine obviously makes a nice cameo here, and is also obviously engaging. Again, I was really surprised and impressed with how...there's no other hyphenated word for it...kick-ass Gordon-Levitt is in this as well (though having seen and liked Brick, I really shouldn't have been so surprised). Watanabe and Murphy are also solid and spot-on, as are Tom Berenger, Tom Hardy, Dileep Rao and Marion Cotillard.

Inception is ultimately a very fun and inventive heist film. Just don't go in expecting something more than that.

Still quite impressed with Gordon-Levitt's badassery,

James "Nolan + Cast of 10 Things I Hate About You = Acting Magic" Comtois

Daybreakers

(Since I'm working on a play about vampires at the moment and since one of my half-dozen readers asked why I stopped writing reviews for movies, I figured now would be as good a time as any to write up my thoughts on a film I just watched in my Netflix queue that was released in theatres earlier this year.)

Daybreakers takes place in 2019, when vampires are now in the majority and humans are an endangered species. That vampires now rule the world is made clear during the opening credit sequence, which shows a completely abandoned city during the day, then a metropolis teeming with fanged commuters getting their blood-filled coffee on their way to work after darkness falls.

In this vampire-run city, Ethan Hawke plays Edward Dalton, a hematologist and reluctant vampire seeking to create a synthetic blood replacement, since the human population is dwindling and recent reports suggest that the vampires' food supply (received mainly via comatose farmed humans) will be depleted by the end of the month. Reports also show that vampires become deformed feral monsters after only a couple of weeks of being deprived of human blood (complete with pointed ears, claws and bat-like wings).

The concept of vampires brought forth in Daybreakers is an inventive one, and one that makes perfect sense if vampires did in fact exist. In a short period of time, yes, vampires would radically outnumber humans, since all the humans would eventually either die or become converted. This means that the vampires' food supply would become scarce, then eventually extinct. The problem is also exacerbated when you consider that vampires are traditionally immortal, which means you now have to deal with feeding a species that will only grow in population but never die out.

Edward hopes that a blood replacement will put an end to the hunting and farming of humans. His boss Charles, however (played with demonic precision by Sam Neill), cares about profits and the bottom line, and still believes in capitalizing on the farming and selling of human blood for consumers willing to pay a little extra "for the real thing." What I particularly enjoyed about Neill's character is that he's much more of a corporate monster than a traditional one, fangs aside. This is one of the many nice touches that the movie offers, showing it is interested in conveying ideas rather than just showing off a penchant for gore (although wow, there is plenty of gore as well).

Edward eventually meets up with a band of humans led by Willem DaFoe who think they may have found a cure for vampirism. And here's where the movie brings in its most "take it or leave it" through-line. I won't reveal what the supposed cure is, but it may stretch the viewer's suspension of disbelief, even for a movie about vampires.

There are also a number of subplots in Daybreakers, including a through-line dealing with Sam Neill and his estranged (human) daughter, another concerning Ethan Hawke's strained relationship with his brother, and a whole subplot involving the government's callous handling of the starving feral vampire population. However, the movie doesn't feel overstuffed and handles these threads well (albeit somewhat truncated).

I admire the ideas and social commentary scattered throughout the movie (particularly in scenes like the one where a mini-riot breaks out at a Starbucks-like vendor when it changes its blood-to-coffee ratio). True, the commentary isn't exactly subtle, but then again, neither is the commentary in the films of George Romero.

I also admire that the film's writer-directors, Australian brothers Michael and Peter Spierig, delay the perfunctory shoot-em-up ending for as long as possible to continue doling out intriguing details of the world they've created (and might I add that the movie looks nice and slick, with the central city resembling elements of the cities found in Brazil, Blade Runner and Minority Report, yet still maintaining its own look). I also liked the cars and how they're set up to enable daytime driving.

Although I understand why, I think the reviews for Daybreakers were a tad unfair. No, it's not a mind-blowing work of art. Yes, it's a tad overstuffed. Yes, it's concept of a "cure" for vampirism is more than a little iffy. And yes, the final 10 minutes are as uninspired as its first 10 minutes are inspired. But despite these flaws, it's got a lot more going for it than many critics had led me to believe (hence me not seeing it in theatres during its original release). It's got a higher level of ambition than most mainstream horror films have had in the past decade. It has a new angle on the vampire tale. It has enjoyable performances (particularly from Neill and DaFoe). It has fun ideas. And hey: it also has lots of gore.

Liking his social commentary
to be chock-full of ultraviolence,

James "Lowbrow Philosopher" Comtois

Thumbs Down. Wait! Thumbs Up...?

As I've already nattered on at length about my enjoyment and fascination with film and theatre criticism, I was incredibly pleased to see that the deliberately dumbed-down version of At the Movies was scrapped (dumping Ben Mankiewicz and Ben Lyons) and brought back up to snuff by bringing on two critics, A.O. Scott and Michael Phillips, who actually think and care about movies. I also really liked reading this brilliant essay by Noel Murray at the AV Club rightfully praising the re-revamped show.

I particularly dug and related to this section:

"Some cineastes have blasted Siskel & Ebert for their thumbs-up/thumbs-down reductionism and their dispatching of movies in three minutes of conversation, but those nay-sayers likely didn’t watch the show week-in/week-out. I’d argue that Siskel & Ebert did more to foster a broad interest in artful cinema than any critic ever has.

At the least, they showed that it was possible to talk about the movie business on television without having it be all about money or gossip. It just about crushes my soul when I tune in the red carpet coverage on Oscar night—or even the cable news coverage on nomination day—and suffer hosts who clearly haven’t seen or even heard most of the movies they’ve been assigned to cover. The guiding principle of most movie coverage on television is that viewers are interested in celebrities, not the work that makes celebrities."

Emphasis mine.

So I was definitely disheartened to read shortly thereafter that At the Movies is being cancelled. That this announcement immediately follows the news of Variety letting go of its chief film critic Todd McCarthy and its chief theatre critic David Rooney made the cancelation of the series all the more upsetting.

However, all is not lost. Roger Ebert has just announced that he and his wife, Chaz, are in the planning stages for producing a new film criticism show. He offers some details, but only some. Fortunately it sounds less of a "pie in the sky" plan and more of a "we actually have a few balls rolling" deal. This makes me hopeful.

I also agree with Mr. Ebert when he writes that he and his wife "believe a market still exists for a weekly show where a couple of critics review new movies."

There has to still be a market for a show where people talk and think about the work that makes celebrities, not just the celebrities themselves (or rather, what the celebrities are wearing). There has to be a market for a show where reasonably intelligent people to cut through the thick fog created by the PR machine and go, "this movie is Garbage!" (and let me tell you, it's refreshing to watch the archived shows and hear the late Gene Siskel exclaim that about a film with such conviction; it's almost unheard of in this day and age where the bulk of mainstream commentary on film is so soft-pedaled). And there has to be a large enough demographic out there that actually cares about movies, and wants to think about what to go see.

Anyway, I am hopeful.

I guess that's it for me for this week. Have a good weekend, folks. I'll catch y'all on Monday.

Not knowing where to shove his thumb,

James "Suggestions?" Comtois

S&Man (J.T. Petty, 2006)

Note: Due to the difficulty in getting a copy of this film (it's neither on Amazon.com or Netflix as of this writing - Mr. Clay McLeod Chapman lent me his copy), odds are that most of you reading this have not seen this film. So, unlike most horror film posts, I'll try to keep spoilers to a bare minimum.

J.T. Petty's S&Man (pronounced "sandman") is a profoundly disturbing and thoughtful film. I almost can't talk about it without giving away what makes it so unnerving (I also don't want to overhype it). But suffice it to say it gave me the retroactive willies several hours after watching it.

Originally intended as a documentary about a peeping tom from Petty's childhood town who videotaped thousands of hours of footage of his neighbors without their knowledge, S&Man becomes a documentary of sorts about the subculture of underground horror films when the peeping tom refuses to be interviewed.

The primary subjects of the documentary are Bill Zebub, who makes films with titles like Jesus Christ Serial Rapist, Fred Vogel of Toe Tag Films (director of August Underground) and Eric Rost, who makes the titular S&Man series, who becomes the real focal point of the film (for reasons I'll explain later).

Amidst the interviews with these filmmakers and documentary footage of their incredibly disturbing films, we have various talking head interviews with a "scream queen," a professor, a sexologist and a forensic psychologist who talk about, well, horror, fetishes and fetish films. The film then explores ideas of the audience's desire to have a visceral relationship with film (which is one the many reasons I enjoy horror films), with voyeurism, and with the desire to see the taboo.

Though primarily dealing with horror films, S&Man explores the connection between voyeurism and all filmmaking, and tries to get to the bottom of our fascination with violence and torture. It also suggests throughout that very few of us - if any - are really immune.

As a result, especially since I would consider myself a fan of horror films (duh), this film is one of the most unsettling and unnerving film-viewing experiences I've had in a while.

What's amazing about S&Man is that it genuinely wants to examine the appeal of horror films (even extreme ones), not just finger-wag at those who enjoy them. There's sincere reflection and contemplation here, not just easy - and smarmy - self-righteousness. (As a fan of horror films, I do find this ubiquitous and knee-jerk form of moralizing tiresome.) Petty is, after all, a director of horror films, so he has a great deal of love and respect for the genre.

One of the talking heads hypothesizes that often, insecure men who are unsuccessful with the ladies (or, "nerds," in the parlance of our times) enjoy watching pretty girls getting destroyed because they represent the girls that have rejected them all their lives.

(While the Berkeley professor and horror film scholar hypothesized this, I was reminded of watching a double-bill of two horror films with Steph and Yustin from Nosedive Central a couple nights before: one intelligent and thoughtful [Ginger Snaps, which I hope to write about as a future horror film post] and one incredibly stupid [Freddy Versus Jason]. Watching these movies back-to-back, it was interesting to see the stark contrast of how the films treated its young female characters [we popped in FvJ because Katharine Isabelle from Ginger Snaps was in it]. In Ginger Snaps, the teens are portrayed as believable, thinking and sympathetic characters, with relatable anxieties, frustrations and personalities. In FvJ, they're just stock, two-dimensional killer fodder: insipid hateful hardbodies who convey no discernable or interesting personalities. When they talk, it's only in clichés and/or to convey plot.)

There's also the flip side: while some horror films are designed to have the audience live vicariously through the killer, others are designed to have the audience live vicariously through the victim. (Halloween, for example, brilliantly offers both. The opening scene is literally from Michael's point of view, whereas the third act is completely from Laurie's.)

Watching this the first time round with bud and co-conspirator Abe Goldfarb, we noticed that these underground horror films covered in S&Man (based on the clips shown and the interviews from their makers) don't offer any reflection on, context for, or catharsis from its violence. There's no room for fear or pity, no room for thoughtful or sympathetic identification. Most of these films portrayed are designed for the viewer to offer identity with the killer, who is mostly killing personality-free pretty girls. They're made-to-order films to accommodate the fetishes of the filmmakers' audience base. Hell, even Bill Zebub says early on in the film: "I don't shoot these movies to be a piece of cinema, I shoot it so perverts give me money." Guess you at least have to admire the honesty.

(I'll also hand it to Vogel: although his films seem to be the most over-the-top and depraved in terms of content (think original Last House on the Left but more bloody and sadistic - yeah, I know), Vogel himself seems to be the most professional and put-together of the three filmmakers. He's mild-mannered, prefers to collaborate with people he trusts and who trust him, and it's clear that making his collaborators feel like they're in a safe environment is a major priority. In environs such as these, that's no small thing.)

Then, during the last third of the film, Petty is more explicit with the film's real subtext and goal: it's the hunt for the mythical "snuff" film (that most-likely fake subgenre of film where people are actually killed on camera).

And here's a good time to talk about Eric Rost, creator of the S&Man series. Oh, boy. Oh, boy.

Amidst Vogel, Bill Zebub and the experts talking about (amongst other things) snuff films, Perry tries to get more information from Eric about his brand of films and, more importantly, the truth behind the making of them.

According to Eric, a pudgy guy who lives in his mother's basement (seriously), he likes to follow pretty girls around and videotape them without their knowledge. Then, he approaches them, abducts them, and kills them.

The "episodes" of the S&Man series just has names of the girl's first name, followed by how they're killed. Here's a trailer for one of Eric's S&Man movies (NSFW):

The thing is, the more Petty grills Eric for information about how he makes his films, the more coy and evasive Eric gets. One minute, he talks about them like they're scripted films with consenting actresses, the next, he complains that one of the women ruined his shot because she "tried to escape." No, the women aren't aware that they're being followed...at first. No, they haven't taken any legal action once he's revealed himself to them. Has he kept in touch with any of the women afterwards? Nnnnnnnot really. Usually after filming they...part ways. When Petty asks for any of the women's contact information, Eric suggests that Petty give him his contact info, and he'll relay it to the women, so they can decide if they want to be interviewed.

He can't seem to give a straight answer. When Petty really starts to push him for honesty, Eric gets mad, and tells Petty and his crew to get lost (some of this can be found in the trailer above).

What the hell is going on here? Is Eric just trying to play up the mystique of his films, or is something more stomach-turning going on here?

BEGIN MILD POTENTIAL SPOILER WARNING HERE. Petty does give us an answer to these questions - sort of. Many people may find the conclusion of this film a cheat or horrific betrayal. (Although let's not get into the odd can of worms concerning why a veiwer may be disappointed with the ending.) For me, I found the ending is precisely what gives the film its power. In a way, the film not only becomes the very thing it's exploring, but transcends it. It gave me the creeps like you wouldn't imagine and forced me to rethink what I had just seen - specifically, the scenes centered on Eric, particularly when he pretends to choke a very uncomfortable-looking Petty - which chilled me to the bone. END MILD POTENTIAL SPOILER WARNING HERE.

Ultimately, the film is not about the makers of these depraved films so much as it is about us (which may be another reason why some folks may not be keen on the ending of the film). S&Man posits that one of the many desires that a viewer of horror films (or, really, anyone - not all those people rubbernecking to see a car wreck on the highway enjoy horror films) has, ranging from perverted and prurient to natural and primal, is to be punished and hurt in some way. And it spends its 90-minute run-time proving its point to the viewer, starting out as a rather pedestrian documentary about underground horror films then slowly and steadily becoming something more profound and unsettling.

Both more thoughtful about the
genre and freaked way the hell out,

James "Let's Watch A Romantic Comedy Now" Comtois

Another Interruption

I guess I'll continue the trend of leaving Friday's blog posts reserved for non-self-producing errata. For those of you that are interested, the commentary bits for my Top 50 Films of the Decade have all been completed.

Click here for the top 50-26.

Click here for the top 25.

Regular blogging on self-producing will resume next week.

Until then, have a good weekend, folks. BE somebody.

No one in particular,

James "Him?" Comtois

Avatar

Despite some top shelf effects, James Cameron's Avatar is shockingly underwhelming. Yes, the effects are brilliant, but film cannot live by effects alone. So the movie surrounding the effects? Overlong, pedestrian and forgettable.

Avatar is set in 2154 on the far-off moon of Pandora, where the plants glow like a blacklight painting, mountains float in midair and a race of giant blue Smurf-cat natives, the Na'vi, live indigenously on the land. The humans are on Pandora to mine a valuable mineral called unobtanium, but the Na’vi live on the largest deposit of said silly-named mineral and show no signs of moving.

In order to move about Pandora, human scientists have genetically engineered human-Na'vi hybrids called avatars, which are controlled by genetically matched human operators. Sam Worthington plays Jake Sully, a paraplegic former marine who arrives on Pandora to replace his murdered twin brother as an avatar operator. Using his avatar, Jake inadvertently infiltrates the Na'vi clan via an oddly sexy Smurf-cat, Neytiri (Zoë Saldaña), who, at the behest of her mother, teaches Jake the ways of the Na'vi. This, of course, makes Jake an undercover agent for the marines, and, of course, of course, he starts to become conflicted as to where his loyalties lie: to the marines who want information, or to the Na'vi and Neytiri.

Now, let's talk about the effects first. Like I said, they're top shelf. Yes, they're game-changing, jaw-dropping, astounding, all that. The giant Smurf-cats look photo-real. And the hovering mountains and vistas are breathtaking. And the CGI creatures look believable: their skin glistens with sweat and they don't look backlit like most CGI creations. If you must see it, absolutely see it in IMAX 3D, since there's no reason to watch this on a television set.

Okay, enough of the effects. Let's now talk about, y'know, the film itself.

What bothers me about Avatar isn't the story. The whole point of big budget blockbuster fare is that the story is supposed to be simple and familiar. What bothers me is the storytelling. If the movie's going to be such a by-the-numbers tale (and this really is just a rehashing of Dances With Wolves mixed with a bit of Ferngully and Pochahontis), it needs some clarity and personal flare, and Avatar has neither.

I didn't find it remotely moving or touching. For such a long movie, the characters and story felt oddly thin and underdeveloped. The entire middle section feels like a 50-minute montage. There isn't a single character in this movie that I cared about. The love story between Jake and Neytiri feels rushed and perfunctory. The politics of the film are also intelligence-insultingly reductive (Corporations BAD! Military force BAD! Nature GOOD!).

It also felt like crucial elements to the story are missing. Why is this unobtanium so important? Sure, we're told it's worth a lot, but why? Plus, what are the rules of the avatar? If the avatar is killed, does the person operating it get killed? We're never really told or shown (well, we kind of are in the tail end of the movie...kind of...I think). And seriously, if we're going to go through the trouble of watching Jake learn the language of the Na'vi, why does he spend 99.9% of his time only speaking English to this race that clearly speaks English just fine?

You may be saying I shouldn't worry about these sorts of things and just go along for the ride. I agree: I shouldn't worry about these sorts of things. But since I am, this is the fault of the filmmaker, not the audience member.

I know, I know. I should be wowed by the effects alone. And yes, let me repeat: the special effects are amazing. But with such films as the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, King Kong or even the original Star Wars available, shouldn't we expect more from our "rules-changing" spectacle films? Are we just wowed by pretty pictures alone, no matter how sloppy and reductive the film itself is?

At the end of it all, Avatar feels like an impressive demo reel that goes on for far too long.

Preferring Ferngully,

James "Meh" Comtois

Little Jimmy's Top 50 Films of the Decade (Part Two)

For the introduction and entries 26-50, click here.

***

25. Requiem For a Dream
(Darren Aronofsky, 2000)
I swear, watching the almost unbearable final 30 minutes of Aronofsky's brutal and stylized portrait of four junkies being thoroughly eaten alive by addiction (make that Addiction) makes me feel like my heart is in a giant vice. The first time I saw Requiem For a Dream a small part of me wanted to bolt out of the theatre, but since a.) I couldn't breathe or move and b.) couldn't "abandon" these characters, and c.) I was just as stunned as I was horrified by what I was watching, I did not. What an amazing and intense movie, possibly one of the most visually stunning, accurate and relentlessly bleak films about addiction ever. But definitely not for the squeamish.

24. The 40-Year-Old Virgin
(Judd Apatow, 2005)
Although Judd Apatow has become a superstar in the past couple years, producing and/or writing something like 80 comedies a year (okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but still), to date, he's only directed three feature films, two of which (the overrated Knocked Up and the touchingly personal Funny People) I've found deeply flawed for different reasons. His debut film, however, The 40-Year-Old Virgin, is his one film I not only find hysterically funny from beginning to end, but a film that grows on me more and more with each subsequent viewing. Although Apatow's never been known for slim editing, Virgin, although long for a dick joke-centered comedy, doesn't wear out its welcome for me the way his other films do (as much as I liked Funny People, I have to admit I was repeatedly checking my watch during the final hour).

23. High Fidelity
(Stephen Frears, 2000)
Of course a film with characters listing their "Top Five" everythings would be on my Top 50 films list. Clearly High Fidelity is way up my alley. John Cusack (who co-wrote the screenplay) is perfectly cast as Rob, who plays the sad sack record store owner/Peter Pan-esque fanboy like an older and spiritually broken Lloyd Dobbler (his lovable nonconformist character in Say Anything). Director Stephen Frears & Co. transplanted Nick Hornby's British novel about a thirtysomething record store owner dealing with his recent breakup (and thereby all of his Top Five breakups) from London to Chicago yet kept the book's essence, which accurately portrays how guys think ("No woman in the history of the world is having better sex than sex you are having with Ian...in my head."). This is one of those movies I don't think I'll ever tire of watching.

22. Audition (Ôdishon)
(Takashi Miike, 1999/2000)
Takashi Miike's disturbing and unsettling masterpiece about a widower hosting a set of auditions for a phony film to find a new wife is tough to categorize and almost demands little be known about it before watching it. Audition takes its time establishing believable and likable characters, setting up events that go from believable to nightmarish, and steadily building tension to make the final 15 minutes of the film absolutely terrifying. Audition reminded me that I could still be surprised by film.

21. Kill Bill (Vols. 1 & 2)
(Quentin Tarantino, 2003-2004)
I'm combining Quentin Tarantino's two-part epic mashup action/revenge flick as one entry. With Volume I serving as the first part and Volume II serving as the second, third and fourth parts (as much as I love Vol. I, as it stands alone, it feels more like a spectacular prologue when compared to Vol. II), the whole story taken as one 200-plus-minute film works both as a meticulously-crafted love-letter to the Westerns, Asian martial arts films, revenge movies (a genre that never really caught on in mainstream American film the way it did in Eastern cinema) and grindhouse films Tarantino grew up on as well as an unpretentious ultra-fun action film that holds up on its own with its own mythology (the way Lucas created a unique mythology based solely on spare parts with the original Star Wars).

20. The Incredibles
(Brad Bird, 2004)
The first of Pixar three films on this list. Although it could be argued that all the Pixar films I saw this decade (namely, all of them except for Cars) merit spots on this list, but due to space limitations, I narrowed it down to my top three. In addition to The Incredibles being a damn fun superhero movie (taking its cues from the graphic novel Watchmen and Kurt Vonnegut's short story "Harrison Bergeron," in a family friendly yet non-obnoxious way), it's an astute portrayal of how our current culture champions mediocrity and shuns greatness.

19. Up
(Pete Docter & Bob Peterson, 2009)
The second Pixar film. That opening prologue? Masterful filmmaking. Simply masterful. Who woulda thunk that a children's movie could convey so much story and pathos in such a short period of time (and without and dialogue) when so many so-called serious adult films can't come even close? People who've been watching these Pixar movies, that's who thunk it.

18. Traffic
(Steven Soderbergh, 2000)
What an amazing movie. Based on the BBC miniseries Traffik and released before David Simon's and Ed Burns' seminal television series, The Wire, director Steven Soderbergh and writer Stephen Gaghan weave an intricate yet epic tapestry showing virtually all the players in the cocaine-dealing game, from the politicians to the drug kingpins and their wives to the street dealers to the informants to the DEA Agents to the addicts. Yet at no point does it feel either too thin or bloated, and at no point do any of the major characters feel like two-dimensional caricatures or straw men. It's paced and structured beautifully. Like The Wire, it manages to show how much of a fraudulent joke the War on Drugs really is, yet doesn't shy away from showing drugs' destructive effects. And beyond that, it's just masterful and engaging storytelling.

17. INLAND EMPIRE
(David Lynch, 2006)
Rightfully described by one critic as "Mulholland Dr.'s evil twin," David Lynch's most jarring, prickly and perplexing film in decades (which is really saying something) shows the thin membrane separating the Hollywood A-list actress and the Polish streetwalking prostitute. This is a film I found (even as a dyed-in-the-wool Lynch fan) hard to sit through upon my first viewing, yet a movie that festered within my thoughts for months after seeing it in the theatre. As Manohla Dargis wrote, it was one of the few films to come out in 2006 that deserved to be called art.

16. Where the Wild Things Are
(Spike Jonze, 2009)
I loved Spike Jonze's adaptation of Maurice Sendak's 10-sentence children's book. It's simply a delightful and amazing film that stays true to the vision of the original book as well as to Jonze's. I loved the way Max acts like a real nine-year-old boy. I loved the overall lack of typical Hollywood film plot. I loved the acting in it. I loved how the movie doesn't engage in your typical stupid Hollywood moralizing. I loved this movie. I'm so glad it was released.

15. Inglourious Basterds
(Quentin Tarantino, 2009)
Simultaneously gonzo and restrained, Quentin Tarantino’s World War II/spaghetti western/foreign drama/revenge fantasy mashup is his best film since Pulp Fiction. Inglourious Basterds is an excellent showcase for Tarantino's strengths as a filmmaker: seemingly inconsequential fun popcorn entertainment with undertones of genuine substance and pathos.

14. Pan’s Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno)
(Guillermo Del Toro, 2006)
Although I'm not really wild about her reviewing work, I think Salon.com film critic Stephanie Zacharek hit the nail on the head when she wrote that director Guillermo Del Toro was "one of the few young filmmakers working in the mainstream who actually has any vision, as opposed to just a knack for dreaming up cool effects." This stunning and haunting fairy tale about a young girl in fascist Spain conjuring a fantasy world for herself to cope with the horrors of her life. It's geared for adults (it earns it's R-rating) yet still has a childlike sense of wonder and fantasy. It also shows the power and importance of fantasy in a real world bereft of hope or joy. It has true vision, as well as some very cool effects.

13. Children of Men
(Alfonso Cuarón, 2006)
Like District 9, Alfonso Cuarón's dystopic science fiction film (based very loosely on a novel by P.D. James) gets to have its cake and eat it, too, by offering very thoughtful science fiction and intense action-packed sci-fi. Those action sequences alone, particularly the one in the car (done all in one take), damn near alone make the movie worth watching, but those amazing action sequences only augment an already compelling narrative (they’re not the film's raison d’être). This is the way the world ends: not from a lack of oil, or water, or even from mankind’s inability to reproduce. It’s simply the knowledge that the cycle of life will not continue that creates pandemonium and the dissolution of civilization.

12. The Wrestler
(Darren Aronofsky, 2008)
Although many people would rank Requiem For a Dream as Aronofsky's best work (hey, I put it on the list), The Wrestler had a far greater and longer-lasting impact on me. Maybe it's because I'm a big softie that has a soft-spot for down-on-their-luck losers underdogs. Mickey Rourke didn't just portray has-been wrestler Randy "The Ram," he is Randy. I can't imagine anyone else in that role. (Considering the Oscars are always useless, and proved themselves to be especially so this past year, so it's dumb of me to complain about this, but yes, Rourke was absolutely robbed.) In many ways, The Wrestler is as raw and intense as Requiem (albeit not as relentlessly bleak), but really humane and, in its own odd way, heartwarming. At least, as heartwarming a movie where the protagonist may be committing suicide in the end can be.

11. WALL-E
(Andrew Stanton, 2008)
The third Pixar film on this list is actually several clicks above the other two for a reason. Not that it's necessarily much better than Up or The Incredibles, but ultimately WALL-E had a substantially larger emotional impact on me. I'm always impressed with the genuinely adult sensibilities that the Pixar films have (rather than many other children's films that merely sneak in raunchy jokes), and was amazed at its truly bitingly satirical take on humanity. Yet despite its well-deserved bitch-slap towards us lazy, waste-spewing, planet-destroying, consumerist humans, the film's ultimate faith in humanity and happy ending (hey, this is still a kids film, after all) doesn't feel false or shoehorned. It's about humanity's folly, not crime, and posits that we people can get our acts together, even though it may take a long, long, long time. (And like with Let The Right One In, if you can see this on Blue Ray, do yourself the favor.)

And now, dear readers, we get to the Top Ten Films...

10. Memento
(Christopher Nolan, 2000)
I remember being utterly hooked and absorbed from frame one from Nolan's daylight noir about a detective/avenging vigilante with short-term memory loss trying to find the man who raped and murdered his wife when I first saw it in the theatre. Deploying a "tell the story backwards" method (deployed a few times before, most memorably in Harold Pinter's play, Betrayal, but for different means) kept me engaged all throughout, something I can't often say about 99% of most movies I see (often, I find my attention waning and my eyes wandering towards my watch towards the middle to end of the second act). Nearly a decade (and countless re-viewings) later, Memento still hasn't lost its ability to hook me in from beginning to end. But for me, it's not just about the structure, as superb as it is; or the puzzle, as fun as it is to contemplate. For me, it does what all great noir does best: show ordinary people's capability for extraordinary evil. The way normal people delude and misguide themselves to do what they want; the way they we internally justify immoral behavior to ourselves; and how we need personal goals and missions (make that Missions) to keep ourselves sane and retain our identities. Our memories are a huge building block to our identities, so what happens once that's taken away?

9. The Dark Knight
(Christopher Nolan, 2008)
Bringing the high watermark for what we can expect, if not demand, from our summer blockbuster entertainments. With his sequel to his franchise-rebooting Batman Begins, Christopher Nolan elevates the stakes of the superhero movie to that of an epic Shakespearean tragedy. It's the best superhero movie ever made (and I'm saying this as someone who grew up on Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie). More aesthetically connected to Heat and The Departed than to Iron Man or, well, Batman, The Dark Knight has the gritty look and feel of being in the real world instead of a comic book reality (its Gotham City is unmistakably Chicago). It eschews the simple Good vs. Evil paradigm found in all other superhero stories to tell a story about the consequences of adhering to a rigid moral code. It deals with characters making dubious choices for the "greater good" and is unafraid of getting into ethically murky waters (those who think that this film unequivocally approves of wire-tapping or believes that might makes right need to put their heads on their desks, take a deep breath, count to 10, then re-watch it). It makes the audience uncertain as to what will happen next (I didn't think any of the characters -- even Bruce Wayne -- were "safe"). It has amazing action sequences. And oh, yes: it has, from the late Heath Ledger as the Joker, one of the best performances in a film, ever.

8. Waking Life
(Richard Linklater, 2001)
As many of us no doubt remember, 2001 ended up being a real bummer of a year, to put it mildly. The terrorist attacks had happened, but added to that, our shitty President looked as though he was going to use this terrible tragedy as an excuse to kickstart his shitty Nixonian Empire. And added to this, nobody seemed to have a problem with this. I had no choice but to conclude in the end of 2001 that the human race was an infestation of hateful retards, eager to shut off their brains and just let fascism take over with simple-minded propaganda. (That midtown New York in 2002 looked like the militarized zone of a third world dictatorship, with troops holding automatic weapons bigger than them at the train stations didn't help, either.) Thank God I saw Linklater's dreamtastic, thoughtful, thought-provoking Waking Life just before the year's end, which reminded me there was hope in humanity yet. Not to sound pedantic or reductive, but Linklater's film is a love-letter to thinking, and reveals the joys in contemplating different philosophies and worldviews. And still, it accomplishes this without being insufferably pretentious or impenetrable. And might I add, with the rotoscoping technique this film uses, it's simply a delight to watch. Hey, with movies like this coming out, there may be hope for humanity yet.

7. No Country For Old Men
(Ethan Coen & Joel Coen, 2007)
I thought the Coen Brothers, masterful filmmakers who are sometimes too clever for their own good, made some very good -- and very so-so -- films this decade, but only No Country For Old Men did it for me the way their previous masterpieces (Fargo, Blood Simple, even The Big Lebowski) did. With Tommy Lee Jones' mournful opening voiceover narration set to images of the landscape, the Coen Brothers are repeating themselves...except...not really. The opening evokes the opening of earlier films, yet their typical sense of irony has been removed. Which isn't to say it's not funny; the Coens' adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's book about a relentless psychopathic killer hunting down the man who stole his his employer's money is very funny (as well as tense, thrilling, scary and depressing). The movie has the perfect blend of McCarthy's and the Coen's styles. Many people called this a perfect film. I wouldn't say that (simply because I don't believe in such things). But it may be a perfect book-to-film adaptation. And it's perfectly paced. And perfectly cast. But quixotic debate about perfection aside, it's one of the best films to come out in the past 10 years.

6. Ghost World
(Terry Zwigoff, 2001)
Terry Zwigoff & Daniel Clowes' Ghost World is probably more in sync with how I see the world than any other film. Good lord, I understand too well when Steve Buscemi's character Seymour goes, "I can't relate to 99% of humanity." (Some friends and colleagues of mine often wonder why I date so rarely. Just pop in this movie and let it serve as my answer.) I often don't know whether to laugh or to cry or to tremble with rage when the ragtime blues guitarist plays to an apathetic room ("They could at least turn off the game while he plays!") yet "Blueshammer" (a shitty "blues" band consisting of white frat boys in mullets) brings the house down. Ghost World earns its deep-rooted, unironic misanthropy, and amazingly isn't glib about it: the movie calls Enid on her bullshit and Seymour is fully aware that his problems with the world are his, not the other way around. For good or for bad, even when I feel like I can't relate to 99% of humanity, I always relate to this film.

5. Mulholland Dr.
(David Lynch, 2001)
What started as a pilot for a television drama for ABC (!!!) turned out to be David Lynch's best, and most defining (dare I say, Lynchian) film of his to-date. I agree whole-heartedly with Roger Ebert when he wrote that Mulholland Dr. is the film Lynch has been working toward all of his career. Ebert writes: "He takes what was frustrating in some of his earlier films, and instead of backing away from it, he charges right through." And since I'm a huge Lynch fan, and I consider this his best film (yes, it's even better than Eraserhead or Blue Velvet), of course this makes it into the Top Five. Whether it's a death dream from a down-on-her-luck actress plagued with guilt for having her ex-girlfriend killed, a meditation on the "before" and "after" effects Hollywood (both as abstract idea and as real-world town and industry) has on the individual, or an examination of the artifice of movies ("There is no band"), or a completely non-narrative free-for-all on whatever's floating around in Lynch's head, this gorgeously shot, confounding, compelling and viscerally charged film shows us the powerful grip movies have on our imaginations, for good or for bad. Not to mention it introduced the talents of Naomi Watts to the greater world.

4. Synecdoche, New York
(Charlie Kaufman, 2008)
Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut may put some folks off, but it's a movie that, like Lynch's INLAND EMPIRE, haunted me for months after I first saw it and like INLAND EMPIRE, Synecdoche, New York is a true work of art. It's hard to put into words how much Kaufman's film affected -- and continues to affect -- me, but I'll try. It's one of the few films that conveys how we, all of us, live our lives: how we don different personas and personalities over time, how we compartmentalize the people and events in our lives, how we shed the bits of our fabricated personality as we grow older, how we hide behind artifice, how death is inevitable and life is short and fleeting, how we retrench into our minds as things don't go our way. Despite its seeming bleak and hopeless tone, this film gives me a great deal of comfort and gave -- and continues to give -- me a better understanding of my life and the world around me.

3. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
(Peter Jackson, 2001-2003)
As if I could choose which one of Peter Jackson's three films was the best of the bunch (or hog two more slots on this list, let alone rank them). They're all great and all part of one great story (even J.R.R. Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings as one big book). Apparently there's now some backlash against the three films, which baffles me. (Okay, that's a little disingenuous. I get it, in the way that all critically-acclaimed blockbusters get a negative revisionist stance from critics and audiences.) Just as I'm not on the hater bandwagon with Lost in Translation, I never even once considered to join said bandwagon for The Lord of the Rings. The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers and The Return of the King aren't just the pinnacles of special effects (although they certainly are; I'll even assert that I prefer the look of these films to that of James Cameron's Avatar, since they blend the best of new technology [CGI] with old-school effects [miniatures] and creative and practical innovation [forced perspective]), but also wonderful examples of characterization and storytelling, exemplified by Gollum (who's both a marvel of special effects as well as an emotionally complex character; both heartbreaking and repugnant, sympathetic and vile). The first time a bunch of us watched the nearly four-hour extended edition of Fellowship, Patrick described watching it as a "feast." I couldn't have put it better myself.

2. Punch-Drunk Love
(Paul Thomas Anderson, 2002)
When I first saw Paul Thomas Anderson's thoroughly amazing oddball movie, I felt like I was watching a movie made specifically for me. That feeling hasn’t changed during subsequent viewings. Though having loved his previous three films, Punch-Drunk Love is Anderson's first film where he seems to come out from under the shadows of his influences (Scorsese, Altman, Demme) and stands on his own with a cinematic voice that's all his own. There are so many emotionally charged scenes in this film where you don’t quite know what you’re feeling: it’s simultaneously funny, creepy and sad when Adam Sandler’s novelty plunger-peddling Barry Egan confides to his brother-in-law that he spontaneously cries, then…spontaneously cries. I don’t know if there’s been a character I’ve empathized with more than Barry. I remember, while watching it the first time, sharing Barry's rage and frustration in the scene at the phone kiosk asking his sister for Emily Watson's number, angrily thinking, "Give him the fucking number," a few seconds before Sandler hisses, "Give me the fucking number!" (Mildly embarrassing personal aside: at the time the film had come out, I was getting several increasingly angry calls a day from collection agencies, so the numerous threatening calls Barry has to brush off from the phone sex girl hit way too close to home for me.) It's so off-the-wall yet so true to life. And, that screaming fight over the phone between Adam Sandler and Philip Seymour Hoffman is damn near worth the price of admission alone.

...and the Number One Film of the Decade is...

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
(Michel Gondry, 2004)
Yes, I'm apparently going with the general critical consensus on this one. No, I don't care. Why? That's simple: I think Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is the best film I saw during the decade. It's really difficult to encapsulate why I love Eternal Sunshine so much beyond offering technical and structural superlatives (Charlie Kaufman's script is amazing, Michel Gondry's directing work is astounding, Jon Brion's score is one of his best, the acting, including the best performance of Jim Carrey's career, is great) and explaining how well it executes its brilliant themes (the connection between memory and identity, the subjective nature of life, how we need people to help establish and define ourselves, and how that need simultaneously hinders our identities as much as solidifies them). I could go on about how intellectually stimulating it is as well as viscerally compelling and emotionally devastating it is. I could go on about how it's also one of those films that felt like it was made specifically for me (I don't think I've ever seen any film encapsulate "the Dining Dead" aspect of a relationship so succinctly). I could mention that, like many great works of art, the film takes the personal and makes it universal (something Kaufman is masterful at). I could bring up that it defined this decade of movie-going for me (I often see many films, before and after, through the lens of Eternal Sunshine, including such films as disparate as The Station Agent, Memento, Mulholland Dr. and even other films Kaufman's worked on, like Adaptation and Synecdoche, New York) I could also get into how, despite the unique quirks, problems and peaks that Joel and Clementine display as a couple, their relationship (and breakup) is something that virtually anyone watching can relate to. But I think a capsule can only scratch the surface of how much this movie means to me, or how much it apparently means to many, many other people. So how about I just close by saying it's all those things, and much more, and end with a prosaic fanboy question: holy shit, isn't Eternal Sunshine the best film you saw this decade? (Cue the open floodgates of contrarian snark here. I don't really care.)

Little Jimmy's Top 50 Films of the Decade (Part One)

Well, as I had said I would, I decided to compile my favorite films from the decade, come up with some arbitrary ranking system, and post it in two sections. Below is the bottom half, in ascending order. I plan to post the top 25 tomorrow.

While compiling my list, I came across this, which either reveals me to be tapping into the zeitgeist (heh, heh) or being wholly unoriginal or incapable of independent thought. Well, you should probably be forewarned that there were many instances where I didn't go against the grain with the common critical consensus of many films that came out this decade, and the instances where I did may seem a bit...odd. Or ultra pedestrian. It's tough to say. (Maybe it's not for me to say.)

I think it goes without saying that compiling such a list is such an odd exercise. The comparisons and editorial decisions one must make end up being borderline perverse. (How did Audition end up being right next to High Fidelity? And what criteria made one above the other?) I really have no satisfying answers to such questions about the overall ranking. It may be safe to say that I like whatever's at the #36 spot just as much as whatever's at the #37 spot; just for radically different reasons.

Now let's talk about some of the movies that aren't on the list. First off, let's face it: I haven't seen several critically lauded films of the decade, like The Lives of Others, I'm Not There, I've Loved You So Long and City of God (to name a few out of many). There are also a few "Oscar bait" films that just came out that I've yet to see. Yes, I am ashamed. And yes, I'll get around to seeing them. (In fact, I will admit that, although there are some foreign films here and there, my list is very U.S.-centric.)

Then there are films that I have seen that have been lauded and put on many "best of" lists that I flat-out didn't like (or at least, wasn't wild about), like There Will Be Blood, The Royal Tenenbaums, Dogville, A.I.: Artificial Intelligence or Knocked Up. Nope. Sorry, folks. Didn't care for them. They didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making the Top 50, let alone the Top 100.

Then there were films that I thought were just fine but still didn't have any shot of making the list, like Munich, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or Almost Famous. I mean, these are fine films that I really enjoyed. Just...not even remotely enough to consider them for the list.

And finally, there are some films that very, very regrettably, didn't make the cut, which I suspect will bemuse many of my readers, to put it mildly. As much as I enjoyed these films, when push came to shove, I couldn't find room for Half Nelson, Far From Heaven, Snow Angels or Grizzly Man. They actually were on early drafts of the list, but slowly and steadily got pushed out (even after doing a little cheating by combining some sequels and trilogies into one slot). This may bemuse readers even more when they see some of the films that did make the list. So how about we consider these movies Honorable Mentions?

(I know the absence of these movies and others will no doubt make some of the movies that did make the list fill you, dear reader, with a mixture of pity and contempt for me. Hell, you may already be feeling that sad mix for Yours Truly while realizing I just admitted that I liked Snow Angels better than Munich. Such are the rules of the game when one tries to compile any such list as this one. I'm braced for your ridicule.)

As for what's on the list...well, see for yourself. Like with all "best of" lists, they say less about the films than they do about the person compiling the list.

And finally, a word on the commentary. I intended to post a paragraph of commentary for each film, then realized that would be retarded. For a top 10 list, sure. For 50 freakin movies? That's going to take a while. So, for now, I'm just presenting the list, then in early 2010, I'll slowly and steadily add a brief commentary for each movie. How long will it take? Who the hell knows? But for now, you'll just get the list.

Okay. Enough stalling. Here it is.

***

50. The Squid and the Whale
(Noah Baumbach, 2005)
Already, I know a few of my regular readers will be dismayed to find this 1908s period piece about the divorce of two Brooklyn intellectuals on my list. Many saw this as a tiresome and manipulative melodrama. I however, saw it as a painful portrayal of familial relationships experiencing total collapse: that point where family members are downright hateful and vicious toward one another (exemplified when the younger son tells his mother he’s upset that he has her features, because he thinks she’s ugly). Noah Baumbach’s quasi-autobiographical film is one of the most accurate examinations of that communication meltdown among family members.

49. Once
(John Carney, 2006)
This musical-that-doesn’t-feel-like-a-musical about a busking Irish musician and an Eastern European woman meeting then working together to write and record songs about their unconsummated love is a sweet and sad delight from beginning to end. When the credits rolled I was sad that we were done with these two. Plus, the music’s really, really good.

48. Together (Tillsammans)
(Lukas Moodysson, 2000)
Lukas Moodysson’s comedy-drama (which really nails the perfect blend of that oxymoronic genre) about a modern-day commune in Stockholm manages to poke fun at its characters without mercilessly mocking them. Even some of the most contemptible characters are portrayed with sympathy and respect. Like Once, Together charmed the hell out of me and comes very close to becoming cloying without ever crossing that line.

47. Adventureland
(Greg Mottola, 2009)
There are many details, big and small, that Adventureland gets just right. The bonds made between co-workers at a demeaning customer service job. The way the staff undermines the petty rules and policies of the job. The makeout sessions in the back seats of car that result in disappointment and rejection the morning after. The sadistic cruelty of being forced to listen to the same damn song 20 times a day. Writer-director Greg Mottola expands the coming-of-age theme he used to good comic effect in his debut film Superbad to make a sincerely touching, funny and honest film about being young, falling in love and the indignities and delights of getting your first incredibly shitty job.

46. The Puffy Chair
(Jay Duplass, 2005)
One of the first films of the hatefully named "mumblecore" movement (Christ, I hate that term, yet still I use it) and a film my sister and I strenuously disagree over. A couple having problems goes on a road trip to work things out between each other (as well as to buy a present for the boyfriend's dad), then brings the boyfriend's brother along, adding unneeded tension. Emotionally honest and complex, the acting and writing make everything about this ultra low-budget film feel like you’re watching real people talking spontaneously. Hell, most documentaries don't feel this natural.

45. Funny Ha Ha
(Andrew Bujalski, 2002)
Another entry in the so-called "mumblecore" subgenre (see? I used the word again!) that blew me away with how well it portrayed the awkward and fumbling way people in their 20s with feelings—or lack thereof—for one another interact. Although seemingly improvised (and some may argue lazily improvised), the excessive "yeah, well's," and "it's like...I dunno's" are very deliberate. We're watching very astute and hyper-self-aware characters constantly at a loss for words precisely because they're so astute and self-aware. And it's astounding to see a phone conversation between two people who use no complete sentences and don’t raise their voices be so intense and crushing.

44. Head-On (Gegen die Wand)
(Fatih Akın, 2004)
Written and directed by a German-Turk that deals with the cultural clash of east versus west, old versus new, Head-On turns the obnoxious romantic comedy genre on its ear with two people who meet the exact opposite of cute (they "meet gross," I suppose). In fact, on the two characters' first "date" (they meet in an institution after both of them survived failed suicide attempts), the woman, Sibel, shatters a beer bottle and slices her wrists (the correct way). Although the second half of the film doesn't have the same manic and intense energy of the first, it's necessary to show the protagonists drift apart and proverbially wake up from their romantic idealizations of one another and their relationship.

43. Lost in Translation
(Sofia Coppola, 2003)
This movie got a lot of backlash after heaps of praised were piled upon it. I still think it’s great. Maybe that’s because I think Bill Murray is amazing and can do no wrong. Well, he is amazing, can in fact do no wrong, and this is one of his finest -- and warmest -- performances. I particularly loved the brief shot of Murray quietly singing along to the song Scarlett Johansson sings ("Brass in Pocket" by The Pretenders) on karaoke with quiet yet sincere affection.

42. Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in)
(Tomas Alfredson, 2008)
Oh, holy hell yes. A young boy being picked on at school gets help with sticking up for himself from his new friend and neighbor, an ancient vampire in the body of a 12-year-old girl. I loved the deliberate pace of the film as well; it took its time telling its story without being dull. It's also gorgeously shot. (If you missed it in the theatres, if you get the chance to watch it on Blue Ray on a hi-definition television, do yourself a favor.) Sweet, funny and terrifying, of course this was one of the best films I saw this past decade.

41. The American Astronaut
(Cory McAbee, 2001)
Good Lord I love this movie. Entertainment Weekly's description of Cory McAbee's low budget sci-fi musical hits the nail on the head: "Imagine a long Laurel & Hardy skit directed by Salvador Dali." I couldn't have put it better myself. Beautifully shot, delightfully silly and wholly imaginative, The American Astronaut, a loving send-up of the midnight movies from the 1950s, was such a wonderful find during the early part of the decade. I’m eagerly looking forward to seeing McAbee's follow-up film, Stingray Sam.

40. Before Sunset
(Richard Linklater, 2004)
Making a sequel to Richard Linklater's 1995 film Before Sunrise seemed at first not only unnecessary, but counter-productive and outright tacky. It's precisely the film that doesn't lend itself to answering any type of, "what happens next to these characters?" questions. (Didn't Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy's cameos in Waking Life scratch any such itches?) But amazingly, not only does Linklater pull it off, he makes it seem like a necessary companion piece to his previous film. When we were first watching these young idealistic people in the first film, we're now seeing them older, perhaps wiser, and slightly more jaded by life. And it also does answer the questions Before Sunrise poses without feeling like a cheat.

39. District 9
(Neill Blomkamp, 2009)
Both "science fiction" and "sci-fi," this film about alien refugees in a Johannesburg shantytown called District 9 both has its cake and eats it, too: delivering a thoughtful allegory for apartheid and a fun shoot-em-up action adventure. This is exactly the type of movie that science fiction geeks (including — if not especially — Yours Truly) have waited to see for years.

38. 25th Hour
(Spike Lee, 2002)
Maybe it took something as horrific as the terrorist attacks on September 11 to make Spike Lee temporarily take the large chip off his shoulder and make a film that shows compassion towards his fellow New Yorkers. (An non-racist Irish-American firefighter in a Spike Lee Joint? Will wonders never cease?) The aftermath of 9/11 looms over 25th Hour, which concerns a drug dealer's last night of freedom before serving a seven year prison sentence. A mournful feeling of loss pervades the film as it conveys in microcosm (Ed Norton's prison-bound character) and macrocosm (New York post-9/11) the metaphorical end of a life, until a spark of hope appears in the end.

37. Adaptation
(Spike Jonze, 2002)
With their 1999 film Being John Malcovitch, Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze made their mark in the feature film world (after working in the land of television writing and music video directing, respectively). And as much as I love that movie (it would probably be on this list if it was released a year later), I think it was their follow-up film, Adaptation, that really solidified their metafictional conceit and Kaufman's recurring writing motifs (in hindsight, Malkovitch feels like a warmup film). Adaptation does a superb job chronicling the screenwriting process and the frustrations inherent to trying to tell an unconventional story (about an orchid thief) in a maddeningly conventional format (feature films). Charlie Kaufman (the character, and presumably the writer) wants to break free of the false tropes in screenwriting while his twin brother (i.e., Kaufman's inner-Pollyanna) wants to write a crowd-pleasing formula film. It's both about adapting an art work from one medium to another but also about "survival of the fittest" in Hollywood as well as Adapting in Life (Title Case Intended).

36. Primer
(Shane Carruth, 2004)
Shane Carruth's low-budget indie film contemplating what would happen if limited time travel was accidentally discovered in the real world did for me what Richard Kelly's Donnie Darko does for its fans. I find Primer compelling, puzzling and genuinely mind-blowing in a way that I don't with Donnie Darko. The low-key scientific jargon that Abe and Aaron mutter to each other throughout the course of the film and the way we're two steps behind two brilliant people who are confused themselves give Primer a sense of authenticity. It's true science fiction, not "sci-fi," and demands multiple viewings that deliver more rewards with each subsequent viewing.

35. The Hurt Locker
(Kathryn Bigelow, 2009)
The opening title card to this enthralling movie tells us that "war is a drug." The film then introduces us to one of its hopeless addicts. Katherine Bigelow's intense and propaganda-free war thriller follows an American bomb-diffusing squad in Iraq and introduces us to James (played masterfully by Jeremy Renner), a reckless yet skilled bomb disposal expert who takes unnecessary risks, much to the dismay of the rest of his team. This movie hooked me in immediately and never let me go until the closing credits, succeeding as both a high-stakes thriller and low-key character study.

34. American Splendor
(Shari Springer Berman & Robert Pulcini, 2003)
I'm rarely wild about biopics (with some exceptions, such as this film and Tim Burton's Ed Wood). For one, I agree with Quentin Tarantino when he said that very few lives are interesting from start to finish. Also, there's something lost in translation from watching documentary footage of the subject speaking spontaneously and watching an actor do his or her best to recreate that spontaneous bit of genius. Then, there are the insufferable tropes associated with biopics (the troubled childhood, the strained relationship with family, the rise to stardom, the "I'm famous" montage, the decline to drugs, etc., etc.). Shari Springer Berman & Robert Pulcini's quasi-biopic/quasi-documentary/quasi-comic book adaptation about quasi-famous comic book writer Harvey Pekar bypasses all of those problems by taking just the best parts of the three above-mentioned genres to make a compelling story about someone who's both a "regular Joe" and a brilliant artist. Mixing documentary footage with film recreations staged by actors (with the real Harvey Pekar narrating), the movie's self-conscious attention to its own artifice adds a level of authenticity that wouldn't exist if it were a straight biopic or documentary. Plus, Pekar (as film character, comic book character and real guy) is a really interesting guy character.

33. The Station Agent
(Thomas McCarthy, 2003)
I'll admit it: indie-comedy-dramas about quirky outsiders in suburban environs (Garden State, Thumbsucker, 12 and Holding) are like catnip for me. I usually enjoy them on a "comfort food" level even if they're not any good (and often, they're not). But I think I can muster up some sense of objectivity and say that The Station Agent is actually good. Very good, in fact. You'd think this film (about a dwarf who inherits an abandoned train station who moves in to cut himself off from the rest of the world) would be either horribly exploitive or shamelessly maudlin, but it's neither. At its heart, it's about three very lonely people who deal with loneliness in different ways (the titular station agent, a dwarf named Finbar, seeks isolation from the world, while his neighbor Joe is like an overexcited puppy that craves companionship from anyone who comes by, while Olivia seeks a surrogate family to replace the one she believes was taken from her). It may go without saying that the three stars -- Peter Dinklage, Bobby Cannivale and Patricia Clarkson -- are excellent, but what the hell, it bears repeating: they are. So's the writing and the directing. And the story. And the environs (hey, this indie-comedy-dramas about quirky outsiders in suburban environs had already had me at "hello").

32. American Psycho
(Mary Harron, 2000)
Although Mary Harron's adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis' once-reviled novel (mercifully) cuts out some of the more horrifically graphic portions of the book, I remember audience members groaned in dread and disgust more than once when I first saw this in the theatre. Christian Bale's seminal performance as sociopathic and soulless businessman (seriously? What does he actually do? Every time someone comes into his office he's just reading magazines, making dinner reservations, doodling or listening to the latest '80s pap.) Patrick Bateman is utterly compelling and both constantly funny and horrific. The film -- and book -- perfectly exemplifies the cost of needing money, taste and status above all else through the perfect metaphor: Wall Street power executive as serial killer. From the scene where executive whip out their, um, business cards to Bateman's incessant terror of not getting a good seat at the hot restaurant to him obsessing over the production details of the latest pop music, this film shows a world where style and taste way, way, way overshadows anything resembling substance. I have to return some videotapes.

31. 28 Days Later…
(Danny Boyle, 2002)
Taking its cues from George A. Romero's seminal Living Dead films (in particular from Day of the Dead, my favorite of the bunch) yet technically not a zombie movie (the infected can starve to death, and therefore die, and therefore aren't undead), 28 Days Later... is an unpretentious and intense cinematic experience for those who are into that sort of thing (and I suppose I am). And it also serves as a good reminder: hippies screw everything up.

30. Hot Fuzz
(Edgar Wright, 2007)
You can tell that director Edgar Wright, star/co-writer Simon Pegg and co-star Nick Frost are having the times of their lives playing with every big budget action film trope: high-speed car chases, jumping through windows while shooting their guns sideways and firing their guns up in the air going, "Aaaaaaaah." Both a parody and perfect example of the shoot-em-up films of the past 20 years, Hot Fuzz may be one of the most fun and fun-loving films made in the decade.

29. Shaun of the Dead
(Edgar Wright, 2004)
Another film from Wright & Pegg, and another film blatantly taking its cues from Romero's films (this time Dawn of the Dead), Shaun of the Dead starts out as a bit of a laugh until we find the eponymous Shaun's mother has been bitten by a zombie ("We don't say that word") neighbor and needs to be shot. Sure, it's more or less a comedy. But unlike the vile and repugnant spoof films by Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, this isn't a crass and cynical parody of Romero's films but a technically masterful quasi-parody made with loving care by -- and for -- genuine fanboys. Like Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead was made with love, and it shines through upon viewing.

28. A History of Violence
(David Cronenberg, 2005)
Though possibly his least...Cronenbergian (Hey, if "Lynchian" is a word, so is that)...film since The Dead Zone, A History of Violence still has the Canadian auteur's sticky fingerprints all over it (it's about the connection between physicality -- albeit via physical violence -- and identity). Sweet-natured Tom's altercation with two killers ultimately -- and unfortunately -- reveals his true identity: that of an ultraviolent "reformed" killer named Joey, who's reinvented himself to adapt to small-town country/family life. I particularly found the subplot with the son and the schoolyard bully fascinating. As the son of "Tom," he tries to evade and diffuse conflict. When he finds out he's the son of "Joey," he embraces excessive violence. Such a fascinating and engaging variation on the venerable, "How much of our identities are innate and how much are fabrication?" trope in fiction. And let's not forget William Hurt's fascinatingly oddball/funny/creepy portrayal of mob boss/older brother Richie.

27. The Departed
(Martin Scorsese, 2006)
One of the best films that one of America's best mainstream filmmakers has made in years. In fact, I'll go so far as to say The Departed is Martin Scorsese's best film since his seminal Goodfellas. (To me, Casino learned all the wrong lessons from Goodfellas and overused the device of voiceover narration so much it was insufferably distracting; when I first saw Casino, I almost felt compelled to yell at the screen, "Will you shut up? I’m trying to watch the movie!") With the help of the stellar cast, Scorsese uses what's good and fun about the standard cops-and-robbers/undercover-cop-getting-in-over-his-head genre, but knows that it's believable human behavior, not plot, that creates tension. I'm not wild about the phrase, "instant classic," but fuck it, since the shoe fits, I'll use it: The Departed is an instant classic. Also, if you haven't yet, go see Infernal Affairs, the Hong Kong film The Departed is based on. Both films are different enough yet actually complement each other really well: it’s fascinating to watch how Scorsese and screenwriter William Monahan took the basic elements of Andrew Lau and Alan Mak's film and expanded on them to make The Departed both a faithful remake yet its own thing (Infernal Affairs' story is just as entrenched in Hong Kong’s culture, history and geography as The Departed's is in Boston’s).

26. Oldboy (올드보이)
(Park Chan-wook, 2003)
My friend Abe Goldfarb once described this film as “cinematic rape,” and I don’t think he’s too far off. A man is imprisoned for 15 years for reasons and by parties unknown, then let free. He uses his newfound freedom to figure out who imprisoned him, and why. And through the course of this bizarre revenge thriller, we find out the whos and the whys. Oh, boy, do we find out. As Oldboy unfolds, we’re shocked and horrified at the answers that eventually get doled out to us. But we’re also mesmerized by the scenes of low-key drama and compassion its protagonists display to one another, and equally mesmerized by the spectacular fight sequences (which exist to serve the characters and story, not the other way around). This is a film about people consumed with rage and a need for revenge, and shows us how this desire for revenge eats people alive.

(For the top 25, click here.)