The People We Stumble Upon in This Portable Magic: Reading in 2023

Books are good company in sad times and happy times, for books are people--people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book."

--   E.B. White

"Books are a uniquely portable magic."

--   Stephen King

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* The following books are listed alphabetically, by the authors' last names.

10 FAVORITE READS OF 2023

You are Beautiful and You Are Alone:

The Biography of Nico (2021) -- Jennifer Otter Bickerdike

Full disclosure: I must admit for the longest time I knew next to nothing about the tall, blonde ingenue singer/songwriter/musician Nico, with her unique baritone voice and stubborn, thick German accent, and her finely chiseled cheekbones (giving hint to her days as a former fashion model), and her involvement, throughout the 1960s, with the likes of Andy Warhol and his Factory art studio in New York City, and her (relatively brief) involvement in the Velvet Underground, and her legendary notoriety of drug addiction, etc.

I was aware of some things about her: I remember one of my most cognizant associations with her (aside from hearing some of her tracks with Lou Reed, John Cale, and the Velvet Underground) came from filmmaker Wes Anderson's famous needle-drop of Nico's version of Jackson Browne's "These Days" during the wonderful Green Line Bus scene in The Royal Tenenbaums (2001). [Aside: Unforgettable.]

Born Christa Paffgen in post-Hitler Germany and eventually renaming herself Nico, she would dip her toes into modeling and acting, landing a significant part in Federico Fellini's La Dolce Vita (1960). She was rumored to have a bisexual affair with the French actress Jeanne Moreau, as well as relationships with Ernest Hemingway, Lou Reed, French actor Alain Delon, Leonard Cohen, and Bob Dylan (who purportedly wrote the song "I'll Keep It With Mine" for her). She recorded several solo albums, toured, slipped ever deeper into heroin addiction, and died in 1988. She was only 49. 

Bickerdike's book is not always particularly well-written or fair-handed, I think. The author is often quick to smooth over some of the uglier parts of Nico's character (including accusations of recurring, violent attacks of anti-Semitism and racism). Nico was and is a difficult and complicated subject for a biographer--she is sometimes, oftentimes, hard to like. She is sad. She is tragic. But her story--and Bickerdike's unfolding of that story--is undeniably readable and hard to set aside. Love her or hate her, Nico was groundbreaking and important.

American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer (2005) -- Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin

Like Nico above (ironically), I knew only the vaguest details about this person called Robert Oppenheimer. I knew of the Manhattan Project, of course, and of the Trinity test site in the desert of New Mexico, and of the twin horrible mornings of August 6, 1945, in Hiroshima, Japan, and August 9, 1945, in Nagasaki, Japan.

Oh, and I also knew of the name Oppenheimer and his "deadly toy" from Sting's 1985 hit, "Russians." [Aside: Such is my life.] 

This is one of the most intensely thorough and well-written biographies I've ever read. Published in 2005 but started 25 years before, historian Martin J. Sherwin eventually recruited the aid of fellow writer and historian Kai Bird to assist in the researching, and the interviewing, and the writing, and the rewriting of the massive undertaking. Sherwin would not live to see the publication of the book, but Bird would follow on and see the long project through to its completion. The book, an eventual Pulitzer Prize winner, resurfaced this past year, of course, serving as much of the skeleton of Christopher Nolan's critically acclaimed 2023 film, Oppenheimer. I wanted to read the book to learn more about the enigmatic, prickly genius in the desert, so I could--if nothing else--perhaps have a better understanding of the man and of his resultant "tragedy" before going into the film.

I'm glad I did.

The Shards (2023) -- Bret Easton Ellis

Bret Easton Ellis, a young writer who came of age in the early-mid 1980s as a member of the Gen X "literary Brat Pack," published his first novel, Less Than Zero, in 1985 when he was only 21 years old. He was immediately on the cultural map of the day, thrust into the chaos of instant stardom and celebrity. Other books would follow, including 1991's notorious American Psycho--to date still his most successful novel, as well as his most controversial. Though embraced by some readers upon its initial release, American Psycho was generally reviled and misunderstood and labeled as misogynistic trash. (This reader, however, still regards Ellis' third novel highly: I would rank it as one of the most important books of the 1990s decade, not to mention one of the greatest sustained satires in contemporary American fiction since Joseph Heller's Catch-22. Seriously.)

But all of that aside, Ellis' writing career since his heyday has grown spotty at best. It's been 13 years since the publication of Imperial Bedrooms (2010), a sequel to his famous 1985 debut. And then in 2023 we saw the arrival of The Shards, a fictional-memoir of Ellis' senior year in high school in the Hollywood Hills of 1981. Ellis himself (or at least a fictionalized version of himself) is the book's main character and narrator, recounting events that occurred involving a series of brutal murders in the area, and growing to include, eventually, him and his intimate circle of friends.

It is an odd mixture, in a way, of his two most famous novels, and though at times the plotting is a bit slow, a bit stretched out, a bit too gratuitous and fantastical, it becomes apparent that there is method at work to the telling of the tale. And Ellis tells it well. He is still a skillful and assured writer, and this is a compelling "comeback."

The Last Chairlift (2022) -- John Irving

John Irving has always been a friend to left-wing politics and policies in this country. His novels are replete with the often disenfranchised, overlooked, misunderstood, mistreated, and misfit characters from the outlying world of the "perverse," of the taboo, of the socially unacceptable. From his breakout fourth novel and his first masterpiece, The World According to Garp (1978), in which he dealt with gender issues (primarily women and transgender...long before "transgender" was a catchword in the culture); to another masterpiece, The Cider House Rules (1985), in which he took on the issue of incest and the argument, again, of women's rights--particularly, this time, abortion; to yet another masterpiece (and still one of my favorite novels), A Prayer for Owen Meany (1989), taking aim, among several other things, at the Vietnam War and the 1960's counter-culture/Anti-War movement at home.

He is, without a doubt, one of my favorites. I think he is an American treasure. At 81 years of age, this--his latest novel--is "only" his 15th. He doesn't put books out quickly. Some of this is because: 1.) He is, by his own admission, a slow writer, agonizing over the work, shaping it, perfecting it, beginning--quite literally--with the last chapter and the last scene of each book, knowing, in detail, how the story will end, and then working backwards from there; and 2.) Many, if not most, of his greatest novels are long novels, densely packed with characters, and plot, and detail. It is no secret, in fact, that one of his favorite authors, and a great influence on his own writing, is the 19th-century English writer Charles Dickens. This affection for classical 19th-century European novels is of huge importance to Irving's writing. He is a modern 19th-century artist at his core; but whereas his hero, Dickens, could turn out massive tomes with the ease of breathing, it would seem, Irving labors over a book. He takes his time.

My point is, I don't know how many more novels Irving has left in him. He has said, in interviews for this book, that he thinks of each of his novels in terms of trains: He envisions them sitting on rails at a station, awaiting their time. Some of these trains are shorter and some are longer. The Last Chairlift, he claims, is his last "long train." He doesn't have any more long books in him. And so the novel does--admittedly--read a bit like a Greatest Hits sort of novel, in a way. I don't mean that disparagingly, either. I say it with love and admiration of the man's lifework. But it is a book that clocks in at 900 pages. (Yes, that's not a typo.) And it is filled to the brim with "John Irving characters" living out their lives, working through their conflicts, and struggling their way through the densely-wrought construct of a "John Irving novel."

And I loved every last bit of it.

The Ministry of Truth: The Biography of George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four (2019) -- Dorian Lynskey

Reportedly, when Donald Trump won the election to the U.S. Presidency in 2016 and summarily took office, sales of George Orwell's classic science fiction/dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four saw an increase in sales of 9,500%.

[Aside: Let's just stop and think about that number for a moment....]

Spurred on, partly, by such a cultural phenomenon, author Dorian Lynskey took on the task of writing: 1.) A deep-dive exploration into Orwell's literary precursors and influences: 2.) A mini-biography of Orwell himself and his subsequent involvement as a journalist in the Spanish Civil War (indispensable to the formation of the young writer's political leanings and artistic temperament); and 3.) a short but incisive literary disentanglement of Orwell's classic political novels Animal Farm (1945) and most particularly (obviously) Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), as well as their possible connections to our current day, since, after all, "Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past...." (Nineteen Eighty-Four).

Not only for book-nerds and literary-buffs, Lynskey's book is accessible, readable, enjoyable, and highly thought-provoking.

Rememberings (2021) -- Sinead O'Connor

This is a true story: 

It was 1990. I was a 23-year old young man, without--presumably--a care in the world, lounging around one afternoon and watching MTV. Suddenly a face appears on the television screen--a woman's face, a young woman, finely sculpted, wearing a black turtleneck, standing in front of a black background, her hair buzzed short, and her eyes...oh my God the most amazing piercingly-blue wide eyes staring directly into the camera, directly beyond MTV, directly through the television screen, and directly at me. And the voice, her voice, that begins to sing over a simple resonant chord, eventually joining with a drumbeat and backing music and vocals, comes out of her mouth and suddenly makes whatever I thought I was doing that afternoon seem completely, utterly meaningless....

The song/video was "Nothing Compares 2 U." The singer, I would come to find out, was a young Irish artist by the exotic and sexy name, Sinead O'Connor. And all I could help thinking at the time was: "Who the fuck is this?!"

I immediately rushed out and snatched up a copy of her then-current CD, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got (still, to this day, one of my favorite albums; a great collection of songs, with not one weak link in it), and soon picked up her previous album, as well, The Lion and the Cobra (1987). For months--a long stretch of 1990 and into the following year--O'Connor's CDs were on constant rotation in either my car or on my home stereo. I could not get enough of her.

And then the bottom fell out when she made her infamous October 3, 1992 appearance on Saturday Night Live and sang Bob Marley's 1976 protest song, "War" (complete with some of her own original lyrics related to child abuse), finishing off the performance with yelling into the microphone, "Fight the real enemy!", and tearing up a photo of Pope John Paul II (taken from her mother's bedroom years before), and dropping the pieces to the stage floor in stunned silence. [Aside: I remember watching all of that too....]

In an age before "cancel culture" was a nominal thing, Sinead O'Connor was promptly, summarily "canceled." 

When I saw in the bookstore a new memoir from her a few years ago, I knew I had to have it. I hadn't heard anything from her or about her for a while. I was curious. And I let the book sit on my shelf for a time, until this past year when I decided to pull it down and give it a read.

Literally weeks upon finishing her book and closing the back cover, the news came out last summer about her sudden, untimely death. And amidst the sadness of her life, and her career (both its highs and lows), and her early ending, there was and is and always will be her music and her voice. And it reminds us of her raw, primal talent. And it leaves us wanting exactly what we haven't got.

Wading in Waist-High Water:

The Lyrics of Fleet Foxes (2022) -- Robin Pecknold

Exactly as the title of the collection promises, this is Robin Pecknold's compiled poetry/lyrics of 55 songs, spanning the current studio albums (unbelievably only 5 to date) from Pecknold and his Seattle, WA band, Fleet Foxes. Formed in 2006 and releasing its first album in 2008, the band has gone on to accrue a devoted and finely focused fanbase. Its musically diverse arrangements, and fluid time signatures, and poetic lyrical content, and tight, harmonic vocals have given Fleet Foxes an almost impossible-to-categorize style. Suffice to say, I have heard the band's music labeled as "Prog Folk." (And that seems pretty accurate to me.)

I have listened to the band from the beginning. I have seen them live. I have followed their performances online. I know these songs front and back.... Or at least I thought I did. And what this book makes clear is that there are layers to these songs--lyrically, metaphorically, tonally--that I had not noticed before nor even thought about before. What becomes clear reading the songs' lyrics this way--turning the book's pages, absorbing the songs' recurring imagery, metaphor, subject matter--is just how close all of this really is to poetry, and subsequently how closely all of the songs work together to form a complete body of work. Themes of love, destiny, family, loss, nature, friendship, and finding a way to lead an honest, authentic life are all floating through the ether of Pecknold's poems.

Reading this slim volume made me appreciate even more a band that I already loved. What a great little book.

Amusing Ourselves to Death:

Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business (1985)

-- Neil Postman

A bombshell when it first appeared in 1985, this book originally grew from a talk given by Neil Postman (a former educator) a year earlier in 1984--that strange "Orwellian year"--when he was asked to participate on a panel regarding the novel Nineteen Eighty-Four and its relation to the contemporary world. Postman chose to hold up in comparison the two classic British dystopian novels of the mid-20th century, Orwell's novel (1949) and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World (1932). His thesis then was that it is, in fact, Huxley's novel that reflects most closely the times we find ourselves in. As Postman points out, it is Huxley's future nightmare that sees society satiated, bored, contented, numbed with state-controlled entertainment and amusement, as opposed to Orwell's future nightmare that sees society numbed by state-controlled secrecy, propaganda, fear, torture, terrorism, violence, and death. According to Postman, it is a Huxleyian world we inhabit more than an Orwellian world.

Of course all of this was originally written and published almost 40 years ago, in the dusky past of Reagan's 1985, when the advent of 24-hr. cable news (CNN) and sports (ESPN) and entertainment (MTV) was in the ascendancy. Postman was talking about TV and its malignant threat to society--the dumbing-down, the lowering of standards, the dependence on technology, the demise of creativity, of rationality, of human intention and ambition and thought....

It doesn't take a genius to read Postman's pronouncements from 1985 and make the leap to 2023, where we all have instant, around-the-clock access to--forget about simple television--a viable computer now in our pocket, at our fingertips, ready to go at all times, listening to us, watching us, directing us, making decisions for us, entertaining us, filling our days, guiding our lives.

We're in trouble, and Postman saw it 40 years ago. This is a book that, frighteningly, is maybe even more relevant today than when it was first published. Essential reading for anyone who cares.

The Human Stain (2000) -- Philip Roth

I use phrases a lot when talking about writers I admire: "One of the great living writers," I might say; or "A great contemporary author," possibly; or "One of the best writers of the past 50 years," etc.

But if I'm asked to choose a "greatest" among American writers who has either recently passed or who is still alive and writing, I believe Philip Roth will be one of three who--in times to come--will be mentioned as one of the great American novelists of the last half of the 20th century and the opening decades of the 21st century. I believe he will be mentioned the same way we talk about great, foundational writers of the (fairly) recent past--novelists like Steinbeck, and Fitzgerald, and Hemingway, and Faulkner. The legends. The heavyweights. The artists.

I think Roth is that good, that important, that lasting.

The Human Stain, published in 2000, forms the third part of a loose "trilogy," of sorts (more like a triptych, I suppose), starting with the great American Pastoral (1997) and continued one year later with I Married a Communist (1998).

The book's narrator, the writer Nathan Zuckerman (who appears in several earlier Roth novels and is at times considered to be a fictional stand-in for Roth himself) is the common thread that runs through the three novels. In The Human Stain, Zuckerman is approached by Coleman Silk, a retired eminent classics professor at a prestigious East-coast college, who left his teaching career in disgrace after being accused, by some students, of making a racially insensitive slur in his classroom. Silk, who resigned in disgrace then (in order to avoid scandal) enlists Zuckerman to tell his story.

And the story of Silk's life is a stunner. As is Roth's novel, here. His writing is so clear, and crisp, and potent, and powerful. Roth was an absolute master, and this is yet another late-career work of art from him. It is a work of genius.

The Queen's Gambit (1983) -- Walter Tevis

Let's be clear: While I suppose there is some perverse desire deep inside me to foster a misguided notion in people that I'm an avid chess player--and not only an avid chess player but a good avid chess player--the truth is that while, yes, I have played chess before, and yes, I have read books about chess, and while I am interested in the game and can sit before a board and move pieces around and literally "play" chess, I am not a good chess player; I am certainly not an avid chess player; and if I'm really pressed to be honest, I don't even know if I can claim that I fully understand the game.

But I know I would like to. I have always wanted to be a chess player. For some reason I have always wanted to be that guy--the one who knows the game, who can talk about classic matches, classic moves, classic openings, classic endings.

But I'm not. And I'm okay with that. (I guess.) And so while I'm being honest I will admit that, like many readers, I suppose, I came to Walter Tevis' "little chess novel" by way of its 2020 miniseries on Netflix, starring Anya Taylor-Joy in the lead role of Beth Harmon.

That movie adaptation was fantastic, I thought. Tevis' book is even better. Possibly most well known for his tough, classic 1959 debut novel, The Hustler (turned into the equally great film starring Paul Newman and Jackie Gleason), Tevis would also gain notoriety for subsequent novels (as well as their popular film adaptations) like 1963's The Man Who Fell to Earth (with its psychedelic, trippy sci-fi fantasia starring David Bowie), and his sequel to The Hustler, 1984's The Color of Money (which would, in turn, be translated to the screen by the great Martin Scorsese).

But back to The Queen's Gambit, for the moment--a quiet, unassuming, brilliant, perfectly written little novel, with every word in its right place, nothing absent, nothing wanting, complete. Read it.

Rumors of Cinema's Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated: Movies in 2023

All told, 2023 shaped up to be an important and integral year of movies. 

Audiences came back to the movie theaters in droves, and the movie theaters repaid audiences with an array of smart, edgy, expressive films, taking on a variety of subjects, and styles, and stories. A respected filmmaker like Martin Scorsese could, earlier in the year, speak to the press regarding what he saw as trends in the movie industry hinting at the destruction of the movies--his interviews and published statements read like a veritable Jeremiad warning of the possible demise of cinema as an art form--only to release, later in the year, his own new film, putting his words into action. Rather than simply telling people what the problems are in today's films, Scorsese showed people what he meant. He showed, through his own art, what a great film still looks and sounds like. He demonstrated how to keep the art of cinema alive. [Aside: What balls....]

Looking back over the year that was is always a fun endeavor as a cinephile. Sometimes there's no discernible reason why you like something; you just do. Sometimes it's maybe the way you felt at the time and how it all comes back to you upon review. Sometimes it's the craft and the care of the thing in question. Sometimes it's the story, or the form, or the sound, or the look, or the style, or the overall feel that washes over you as you think back on it.

The traditional end-of-year "Best Of" lists are always subjective and often pointless. It is a ridiculous notion to rank "The Best" movies of a year just recently past when you're obviously dealing with a list of titles from an array of different filmmakers, and different stories, and different visions. 

Because such an undertaking is grounded in each viewer's personal taste, there's certainly no perfect science to it. There's no real method involved, other than some primal, instinctual "gut" feeling for those films that stirred something in you, that moved you, made you laugh, made you think, made you wonder, and made you feel. And that's obviously going to be different for everyone.

For what it's worth, then, here are some of my favorite memories at the movies in 2023. Notice I'm not referring to it as a "Best Of" list, ranked in order of preference. I'm not going to do that. 

[Aside: I'm not (darn it) a professional film critic. I don't get paid to go to movies and to then review them. (Dammit...) I do this kind of thing because I love movies and always have. And I love discussing movies and always have. And while I saw a lot of new films this past year and loved a lot of what I saw, I by no means saw everything. There are some titles--as of this writing--that I either haven't yet had a chance to see or that haven't yet been released in the United States: Movies like the great Kelly Reichardt's Showing Up, Cord Jefferson's American Fiction, Aki Kaurismaki's Fallen Leaves, the legendary Victor Erice's "coming-out-of-retirement" film Close Your Eyes, Jonathan Glazer's The Zone of Interest, Yorgos Lanthimos' Poor Things, and the masterful German director Wim Wenders' latest film, Perfect Days. Had I already seen a few of these films--and others that come to mind--I feel fairly certain they would be appearing somewhere on the list below. As it is, though, I haven't seen everything, and so several fine films are unavoidably absent. This is the way.]

Maybe some of these films--most of them--could be considered some of the best movies of the year, across the board. But maybe not.... Whatever the case, these are the ones I liked the most. In a year that turned out to be chock full of great movies, these are the movies I thought were the greatest--the films that worked most effectively (for me, anyway) at keeping the wonderful art of cinema alive.

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* The films below are listed alphabetically, by the filmmakers' last names.

10 FAVORITE FILMS OF 2023

 

Asteroid City -- Wes Anderson

Anyone who knows me (a little or a lot) probably knows what a fan I am of Wes Anderson's films. If we're close and we've "talked film" before, there's a chance his name and his work has come up in conversation. If someone has followed this blog for any time and has read my year-end movie reviews in the past, you will possibly recognize my devotion to Anderson's films in my annual list of the year's favorites. I don't do this just to be stubborn or because I feel I need to live up to some precedent set by myself. I do it because I genuinely admire him as a distinct film artist (one of the most distinct film artists--with one of the most distinctive visions and visual styles of storytelling--working in the world today). His work is entertaining, thoughtful, and important to me.

But my opinion of him and of his films is not shared by everyone. I know that. And I understand why. The vaunted "Wes Anderson Style"--practiced and perfected since his debut in 1996 with Bottle Rocket, the elaborated feature-film version of his original college-student short--has, for many viewers, really grown tiresome and thin over the decades. But I'm a holdout: I'm still a big fan. I'm still all in. And Anderson's 11th feature film this past year sees him hitting a new benchmark, I believe, in visual storytelling, narrative structure, and thematic exploration of many of his familiar concerns (loss, grief, family, loneliness, despair, community, acceptance, love).

Priscilla -- Sofia Coppola

Sofia Coppola's dizzyingly lovely-and-tough interpretation of Priscilla Presley's 1985 memoir, Elvis and Me, is wonderful, charming, disarming, sad, and impressive as hell. Like the book it's based on, Coppola's film offers a close look at the relationship between Priscilla and the King of Rock-and-Roll, spanning the years of 1959 (when 14-year old Priscilla Beaulieu was first introduced to the world's biggest music star of the day...10 years her senior [Aside: yes, the creepiness factor of 24-year old Elvis grooming the young, beautiful freshman in high school is a little hard to watch in 2023]), to 1973, when Priscilla decides to leave Elvis in the depth of his drunken, drugged-out stupor of fame and celebrity. It is a smart, clever, stylish, insightful film--familiar trademarks of Coppola's finest work--with top-shelf acting from its leads (Cailee Spaeny and Jacob Elordi), ethereal cinematography from Philipe Le Sourd, and Coppola's usual brilliance as director.

Like Wes Anderson above, Sofia Coppola is a somewhat divisive filmmaker who can separate audiences into at least two different camps. You either buy into her dreamy, shoe-gazey, poetic visuals and her light-as-air narrative style, or you don't. I love her work. And Priscilla, her 8th feature film, is no exception. It's a strong return to form for her. It's one of her best films in years.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-verse -- Joaquim Dos Santos, Justin K. Thompson, Kemp Powers

I don't know that I found any movie more entertaining than this one in 2023. This thing is just flat-out fun, a laser-light fireworks show of all that contemporary animation can do. From beginning to end, wall-to-wall, the movie is packed--every corner of every frame--with details and delights that reward with each rewatch. But it's the human story--the characters' arcs, their journeys, their relationships with one another (husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, young love, obligations, parents, children, responsibilities, fear, anger, resentment, reconciliation)--that really makes this movie pay off. 

The second "Act" of any classical 3-part story structure is generally the most important to a well-told story. A third film (Act III) of this Spider-verse story is currently under production. I can't imagine how the filmmakers are going to top this installment of the trilogy. (But I look forward to finding out.)

May December -- Todd Haynes

It's possible the same could be said of filmmaker Todd Haynes what American novelist/essayist John Updike once famously said of fellow author J.D. Salinger (of The Catcher in the Rye fame): "He loves his characters more than God does."

From Safe (1995), to Velvet Goldmine (1998), to I'm Not There (2007), to Carol (2015), to 2023's May December, Haynes has consistently explored risky, or dangerous, or transgressive themes and characters and narratives. He does the same here in his examination of truth and artifice, as well as the artifice in truth, and the truth in artifice. And running through all of it are the strong performances that one has come to expect in a Haynes film--particularly this time from the two female leads, Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman, both of whom have received their share of much-deserved pre-Awards buzz.

The Boy and the Heron (original Japanese title:

How Do You Live?) -- Hayao Miyazaki

Legendary Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki supposedly announced his retirement in 2013, following the release of his own Studio Ghibli's 20th feature film, The Wind Rises--an animated historical biopic with some (not entirely uncommon) autobiographical touches from the film's then 72-year old writer/director.

Regarding retirement, Miyazaki changed his mind. And now, 10 years later, the 82-year old filmmaker has released his latest concoction of autobiography, dream imagery, myth, fantasy, war, love, familial strains, friendship, atonement. It's all here on display. Familiar themes, familiar character types, familiar plot devices, familiar imagery. And while for some this may come across, finally, as a bit derivative and less-than his greatest work, I find it to be the same thing that a great artist like Monet was getting at with his countless waterlilies, and train stations, and haystacks in the rolling pastures of rural France. Miyazaki is an old master at his craft, and he is one of the world's great living filmmakers. And The Boy and the Heron is a late-career celebration of the man's unique vision and artistry--an important addition to his oeuvre.

Oppenheimer -- Christopher Nolan

No lesser Hollywood heavyweight than legendary writer/director Paul Schrader declared Christopher Nolan's latest film, Oppenheimer, to be "the greatest film of the century."

Now, that is a lot.

And while in many ways such a statement is more than likely a case of recency-biased hyperbole, you will swear--while sitting in the audience for Nolan's 3-hour intimate epic of the man and his "device" that changed the world--that maybe Schrader is onto something....

This is a damned good film. It's a great film. I believe this is Nolan's best work. And Cillian Murphy, unforgettable in his performance of the title character, is almost sure to win awards. It's a monumental achievement all the way around. If it's not the "movie of the century," it certainly feels like it.

The Holdovers -- Alexander Payne

I love Alexander Payne's films. More than likely, if the average, casual filmgoer were asked to mention a handful of the great American movies over the past 25 years, chances are Payne's filmography would not come to mind. (And therein, ironically, lies part of the secret of his artistry and his greatness.)

Citizen Ruth (1996). Election (1999). About Schmidt (2002). Sideways (2004). The Descendants (2011). Nebraska (2013)....

Payne hails from the center of the country itself--the plains of Nebraska--and it is decidedly this quiet, unassuming, not-wanting-to-draw-attention-to-itself Midwest sensibility that informs all of his films and makes them the quiet, unassuming, masterful works of art that they are. You will not find flashy camera movement in his movies. Nor edgy editing or narrative playfulness. And this surface "simplicity" and minimalistic storytelling approach is deceptive. Because every one of those titles listed above is a great film. Payne makes distinctly American films, yes, but they are also saturated with his love of 1960's French and Italian films, as well as his love of the films from the great early-1970's cinema renaissance in America. Even in this work, his latest, you feel vibes from the likes of Jean-Luc Godard, and from Hal Ashby, and from Michelangelo Antonioni, and from Robert Altman. It doesn't unnecessarily call attention to itself, but these influences are all over The Holdovers. It is its lifeblood.

This is a wonderful film. I love this movie.

Killers of the Flower Moon -- Martin Scorsese

I texted friends, upon seeing Martin Scorsese's film adaptation of David Grann's great 2017 book of journalistic reportage of the same name, something along the lines of: "I don't know if this is the best American film of the year, or if it's the equivalent of the mythic 'Great American Novel,' but it certainly is, quite possibly, 'The Great American Movie.'"

With a sweeping statement like that, I didn't mean that Scorsese's latest is the greatest American film ever made (although the proverbial "jury" is still out, I suppose). I meant, more, that it is--philosophically, maybe--the greatest film about America ever made....

(Again...the jury is out. But we'll see.)

This is a beautiful, harsh, ugly, lovely, sensitive, painful, violent, honest, terrible, wonderful movie about the truth at the heart of the "greatness" that a country like America has always (vocally, anyway) aspired to. Scorsese has dedicated the bulk of his storied career to studying, in depth, the painful beauty of greed, and sin, and hatred, and love. At 81 years of age, he has never stopped pushing the envelope. He is a risk-taker, a maverick, a genius. And this is one of the best films of his legendary career. It is a late masterpiece.

Past Lives -- Celine Song

This is the one movie that genuinely moved me more than any film this past year. It is simple in its presentation. It is minimalistic in its style and its approach. It is narratively straight-forward in the layout of its story, and its characters, and its "conflict."

But...wow...does this thing work. It sneaks up on you. It's so affecting and so graceful and so powerful in its unmannered manner. The humanity expressed within its carefully regulated story. The scale of emotion--both expressed and repressed--among its trio of central characters. It's enough to make you hold your breath for fear that you might knock the whole thing over.

And then the film's last moments....

Suffice to say, the closing scene knocked my (emotional) legs out from under me. I was a wreck in the movie theater. (I'm man enough to admit that.) 

Past Lives could very easily be my favorite movie of the year. Period. End stop. (A masterpiece. Undoubtedly.) Hailing from the theater, this is, amazingly, Celine Song's film debut as writer/director. I look forward to whatever she does next.

Anatomy of a Fall -- Justine Triet

Courtroom dramas are naturally designed to play out as great theater. All the classic narrative structures and character types are naturally in place--the conflict, the archetypal antagonist and protagonist--as well as the arcs of the various people in the story. It's all there:  A perfect display of Storytelling 101.

French film writer/director Justine Triet is at the top of her game here with the deceptively simple/complicated study of love, hatred, marriage, parenthood, children, vengeance, love, and dogs (Oh my God, Snoop....)

In many ways, this movie haunted me like no other. It wouldn't leave me alone in the days and weeks after viewing it--a masterful film. And lead actress Sandra Huller delivers (I think) the greatest acting performance of the year. She is phenomenal. I hope she is recognized at awards time.

This is a great movie. I still can't stop thinking about it.

___________________

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Four Short Films: Roald Dahl -- Wes Anderson

A hell of a year for Anderson. Stylistically, visually, and narratively brilliant. Check it out. (To my knowledge, only available on Netflix.)

Squaring the Circle: The Story of Hipgnosis -- Anton Corbin

As a lifetime fan of Pink Floyd, The Alan Parsons Project, Peter Gabriel, etc., I was naturally drawn to this documentary film about the history of the London art-design company that created some of the most memorable, historic, iconic rock album covers of all time.

Fascinating.

The Iron Claw -- Scott Durkin

Maybe only fellow filmmaker Christopher Nolan held he same passion to make his film this year as did Scott Durkin in his loving telling of the tragic true story of the doomed Von Erich family from the 1980s world of professional wrestling....

Quite simply, if this story weren't real, you wouldn't believe it. (Seriously.) This is heartbreaking stuff--breathtaking, moving, and great.

Good storytelling. Good acting. Good filmmaking. I like it.

Barbie -- Greta Gerwig

Okay. Here it is: The one everyone's been waiting for.... (I know. This film is supposed to be higher up on the list, right?)

Anyway, I did not forget this film, the ridiculously popular pink-half of the "Barbenheimer" phenomenon that defined "Summer 2023" at the movies.

To be clear: I liked this movie. (Notice I did not say I loved it, though.) It is a funny movie, It is bright. It is intelligent. It is witty. It is self-referential and self-parodying. (But, in my opinion, for all its strengths, it gets a little too serious and sanctimonious for a movie with the name Barbie in the title.) Still, though, its screenplay, its production design, its performances, it direction...this movie works, for the most part, and is a fun memory of the year that was.

The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House

-- Hirokazu Kore-eda

Based on the long-running manga series of books, Kiyo in Kyoto, masterful Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Kore-eda (After Life [1998], Still Walking [2008], Shoplifters [2018]) brings to life this simple story told simply in his typically beautiful, humanistic style. An extended series presented on Netflix over the past year, this "movie" is a touching, thought-provoking, sensitive, and moving portrayal of good people being good people and doing good things for one another.

(This thing made me smile and tear up more than once, I must admit....)

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny -- James Mangold

I know. I know.... Stop it. (I'm sure I'm the only person to include this movie on an end-of-year "Favorites" list, I know. Still....) In my defense, I will say only this:

I enjoyed this movie. Was it perfect? No. Was it great? No. Were there weak spots and faults? Of course--absolutely. And yet....

The movie was good. Did it make me smile and laugh? Yes. Did it make me choke up a time or two (seriously)? Yes, it did. Did it make me happy to have witnessed the arc of Harrison Ford's development/resolution of this classic film character that he helped to create over the past 40 years, resulting in a somewhat reasonable and satisfying close?

Yes. Yes. And definitely yes. (I don't apologize for this.)

Godland -- Hylanur Palmason

A young Danish priest in the late-19th century--with an old-fashioned camera (tripod, and black-caped hood, etc.)--travels through the rural lands of Iceland to start a church in a far-flung no-man's land corner of the country, taking posed photos of the locals along the way.

A startlingly stark, vivid, ephemeral, tense, and visually stunning film. The cinematography, alone, is some of the best I saw in 2023. The landscapes are astounding, and the compositions throughout the film are beautiful, and harsh, and threatening, and breathtaking, and unforgettable.

Godzilla Minus One -- Takashi Yamazaki

Maybe the biggest pleasant surprise of the past year for me in the movie theater--this is a surprisingly wonderful and exhilarating film. I'm a film buff, yes, but admittedly was never a huge fan of the legendary Godzilla series; nevertheless, this new film takes up the mantle of resurrecting--with a perfectly straight face and a disarmingly affecting human story on the side--the atomic-age monster-from-the-deep and his requisite tale of rage and revenge.

Minimal budget. Fun screenplay. Great direction, and acting, and production values, etc. And the result is timeless. As strange as it may sound in 2023, this is a fantastic Godzilla movie.