Best Films of the Nineties

Below are my fifteen favorite films of the 1990s (1990-99). Listed in alphabetical order.

The Big Lebowski

Hands down my favorite comedy of all time. Just bizarre but utterly brilliant. Only the Coens could have made a film like this, which is a film like no other. It may well be one of the most truly original films ever written; I can't rightfully fit it into any single genre, and it contains some of the most original characters ever, backed by wonderfully hilarious performances. I don't honestly know anyone that doesn't enjoy this film, and if I do, I probably don't really care about them. It gets better and better every time, as little, subtle, hilarious details expose themselves. There's something new and hilarious to discover every time you watch it.

Boogie Nights

Was listed in my top 10 films of all time. Just a fun, free-flowing, ensemble about the rise and fall of a porn star. The filmmaking is just plain goddamn fun to watch, and the performances are amazing.

The Celebration

One of the classic Dogme '95 films. Shows what a great story and great acting can do: make a film work and work incredibly well. Natural lighting, available sets; minimalist in every technical way possible, but certainly not minimalist on story, character, or tension. Not only highly enjoyable, but also fascinating as you consider professionalism channeled through amateurism.

Clueless

Reveals much greater depths beyond its initial 5 minute opening. Anybody that enjoys great irony and wit will enjoy this comedy, which is much more mature, truthful, and genuinely funny than any plot synopsis could ever convey.

Fargo

One of the best Coen brother's films, and one of the best films ever. Darkly funny, with great performances all around. Beautiful cinematography, and the screenplay is ace. There's nothing to dislike here.

Good Will Hunting

This is just one of those films that entertained me from beginning to end. Occasionally feels a little cliched, but it overcomes that with fantastic performances and a huge heart. Completely deserving of its Oscar wins.

Pulp Fiction

Also listed on my top 10 of all time, this is just one of the most daring, successful, funny, and original works of all time. It's also ridiculously fun. Tarantino at his finest.

The Shawshank Redemption

Kind of cliche it seems to list this film, but it really is one of the best and most entertaining films of all time. The ending can be considered nothing but perfect, splendid catharsis; probably why this film is beloved by practically anyone that sees it. Just perfect story-telling that offers total satisfaction in every way imaginable.

The Silence of the Lambs

Just a flat out entertaining, twisty, dark film. Hopkins' performance as Hannibal Lecter is without a doubt one of the finest performances of all time. Jody Foster matches up as Clarice Starling, and along with an innovative directorial style, the result was an absolutely amazing film.

A Simple Plan

This Sam Raimi directed film is unlike any of his prior films, and any of his future films. It bears more resemblance to a Coen brother's (who consulted on the film's cinematography) film, both in its style, as well as its story. One of its great many pleasures is the delightfully subtle but highly effective performance of Billy Bob Thorton. Bill Paxton is always a pleasure to watch as well. Emotional tension is one of the film's strongest elements.

Sling Blade

I was fascinated with this film from the very beginning. One of the best examples of the star directing himself, along with Unforgiven, and The Apostle. Billy Bob Thorton as Karl Childers is just brilliant and a sight to behold. Thorton totally disappears into the role, almost unrecognizably so, and stands as his best performance along with A Simple Plan.

The Sweet Hereafter

A devastating drama about the aftermath of a bus crash full of children. The story, much like Egoyan's earlier film Exotica, weaves several stories in its complex and emotionally rich plot. The performances, particularly that of Sarah Polley, who would go on to direct the beautiful Away from Her. Having worked with him multiple times, she probably learned a lot from Egoyan.

The Talented Mr. Ripley

While it starts off slow, The Talented Mr. Ripley slowly evolves into a smart, complex thriller as well as a character study of a very disturbed young man. With great performances from Jude Law and Matt Damon, the film entertains and informs.

Three Kings

I stumbled upon this film by accident. It wasn't recommended to me, and I knew nothing of it, but saw it for $5 at Wal-Mart, and it sounded interesting, but I had just seen and loved David O. Russell's The Fighter, so I bought it. I was delighted from beginning to end. It's a satire. It's dark comedy. It's an action film. It's a political film. It's a goddamn great movie.

The Truman Show

When I first saw this, I found it to be a hilarious, brilliantly written piece of satire. It's just flat out entertaining and interesting. Probably the best direction Peter Weir has ever demonstrated, and perhaps the best performance from Jim Carrey. My favorite line comes from Ed Harris: "I am the creator... of a television series." That subtle but amazingly effective pause gets the satire of the point across without seeming awkward, and in and of itself deserved an Oscar nomination (which Harris receives).

Runners Up:

American Beauty
Audition
Dazed and Confused
Dead Man Walking
Election
Go
Jurassic Park
L.A. Confidential
My Own Private Idaho
Run Lola Run

Best Films of the Past Decade (2002-2012)

These are my top 10 films from the past decade (2002-2012). Alphabetical order.

4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days

An absolutely brilliant Romanian film that centers around a woman attempting to get an abortion during the Soviet Union. But the focus is not on her, but her friend, who does most of the work. It's brilliant, dark, and utterly fascinating. No film of 2007 had as much as an effect on me than No Country for Old Men. No wonder the two were essentially competing against each other for the Palme d'Or (which 4 Months eventually took home).

Brokeback Mountain

It took me a while to see this film. After I saw it, I was moved beyond all categories. It's the story of love, hope, and loss, that concludes in devastating fashion. A beautiful film, and one of the most well-acted films made in the past decade.

The Lives of Others

Another foreign film that just takes your breath away. I intend to see it again, but even seeing it the first time, I knew it was a monumental film. The impression it made on me... brilliant. Absolutely worth seeing.

Lost in Translation

Sofia Coppola's masterpiece won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, and should have won others. It is a quiet, observant study of both a man (Bill Murray) and a woman (Scarlett Johansson) who find, in each other, a bond. It isn't sexual. And the words that Murray whispers into Johansson's ear at the end. Who knows what he says? Why do we care? It makes the film all the more mystifying.

The Master

One of PT Anderson's most complex and mystifying works to date. It includes Oscar worthy performances from PS Hoffman, Joaquin Phoenix, and Amy Adams, as well as a plot that excites and enchants. The film is as enticing and spellbinding as its titular character.

No Country For Old Men

A brilliant, perfect film from the Coens. It isn't told in any sort of traditional narrative, but the Coens get every moment correct. The anticlimactic ending is a perfect fitting to the material. Along with brilliant performances, this film is elevated with its amazing cinematography, perfect direction, and skillful editing.

Shame

A brilliant performance from Michael Fassbender leads way to one of the best films of the decade. It's economical in its shots and dialogue, but utterly dark and unforgiving in its story. It tells the saga of a sex addict, bothered by the emergence of his sister into his world, and where it all goes from there.

Sideways

A masterful screenplay. Brilliant performances from Paul Giamatti, Thomas Haden Church, Virginia Madsen, and Sandra Oh. Admittedly, this is a film that took a few rewatches to warm up to, but now I think it's one of the best written scripts of all time. Just absolutely perfect in every way. Giamatti plays his character to such an exactitude that I'm shocked he failed to receive an Oscar nomination. The scene between he and Madsen discussing why he likes Pinot so much is one of the most well-written scenes in all of film history.

The Social Network

I listed this film in my top 10 films of all time. Not much more needs to be said. Brilliant dialogue, phenomenal direction from Fincher, great performances from Eisenberg, Garfield, and Timberlake. It's a perfect synthesis of brilliant dialogue and exceptional direction and editing. The editing allows the story to tell itself. One of the best films of all times. An instant classic.

There Will Be Blood

An absolute classic of American filmography. Everything from the cinematography, to the score, to the editing it top notch. Not to mention the beyond-brilliant performance of Daniel Day-Lewis. One of the most original films of the decade, directed with a precise, insistant style that serves the material.

Extras: The Hurt Locker

There's always an extra (in this case, two). I can't be condemned to 10 films. And The Hurt Locker exists in a realm beyond recognition. It is the story of a man on a mission. A man driven by adrenaline. For whom "war is a drug." He may put others in danger, but isn't concerned about that. He goes and diffuses bombs under extreme danger. He doesn't care. That's what drives him. Piloting the bot would bore him. He needs to go out there, into the danger, and do it himself. And so he does, to the chagrin of his fellow IED operatives.

Up in the Air

A wonderful, brilliant film for the time that it was released. George Clooney at his best, along with the fantastic films Michael Clayton and  The Descendants. But Up in the Air elevates itself with fantastic supporting performances, and a very realistic, dark ending. One of the best films ever.

Looper

Time Travel's a Real Bitch

Rian Johnson's Looper is a twisty, brilliant, masterfully constructed film that begins with a compellingly original plot, evolves into a complex character study, and concludes with an inexorable moral logic. It stars Joseph Gordon Levitt, who carried Johnson's freshman film Brick, and Bruce Willis, both playing the same character, just with thirty years of age difference.

Set in a dystopian future (2044 to be exact), where society seems to have devolved; where murder and theft don't seem to be as big of a deal as they are today; and where professional murderers, known as "loopers" operate without much trouble from the law. In fact, the law doesn't appear to exist (though I guess they do). Joseph Gordon Levitt is such a person: a looper. His job is to stand in a cornfield with a big gun, wait until a specific time, and dispatch the person who appears from nowhere before him. This person is actually coming from the future, where the mob uses time travel to dispose of bodies. If you send someone back in time to have them killed and disposed of, then they no longer exist in the future and all the evidence exists in the past. The looper is paid with bars of silver for their service. Just one catch. According to their contract, when the crime syndicates that employs these loopers decides to let them go, they send his older self back to be killed by the younger self. Because all of the victims are wearing hoods over their face when they're sent back, you don't know you're killing yourself until after you do it. After you kill your future self, you're then paid a handsome fee in gold bars, and you have thirty years to live until you'll find yourself going back to get shot.

The first question that crossed my mind about this scenario is: why would you take up such a job? As far as I know, nobody is forced to be a looper. It is a choice. Do these people not consider what it might be liked to know exactly how long you have to live? I imagine that knowledge must be dreadful to live with. Being a looper must pay awfully fancy for people to sign such a contract. Not to mention, it isn't a guarantee of thirty-years (as one critic pointed out might be an attractive benefit to the job). No. As clearly mentioned in the film, IF you are still alive in thirty years, you will then be sent back to close the loop. Essentially, no matter what, you have thirty (or less) years of life after you dispatch your elder self.

Anyway, from the trailers it is clear that the main conflict arises when Joseph Gordon Levitt fails to kill his older self. After this, he's on the run from his employers, because he's failed to close the loop. I don't wish to talk about the plot, as that is one of its great joys. More interesting to me is the inherent moral ambiguity raised in this film, particularly in later scenes which I shall not describe. Even more interesting are the philosophical themes. What would it be like to sit down in a diner with your older (or younger) self? Beyond that, what would it be like to sit down with your older/younger self when you were supposed to have killed or been killed by them?

Looper takes the elements of time travel as uses it not as a trick or spectacle, but to observe characters who are reacting to the result of time travel's existence. But, it doesn't hold back in having fun and exploring the possibilities of time travel's existence, and develops some that I have never seen in any other film. Consider a scene in which a man is brutally tortured, but we see not a drop of blood, not a shot of violence. If you haven't seen the film, I'll leave it to you to figure out how that's possible.

Is this film without its plot holes or paradoxes? Not one damn bit. I could list a great number of paradoxes or plot holes. Show me a time travel film where you can't. The Terminator (I & II), Back to the Future? Those are considered three of the best movies ever. And they're damn entertaining. So is Looper, but it also doesn't fail to not only engage on emotional, intellectual, and philosophical levels, but as well a visceral level. It's a superbly acted, technically solid, ingeniously written film that exhibits several levels of careful consideration.

****/****

The Master - Jim Emerson

This is a review and analysis of The Master by Jim Emerson. I am posting it not because I agree with it all, but because I think it is an exceptionally well-written, thoughtful, and decidedly genuine opinion of the film. For the record, I consider The Master, along with The Social Network, to be among the greatest films of this new decade (and century, for that matter). But I will need to see it again before attempting an analysis this thorough. I give you, Jim Emerson's review:

The Master: Who are you?

By Jim Emerson on September 23, 2012 11:04 PM




At one point well into Paul Thomas Anderson's "The Master" I thought that the movie was going to reveal itself as a story about the meaninglessness of human existence. But that notion was based on a single piece of aphoristic, potential-thesis-statement dialog that, like much else, wasn't developed in the rest of the movie. Which is not to say that "The Master" isn't about the meaninglessness of human life. The line, spoken by Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), the cult guru known to his acolytes as Master, is addressed to the younger man he considers his "protégé," a dissolute mentally ill drifter named Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), and the gist of it is that the itinerant Freddie has as much to show for his life as somebody who has worked a regular 9-to-5 job for many years. The point being, I suppose, that for all Freddie's adventures, peculiarities and failures, he isn't all that much different from anybody else. Except, maybe, he's more effed-up.


(spoilers)


At other times during the movie I thought it was a "Clockwork Orange"-style study of free will in which a psychologically disturbed sociopath struggles with the forces of social conformity. A former able-bodied seaman in the US Navy who is traumatized by his family life, drink and the war in the Pacific, Freddie is a barely domesticated attack dog. Master identifies him accurately as "an animal." But can he be trained? (I also saw hints of Sam Fuller's "White Dog" here.)Should he be trained? Is it possible or desirable to repair his psychic and physical damage (the guy drinks cocktails he makes from torpedo fuel, paint thinner and Lysol) -- or is he still a worthwhile human being just as he is? How much of a danger is he to himself and others? Should he be in a looney bin, prison, or a free man? Those questions do come up, but I'm not convinced they're the movie's main concerns.


There's also the "Raging Bull" element (a movie you may remember being explicitly referenced at the end of Anderson's second feature, "Boogie Nights"). One scene in particular, during which Freddie throws a temper tantrum in a jail cell, stomps the toilet into white ceramic shards, and smacks his head against the bunk and the back wall, evokes the famous scene in Scorsese's picture when Jake LaMotta (Robert De Niro) butts up against the dungeon his life has become. The difference is that, in Anderson's movie, we see the adjoining mirror-image cells containing Freddie and Dodd in a single frame, with a porous membrane of bars between them: One way or another, these guys are in this together. The parlor of a Pennsylvania home becomes another kind of prison for Freddie, when as part of his processing, Dodd insists he repeatedly cross the room from wall to window with his eyes closed, describing what he feels when he touches first one and then the other. The Cause seems to have something to do with breaking through barriers via persistent repetition.


"The Master" is also another one of Anderson's contentious (surrogate-)father and son stories, recalling those of John C. Reilly and Philip Baker Hall in "Hard Eight" (aka "Sydney"), Mark Wahlberg and Burt Reynolds in "Boogie Nights," Tom Cruise and Jason Robards in "Magnolia," Paul Dano (and Dillon Freasier) and Daniel Day-Lewis in "There Will Be Blood"... The bond between these men is strong -- and nearly impossible to live with. There's something about "The Master" that suggests the Terrence Malick of "Days of Heaven" and "Tree of Life," too -- not so much the father-son stuff, but the luminous images (the recurring image of churning, Caribbean-blue waters from the back of a ship; a lighted boat passing under the Golden Gate bridge after sunset) and the impressionistic storytelling approach. I'm extra-glad I didn't watch any of the trailers or clips that were released before the movie was finished (apparently), because of the expectations they would have created -- not only glimpses of what's in the film, but quite a few things that aren't. (The NSFW advance clip of Freddie's Rorschach test is an alternate assembly of the scene in the completed film -- different shots, different angles, different dialog, different music.)


While working on this post, I read that, at the Venice Film Festival press conference, Anderson described a work process (not "processing") that resembles Malick's: he wasn't sure what he had, or what the movie was about, when he got into the editing room, but wound up stripping away almost everything that didn't have to do with the relationship between Freddie and Dodd.* It eventually becomes apparent that this is the heart of the movie: a love story between two men who need each other for reasons neither of them fully comprehends. (I was reminded of the relationship between Gabriel Byrne and Albert Finney in the Coens' "Miller's Crossing" in this regard.) Freddie is a lost cause, the ultimate test case for The Master's sorta-Dianetics-like past-life therapeutic process known as "The Cause," based on the notion that every sensation of our lives, including previous existences, is fully recorded in our minds, as if on film. So, maybe Dodd needs Freddie as much or more than Freddie needs Dodd, to help him overcome his pain, fear, weakness, numbness, drunkenness, rage, etc. As Dodd scolds his bad dog Freddie, "No one likes you but me."




And he's pretty much right. You'd have to be crazy to "like" Freddy, a vulgar, infantile, violent, unstable, mean, selfish, thoroughly unpleasant guy who walks like a duck playing Richard III, stands hunched over as if he were broken (he is) and habitually places his hands on his hips, sometimes like Mick Jagger doing a chicken strut, sometimes like a stern old matron. (Alex, the sadistic killer rapist of "A Clockwork Orange," is more likable -- at least he has a lively personality, a love of Beethoven and a smart-ass sense of humor that extends beyond fart jokes.) But what Dodd feels for Freddie is something closer to pity, which evolves into a kind of love.


What kind of love, exactly? Well, that (like most everything else in the movie) is not spelled out. Surely Dodd sees something of his younger self in Freddie, a misfit nobody believes in. He sees a man who needs help and believes he, and his method, can provide it. If it can heal someone as damaged as Freddie, it would be a stellar validation of the power of "processing" (the form of semi-hypnosis -- or "anti-hypnosis" -- Dodd has developed). In Dodd's mind, Freddie presents the ultimate challenge to his life's work.


Some critics have detected a latent homosexual subtext in the relationship between Dodd and Freddie. OK, but I don't think following that thread takes you very far. Sure, there's some kind of attraction there because (in direct contradiction of one of Dodd's fundamental precepts) we are all animals. And while we tend to want to meld with those we love (part of what we love about them that they make us feel whole; they complete us), that desire to connect is not always explicitly sexual. Yet what are we to make of the late scene in which Freddie uses Dodd's "informal processing" questions as pillow talk while he's having sex with a woman? Has Dodd become his measure of intimacy? Or what about the pair's final meeting, in which Dodd gently serenades Freddie with: "I'd like to get you / On a slow boat to China / All to myself, alone..."?


It's interesting to note that the man who finally causes Freddie to explode, during his time as a department store portrait photographer, turns out to resemble Dodd. He's first presented as an off-screen voice, a happily married man, and something about him -- perhaps the picture-perfect scenario, in Freddie's mind, of a man getting his photograph taken for his wife to frame and keep on her dresser in their bedroom -- absolutely infuriates the photographer. Freddie attempts to pose the poor fellow so that he is nearly burned by the lamps. When we finally see him, sitting on his pedestal with lights trained on him, he looks very much like Dodd,** though Freddie hasn't yet met Master. Later, when he does, Dodd immediately senses something familiar in him and insists that they have met -- possibly in a previous life. That's the focus of The Cause: helping people let go of the burdens of their past lives and restore them to their pristine, natural state of "perfection."


And when Dodd's own son Val (Jesse Plemons from "Friday Night Lights" and "Breaking Bad"), who looks like a more exotic version of his father, becomes disenchanted with the old man's spiel ("He's just making it up as he goes along -- can't you see that?"), loyal "son" Freddie is outraged. Val disappears from the tale after that, his place filled by Freddie and Dodd's son-in-law, Clark (Rami Malek). Only after Freddie has left does Val return to Master's family fold.


Certainly the father-son dynamic involves competitive masculinity. It always does. Dodd carries an air of power and authority, not just as a revered intellectual leader but as a husband and father. Sexually and professionally, however, he is dominated by his steely, ambitious wife Peggy (Amy Adams). Freddie, meanwhile, has an animalistic obsession with sex: he humps a naked sand-woman on the beach (just the first of many times he takes a joke too far), sees nothing but female genitalia in the Rorschach inkblots he's shown, and imagines the drunken Dodd singing and dancing with naked women in a scene staged from his POV (all the men at the party remain clothed, invisible). What Freddie seems incapable of sustaining is any kind of long-term relationship -- sexual or otherwise. Both men seem to recognize in the other a side of their manliness that is missing or underdeveloped. In that sense, the union of the two of them is a form of completion, a yin-yang of post-war virility. When the two fight (separated by prison bars) and Freddie shows off his machismo by trashing his cell and smashing the toilet, Dodd attempts to one-up him by calmly, dismissively peeing in the urinal on his side of the barrier.


The recurring signature image of "The Master" -- which is also the opening shot -- is the aforementioned view of the ocean seen from a high deck on the rear of a ship, the waters roiled by the propellers deep below the surface. As a metaphor, it'll do: the vast, unfathomable sea of the past (akin to the Jungian collective unconscious but with actual lives instead of archetypes) on which all human existence floats. Bobbing on the waves, buoyed by unseen currents, we float upon upon the surface, moving forward but leaving no permanent tracks. There are no fixed routes, but an infinite number of pathways across the expanse, and we leave only the ripples and foam of a vanishing wake behind us... Or something like that. Anyway, the sea is where the movie begins and ends, with Freddie caressing a lover/mother in the sand.


As you no doubt know if you've seen anything at all about "The Master," the production was filmed in 65mm (shown in 70mm at select venues). Anderson says he "loved the look of those old VistaVision films like 'North by Northwest' and 'Vertigo.'" Reportedly, no Hollywood feature has been shot in 65mm since Kenneth Branagh's 1996 film of "Hamlet." Yes, the images (most of faces and bodies) are often striking and almost tactile, but that's not the most striking thing about the way the film is shot. What impressed me above all else is how carefully the frames are composed, often to suggest something just beyond your field of vision. In Freddie's first encounter with Dodd, the radiance of the latter's red bathrobe seeps into the left edge of the frame as though The Master's light were shining on Freddie.


Earlier, in one of the movie's showstopper visuals, a door bursts open on the hazy blue-gray light of a furrowed field as Freddie dashes out into it, pursued by a bunch of migrant farmworkers. The next shot, tracking with Freddie across the field, only once allows a glimpse of the men chasing him, at the far right edge of the frame. Freddie, it seems, is always fleeing unseen threats, and the image shows a man trying to run away from himself. This is followed a short time later by a reverse tracking shot (left to right) along a dock on San Francisco Bay, where Freddie hops aboard a warmly lighted boat carrying Dodd and his family.


Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood contributes a score that mixes orchestra, percussion and chamber music -- not unlike some of Matthieu Chabrol's music for his father Claude's later films (I've been watching a lot of Chabrol lately), but the strings aren't as in-your-ear dissonant as Greenwood's work for "There Will Be Blood." Some of the music is drawn from a previous Greenwood piece, which is what disqualified "TWBB" from consideration for an original score Oscar. But again the compositions seem to have been applied to the images rather than composed for them; the cues sometimes play from one scene to the next, as if somebody in the theater had left a record on the turntable. It reminded me a little of when we used to play random piano music behind silent comedies in college if they didn't come with soundtracks, because student audiences just wouldn't sit still (much less laugh) in dead silence.


Anderson has built his last two films around exaggerated, mannered central performances -- by Daniel Day-Lewis in "There Will be Blood" and Joachin Phoenix in "The Master." Hoffman's manner is more naturalistic, but still theatrical: Dodd himself is an actor, always in the spotlight, playing a larger-than-life part. Phoenix stylize his posture, speech, facial expressions and movements into something like Method kabuki -- alien, but still (just barely) suggestive of the human. (Maybe the character-defining hands-on-hips pose is meant to be his mie. Not that I know anything about kabuki.) Freddie is a creature who has never felt at home in his own skin, his own head. Everything he does seems driven by desperation, rage and frustration that the world refuses to conform itself to his existence.


The question at the core of "The Master" is: Who are you? When Freddie asks it of Dodd, the older man replies (reciting, as if he's rehearsed his delivery many times, which he surely has): "I am a writer, a doctor, a nuclear physicist, a theoretical philosopher, but above all I am a man... a hopelessly inquisitive man, just like you." Freddie doesn't seem to know who he is, but doesn't seem terribly interested in finding out, either. (That may be just as well. In his case a certain amount of self-knowledge and self-awareness could be even more painful and debilitating than the blind agony of his current state.)


We may also ask: What is this movie? I don't know. I was intrigued while I watched it, but never got caught up in it, emotionally, intellectually or cinematically. It's one of those movies that, even in a vivid 70mm presentation, I viewed as if from a great distance -- like I was sitting way back in the theater instead of up front. I'd seen headlines and tweets from other critics who saw "The Master" in Venice and Toronto, and the ones that weren't raves looked like tentative, ambivalent, qualified assessments -- people saying things like "I need to see it again before I can be sure..." In that sense, it's a film like "The Tree of Life" that many weren't sure they "got" until they saw it again. (In my case, it was the second viewing that convinced me I thought too much of it was twaddle.) And, as with "Tree of Life," I've now read some of the reviews exalting the movie as a masterpiece and don't have much sense of what the film's champions saw in it that made them so enthusiastic.


"You may read elsewhere that there's scant narrative to Anderson's sixth feature," says Peter Howell in The Toronto Star, "leastways nothing as compelling as in such earlier films as 'There Will be Blood' or 'Boogie Nights.' This is emphatically not the case, although the through-line is subtle and a second viewing certainly assists. This is one of the year's best films; it's worth any effort needed to fully appreciate it." OK, but statements like that needs some evidence behind it, and apart from references to "grand cinematography" and references to Phoenix and Hoffman as "likely Oscar nominees" who "command the screen," it's difficult (for me, at least) to get a sense of what the reviewer thinks the movie is about, or what's so special about the picture. Then again, it's only a brief newspaper review; perhaps more space is needed to explore the movie in greater detail. [Addendum: I was talking to a film scholar friend who suggested that "The Master" was a rare thing -- a mainstream American movie that resisted "reviewing" and required a more rigorous critical approach: film criticism rather than film reviewing. I hope to explore that a bit in my next post.]


I think we've all had experiences with movies we didn't take to, or actively disliked, when we first saw them, only to find them gnawing at us the next day or the next week. Some of the greatest movies I've ever seen have implanted themselves in my subconscious and drawn me back to them so I could recognize something in them that may have registered deep in my brain but that I didn't recognize the first time. Is "The Master" one of those movies? Again, I don't know. Yet. Sometimes I plan to see a movie a second time, but never feel compelled to actually get around to it.


But I came across a piece by Stephanie Zacharek at The A.V. Club asking: "Should some movies be taken more seriously than others?" She writes about gut instinct as


... one of the most freeing responses a moviegoer can have, and it's one of the drivers that keeps the movies alive as a popular art form: Anyone with a ticket or the ability to stream can watch a movie and know, in the end, just how he or she feels. Or doesn't feel. Even ambivalence can be a kind of boldness, a catalyst that forces viewers to reckon with what they've just seen, to unfold its rangy layers until some semblance of meaning emerges. But even after all that wrestling, what happens if you still don't like the movie that has been deemed a masterpiece by nearly every critic you respect (and some you don't)? Did you just not watch the movie hard enough, or think about it long enough? Are you just not smart enough to get it?

Is the problem you?

Viewers may or may not have feelings of confusion as they walk out of "The Master," Paul Thomas Anderson's bodaciously epic act of filmmaking.... Some may love the direction in which Anderson is now headed, post-"There Will Be Blood," and some may miss the delicate genre toughness of "Sydney." Some may yearn to see "The Master" again, while others may feel, even if they essentially liked it, that once is more than enough.

Think about that for a little while, think about "The Master" and read her entire article. I want to go deeper into all these things in Part 2....


- - - - -


* From the Venice press conference:

"I think we were just trying to tell a love story between these guys. And we had a lot of scenes that weren't about that and we just took 'em out and the narrative, for whatever the narrative ended up being, just ended up being driven by these two guys and their love for each other."

And from an interview in the Washington Post:

"After collecting all this footage, when we got into the editing room it became clear that the marching orders, the party line to attack, was the love story," [Anderson] says, explaining that the film seemed destined to revolve around "two guys just desperate for each other, but doomed. Sadly doomed."

** Thinking back on it, at first I thought the model in the department store resembled Amy Adams, and the girl at the end looked like Doris, Freddie's sixteen-year-old girlfriend.

My Favorite Films of All Time

Hello, cruel world. Why do you make it such that life is so beautiful when you're on drugs, and only a little beautiful when you're not? My addiction is art; the purest, most intoxicating, and elusive drug I have ever known. You think your body aches when you've been popping oxycontin every day for two years and you run out? That's because it fucking does, but the mind aches when you can't find your art. No. When you can't determine an avenue for expression of it. Writer's block is a bitch with which only Rachel Weisz in The Shape of Things can compete in intensity. Though I won't be the one to say going through the literal, aforementioned drug withdrawal would be preferable. I'm simply attempting some sort of clever parallel between the two. And also to create a segway into what I've been doing today: popping Vicodin and writing. Not on here (except for now), but a new screenplay. I started around noon, equipped with some Vicodin prescribed by my doctor for a temporary back issue, I decided to pop one or two every few hours throughout the day and write. Seventeen hours later, I have written some material, and now move on to a blog entry before I conclude this fine evening, and retire to the sack. Please note: I am not a drug addict. I am, admittedly on the alcohol bandwagon to Sobriety City (every 3 days exactly it crosses my mind it can't be a coincidence there exist 24 hours in a day and 24 beers in a case), but currently my greatest vice is porn. Not to mention, I firmly believe there are two types of criminals: those who get caught, and the rest of us. So shut the fuck up.

I am making this simple. I am posting a list of my all time, absolute favorite films, with a brief explanation of why (no spoilers included). It's a fascinating paradox with me; on principle I despise the idea of lists and banal attempts to objectively categorize works of art, yet I still find it fun. Perhaps because it causes me to compare such phenomenal works of art; once you get down to a top 20 of all time, you're talking about 20 different masterpieces. It's frustratingly joyous to compare them and whittle it down to ten.

These ten are listed in alphabetical order. I shall not go so far with the mental torture as numerically order their greatness.

Anatomy of a Murder (1959), Preminger

An absolutely riveting courtroom drama, where two and a half hours moves like greased lightning. Jimmy Stewart is at his absolute best here, and George C. Scott is amazing as well. It's just such a twisted, perfectly paced and structured work with a performance from Stewart that I'd deem mesmerizing. His trademark commanding voice. His seeming ability to be totally light-hearted and deeply serious at the same time. And most of all, his subtle and graceful approach. He doesn't grandstand. He imbues.

Boogie Nights (1997), Anderson

Paul Thomas Anderson has never disappointed me with a film and he has dazzled and enthralled me with many. Boogie Nights stands as my personal favorite - the one I would most readily rewatch, as I have many times. I love the free-flowing, casualness of the film, as opposed to the formalism of his second and third best films, The Master and There Will Be Blood, respectively. At the core is one story, bolstered by a strong performance by Mark Wahlberg, and surrounding it is a myriad of other fascinating, interlacing stories enhanced by strong supporting performances, particularly from Julianne Moore and Burt Reynolds, both of whom received Oscar nominations.

Ikiru (1952), Kurosawa

The beautiful and touching story of a man diagnosed with terminal cancer who, rather than fearing death, regrets a life not lived. He sets out on a mission: to accomplish one good thing before he dies. Kurosawa was a master filmmaker; he was a brilliant screenwriter, crafting his stories around rich and complex characters. He frames his camera with absolute perfection. Each shot is a lecture in the language of cinema. Of the impact, Roger Ebert said it best: "I think this is one of the few movies that might actually be able to inspire someone to lead their life a little differently." If that's not cinematic craftsmanship, I don't know what is.

In The Bedroom (2001), Field

This is a slow, quiet, observant, and beautiful piece of art. Field foregoes traditional narrative, utilizing a rather lengthy first act, which allows us time to slip into the lives of these characters and take our time observing. Field is correct in inserting us in no particular time of their lives. Nothing major is happening right now with these people. We see life is just existing. We sense conflict and tension under the surface of even the slightest smile or facial expression. We come to know these people. And then we feel the rug pulled out from beneath us, as do the characters. We witness a scene between Sissy Spacek and Marisa Tomei that features few words, and some of the greatest acting put to the screen. We experience one of the greatest films of all time.

The Lost Weekend (1945), Wilder

As I previously mentioned, I am a member of the teetotaller party. Sober. Dry. A pussy, in other words. But, it's for a reason. This is why The Lost Weekend resonates so much for me. No, I was never even close to as bad as Ray Milland in this film. I never went on a binge in my life. I'd never drink all day and night. But for a good while, I drank every night. That was enough for this film to hit home for me. And, Ray Milland is a struggling writer in it. That added a lot too. There are many great films on alcoholism: Leaving Las Vegas, Crazy Heart, Tender Mercies, Days of Wine and Roses, among many others. But no other film has resonated for me like The Lost Weekend. And no other film was as daring upon its release. Wilder truly trend new territory when he made this film, which was considered very dark at the time. It is to this day.

Paris, Texas (1984), Wenders

The film opens and we see Travis, tired, with weathered clothing. He seems to come from nowhere. For all intents and purposes, that's where he's been. Roger Ebert summarized this film quite well: "Wim Wenders' "Paris, Texas" (1984) is the story of loss upon loss. This man, whose name is Travis, was once married and had a little boy. Then that all went wrong, and he lost his wife and child, and for years he wandered. Now he will find his family and lose it again, this time not through madness but through sacrifice. He will give them up out of his love for them." The story, like In the Bedroom, takes its time to tell its story; revealing its characters as if we are watching layer after layer of an onion slowly peeling back. When it arrives at its climax, between two characters who have a mostly unspoken, entirely understood, rich history, the result is one of the most emotionally satisfying and realistic scenes in all of film history.

Pulp Fiction (1994), Tarantino

I didn't see this film until June 27, 2007. Up until that point, I had seen maybe 50 films in my life. Maybe. My favorite two films were Gladiator and, I kid you not, Transformers. I saw Pulp Fiction and it literally changed my life. It inspired me to start screenwriting. Which eventually led to filmmaking. To other forms of writing. To smoking weed for the first time. To dropping out of college because I no longer wanted to major in chemistry. To five years later, today. Okay, in time we may see that it ruined my life; the evidence seems to be leading in that direction. Beyond that, it is one of the most original, audacious, funny, rewatchable, entertaining films of all time. Enough?

The Social Network (2010), Fincher

The most recent film on my list. And quite simply, one of the best films of all time as well. The pairing of David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin was one of the greatest in history. What could have been a silly, light-hearted film became, under Fincher's style, a darker tale of greed, determination, and morality, as well as the most topical film since Jason Reitman's Up in the Air. The cinematography is beautiful. The dialogue is as good as any ever written. The editing job is among the top ten in all of film, allowing three different stories to tell both themselves and each other in a seamless narrative. The acting and filmmaking together elevate this leagues beyond stage-play level material. A perfect film.

Taxi Driver (1976), Scorsese

It would be wrong not to include a Scorsese film on this list. The question is always, which one? Sometimes to solve that question, I ask myself, which would I rather rewatch? The answer is usually split between Taxi Driver, The Departed, Casino, Goodfellas and The Color of Money. When I examine just these films out of his huge filmography, I realize that Taxi Driver had the biggest impact on me, and contained some of the most powerful scenes in any of Scorsese's films.

Vertigo (1958) - Hitchcock

One of my college papers that I actually liked of mine was an analysis of Vertigo. We were given a selection of Hitchcock films to choose from, and I decided to do one I hadn't seen before. I picked Vertigo, and found it enthralling. Along with Anatomy of a Murder, it really solidified Jimmy Stewart as one of my favorites of yesteryear. I have a great fondness for many of Hitchcock's works, though I think Psycho and Rear Window are somewhat overrated. But Vertigo, above all others, not only exists as a Hitchcock film, it defines all his others. For those that know anything of Hitchcock the man, you will see its reflection in Vertigo. A film rich beyond its surface.

Bonus Film

I can't do ten. I hate conventionality, and I refuse to be a conformist! I am a free spirit. So I'm joining the movement of purposefully being against trends without a hint of irony.

Fargo (1996), Joel & Ethan Coen

The first film of the Coens' I saw when I was 9, and that was Raising Arizona. I liked that movie, and still do. The second I saw was No Country for Old Men, twice the day it opened in theatres, once the next day, and once a week later. That's the most I've ever seen a single film in theatres (by double). Then I watched every single other of the films. No Country is a perfect film. It is flawless in every way imaginable. So is A Serious Man. Coudn't be more different of a film. Which is better? Speaking of that, Fargo is as well, a perfect film. I cannot compare these. I am simply going with my old formula and choosing the film I have rewatched the most, and would most feel like rewatching again.

Side by Side

The Death of Film

Side by Side, a documentary produced by Keanu Reeves is probably the best thing he's ever done. No, I am not a fan of Mr. Reeves. In fact, earlier today, I recently caught about 20 minutes of a movie starring him and Jennifer Connelly (of whom I am a huge fan) on FX, which I later learned was The Day the Earth Stood Still. No commentary on that film from me, as I hate to waste precious words on such drivel. And this isn't about that monstrosity.

I'll go out on one hell of a limb and say Side by Side is not a film that will appeal to most people. In general, only cineasts, and those interested in the current state of the film industry, especially as it pertains to film vs. digital (what the documentary is ultimately about), will find this as fascinating as I did.

Christopher Nolan and Cinematographer Wally Pfister

It is a great documentary that chronicles the rise of the digital era of film, beginning in the late 90s, and exploding in the oughts. Since then, digital has been embraced by a great many filmmakers - some new, and some old school (Fincher, Lynch, Lucas, Cameron, Scorsese). It has also been discarded as a falseness of cinema by some, who refuse to shoot on anything except celluloid (Nolan, P.T. Anderson, Tarantino). Though, I should note, that even Wally Pfister (Nolan's cinematographer) admits that he and Nolan will likely shoot on digital one day.

There are a great many excellent arguments made for both sides of the issue. Film has a greater latitude than digital. Then again, digital is cheaper; easier to use; and some films simply wouldn't exist without digital (Fincher sites several shots and scenes in The Social Network that they couldn't have done with a film camera). Not to mention, those directors like Cameron and Scorsese who have used the gimmick known as 3D - such films would literally be impossible without digital cinema. Beyond that, digital is growing more and more advanced every day - new cameras, new features, etc. are constantly being created and expanded. Whereas with film cameras, well, production on new film cameras has stopped. In October 2011, it was quietly announced that ARRI, Panavision, and Aaton had ceased production on film cameras, and were now focusing exclusively on digital. And, as the documentary notes, when film labs die, so does film entirely.

Sound of My Voice

I've grown up and entered the film arena during the revolution of digital. Since I've been screenwriting and making movies, I've seen the introduction of such cameras as a Red One (and it's varietals; Epic, Scarlett, etc.), as well as the very innovative dSLRS that shoot full 1080/24p with remarkable picture quality given their size and price. And, more recently, the introduction of the Panasonic GH2, an incredible little machine that Francis Coppola named his favorite digital camera in his shoot-out. Such devices make filmmaking ever more feasible for up and coming directors on a budget. Whether this is good or bad is not for me to say. But what I can say is - it certainly opens up a world where far more visions can be put to the screen, for better or worse. It's resulted in some delightfully low-budget features like Sound of My Voice, Like Crazy, and Tiny Furniture - all shot on the Canon 7D dSLR. Not to mention these features that used (though not exclusively) the 7D: Red State, The Avengers, Black Swan, 127 Hours, among many more (as well as the finale of House).

Like Crazy

Digital is here to stay. I think all filmmakers should realize that, and begin to embrace its possibilities, its future, and frankly, its - often - extreme advantages.

***1/2/****

Moonrise Kingdom

Something Wes Anderson This Way Comes

Wes Anderson has always been a filmmaker I've never fell in love with, but I recognize his appeal. Most of the time, I find his filmmaking style slightly annoying, and often find his stories lacking an emotional element.

The first film of his I saw was Rushmore, which I liked a good deal. I then saw The Royal Tenenbaums, which despite the stellar performances, underwhelmed me (mainly because of that emotional component that I felt was lacking, along with a less than satisfactory third-act). That film has grown on me. I also greatly enjoyed Bottle Rocket, and never saw The Darjeeling Limited or Fantastic Mr. Fox. No matter what, he's undeniably an original voice as a writer and director; you can virtually instantly recognize a Wes Anderson film after seeing a single frame.

This is especially true of Moonrise Kingdom, which is Wes Anderson style at its purest. The perfectly balanced frames. The highly recognizable use of primary colors. And his quirky, original characters, and the tangled, bizarre stories that they weave.

After first seeing it, I thought it was my favorite Wes Anderson film. After a few days, I don't think it is quite that. I think Rushmore is. And I need to rewatch The Royal Tenenbaums, as that is the favorite (or one of the favorites) among many people whose opinions I greatly admire. Moonrise Kingdom, however, is a delightfully bizarre comedy, with a touching love story unlike any other at its center. The two main child actors (both in their film debuts, I believe) are phenomenal, Edward Norton is hilarious as the Khaki Scout leader who can't quite keep control of his troop, and Bruce Willis gives a chuckle worthy, unusually controlled performance.

This is a good film. A funny film. A touching film. And a visually fascinating film. It is not deep, unlike Anderson's Rushmore, which suggests many emotions and conflict below the surface. Moonrise Kingdom doesn't. But it is good entertainment. It may end up on my Best of 2012 list come the end of the year, but it won't rank near the top. We'll just see how the year turns out. Either way, I do recommend seeing it. It's definitely an experience worth... experiencing.

***1/2/****

The Master

"He's Making All This Up As He Goes Along..."

Paul Thomas Anderson has long been one of my favorite working directors - quite possibly my single most favorite director, along with the Coens. They are both masters of highly original work that only they could make. Tarantino, one of my other favorite filmmakers, makes films that only he could create, but he doesn't have a perfect track record (nor do the Coens, but their finest films are pure brilliance), and Tarantino has a style that is clearly evident in every single one of his films (pop culture references, loads of dialogue, etc.). I have read his script for Django Unchained, and it certainly doesn't deviate from that style. It is a good script (aside from the disappointing final act - a problem in many Tarantino films). I await that film with great anticipation.

Back to Anderson. I fell in love with him when I first saw Boogie Nights, early in my film-watching career. The ensemble film about the rise and fall of a porn star during the Golden Era of pornography, with its stylish and utterly phenomenal use of music, to its array of unique and fascinating characters, to the sheer brilliance of filmmaking on display gave me a cinematic boner. I next saw, in theatres, There Will Be Blood, which was one of the best theatrical experiences I've ever had (along with Grindhouse, The Dark Knight, and Superbad. It was my second favorite film of the year, behind No Country for Old Men. It was certainly more ambitious and epic in scope than No Country, and it was a magical experience for me. That's saying something, because I knew nothing about it (I can't say the trailer was very compelling to me at the age of 17, when I had seen few films). And I was definitely prejudiced against longer-films (my attention span back then was limited at best), as well as period pieces. No matter. I was riveted from the very opening to the dark, gleefully over-the-top, much talked about final scene.

It was after seeing There Will Be Blood that I sought out Anderson's other films. I watched Hard Eight. Loved it. I watched Magnolia. *Really* loved it. I watched Punch-Drunk Love, which I also loved. I even sought out, and eventually found, online copies of Cigarettes & Coffee (the short film basis for Hard Eight), as well as his 1988 short film, The Dirk Diggler Story. I absorbed everything PT Anderson. And ever since that life-changing moment on January 25, 2008 at the Rave Cinemas Theatre (I credit There Will Be Blood along with Pulp Fiction, Grindhouse, and No Country for Old Men for thrusting me into the world of screenwriting - for best or for worse), I have awaited his next film. And this month, I was finally able to see it.

Before opening in wide, it had a run (as most films of this ilk do), in limited release. Usually reserved for such larger cities as New York or Los Angeles, meaning I couldn't see it until its wide release. I generally avoid reading reviews of films before I see them, 1) so as to not taint my opinion of the film, and 2) to avoid spoilers.... however #2 was moot as I had read the script a while back when it was floating around as The Untitled Scientology Script. But, I couldn't resist, and read a few reviews of the film from reviewers (and friends) that I greatly respect. None of them were overly enthusiastic, and many were downright negative. The general consensus of these films was that The Master was muddled, boring, incoherent at times, and too ambiguous and inexplicable at times. So, while I initally had high hopes for the film, I went in with much lower expectations, and in fact was prepared to be disappointed due to these reviews and opinions from those who I respect. I must say, and this is not out of some loyalty to Anderson (I'm readily open to hate any film I see, even from filmmakers I most admire - just ask me about The Hudsucker Proxy or The Ladykillers), that The Master was as spell-binding as its titular character (in an Oscar-worthy performance from P.S. Hoffman), and one of the best films of this new century (and certainly the best of the year so far). Joaquin Phoenix seems destined to win an Oscar, unless another film showcases some kind of miracle of a performance this year. He takes the complex, highly original character of Freddie Quell and doesn't just make it his own - he BECOMES Freddie. Not for a moment was I unconvinced of his performance, not for a moment did I detect a flaw in performance. The same goes for Phil Hoffman, as well as Amy Adams, who gets little screen time compared to the other two, but she's in total command of her character.

To describe the plot may not be a waste of words, but it seems pointless. The beauty of this film is the unveiling of each plot point. Not to mention, the masterclass acting on display, and the perfection of the filmmaking. The score, the cinematography, the set design... everything is perfect. But, a little on the plot: when the film first opens, we see Freddie on a ship during WWII. Not long after the opening, the end of the war is announced, and Freddie is released back into society. One of the most stunning images (which is repeated symbolically several times in the film) is the wake from the ship in the deep blue ocean. The colors are gorgeous. And people say "film" is dead. Anderson filmed this in glorious 70mm (though I saw a digital projection of it), and it's simple gorgeous.

After Freddie is introduced to society, he drifts from one job to another, drinking and getting in trouble, until he sneaks onto the ship of Lancaster Dodd, aka The Master (Phil Hoffman). From there, the plot develops, never as we expect, and that is one of its truly great joys. I shall describe it no further, other than to say there are two exceptional scenes - one between Dodd and Freddie as Dodd questions Freddie about his past. This could have been a droll, boring Q&A session. Anderson elevates the material to make it absolutely riveting. The other is a scene in jail, brilliantly, with nothing more than visuals, showing the differences (and ultimately similarities) between Master and Freddie.

Anderson has, with The Master, continued his streak of creating daringly original, beautifully filmed, exceptionally acted pieces of art. This film is far from boring; far from shallow; far from confusing and incoherent. It certainly deserves a second viewing, but don't all great films?

Also curious to note is that 90% of the first teaser trailer, and at least half of the second teaser trailer has footage that is not found in the film. Very interesting marketing campaign this film has run.

A must see for any cineast.

****/****