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.

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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.

Finding Our Way Back: Watching Films in 2022

"To find something, anything, a great truth or a lost pair of glasses, you must first believe there will be some advantage in finding it."

--  Jack Burden, All the King's Men (1949), Dir. Robert Rossen

"Big things have small beginnings...."

--  T.E. Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia (1962), Dir. David Lean

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It's happening.

It began slowly enough, tentatively at first, just a few smatterings of "lines" and "crowds" [Aside: if we stretch the meanings of those words a little, I suppose] beginning to gather at the local multi-screen movie theaters. In the days, weeks, and months during the height (or low-point, if you'd rather) of the COVID-19 pandemic, movie theaters resembled haunted ghost towns more than they did the sprawling, colorful, bustling home of communal movie-watching that we perhaps remembered from days gone by.

Movie theaters stayed open during the pandemic--most of them anyway--and being the cineaste that I am I kept sniffing them out, checking online every week to see what was currently showing. During the days, weeks, and months of COVID-19, theaters were half-staffed (if that)--still open...but barely. At the time, your local movie-house was offering a few new films (made and released before the industry was shut down, obviously), as well as a few second-run offerings (a chance to catch a movie that you perhaps didn't see when it was initially released). 

In a few instances, as well, theaters were showing revivals of some older classics: Perhaps it was Michael Curtiz's Casablanca (1942); or Billy Wilder's Some Like It Hot (1959); or Orson Welles' Citizen Kane (1941); or Mel Stuart's Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971); or Ridley Scott's Alien (1979); or Carol Reed's The Third Man (1949); or Robert Mulligan's To Kill a Mockingbird (1962); or Victor Fleming's Gone With the Wind (1939); or Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968); or Hiyao Miyazaki's Spirited Away (2002).... 

Not bad.

I remember one such weekend I was sitting in the semi-darkened theater shortly before the start of William Friedkin's 1973 The Exorcist--along with, literally, two or three other people [Aside: obviously two other sad, pathetic, boring "cineastes" such as myself, with nothing better to do, I guess, on a Sunday afternoon]--and I had a fleeting moment of thinking: "What in the hell am I doing? What is going on here?"

Still, movie theaters survived. It might have seemed like they were on life-support at times--intubated, themselves--but in one form or another they pulled through the COVID-19 pandemic.

The first signs I saw of the EKG's little heartbeep-blip for movie theaters was with the 2021 release of the less-than-spectacular Godzilla vs. Kong. Though a ridiculous movie, it was still kind of fun in its over-the-top, "we-know-this-is-terrible-but-just-sit-back-and-enjoy-yourself-anyway" sort of way. For the first time since the pandemic began and the theaters saw a precipitous drop in business, there was a legitimate crowd at the theater for this movie. 

[Aside: Leave it to two of the greatest classic movie monsters of all time to drag audiences back into public space, back to the movies. As bad as Godzilla vs. Kong was--and it was bad--there was something about what it accomplished that couldn't help but put a smile on your face.]

In the meantime, of course, many things were happening around the world on the movie-watching front--and all of it outside and away from the local movie theaters. As if to build on Aristotle's classical theory of physics, horror vacui (or "plenism")--which has something to do with nature hating a vacuum (otherwise known as "an empty space") and thereby nature rushing in to fill it--online streaming services have exploded in popularity and availability. Everyone's home is now literally a personal movie theater: practically anything you want to watch, at anytime, is merely the click-of-a-button away. It could not be easier.

There is even the weird hybrid these days, too, of movies being released in theaters and on streaming services concurrently, or else released in the theaters for a few weeks and then released on streaming.

And while it's true that even though something is gained from this easiness of staying at home and watching movies in your sweatpants and your recliner, something is inevitably lost, as well. Many of the movies that I list below were watched at home. (So, I get it.) But several of the movies were watched in the theater, too. Not just because I'm some kind of annoying purist romanticizing the big-screen, communal experience found at the local movie-house (although there is something to all of that.) I still have maintained my love for "going to the movies" at the local movie theater simply because....

Well, just because.

And I don't seem to be alone in that passion for the "going-to-the-movies" experience. It seems to be making a drastic comeback, this idea of returning to the movie theater. We seem to be returning to at least that sort of "normal," anyway. At least a little bit. It may never return to what it was in pre-pandemic days (because at-home movie-streaming is here to stay and will only continue to grow), but with huge recent hits like Top Gun: Maverick and Avatar: The Way of Water movie theaters are crowded again, and showings are filled and/or sold out, and the buzz around seeing certain extravaganzas on the biggest screen possible with the greatest sound possible is once again a thing.

Who knows what direction all of this is going? But enthusiasm seems to be back for the movies. Either that or it never went away. Regardless, as audiences wanting and needing and loving to fill up on movies, we seem to be getting our share--one way or another. And one way or another, either by literally "going to the movies" again or by staying home and letting the movies come to us, we are finding our way back.

* * The following list is in two parts--favorite films I saw in 2022, as well as a handful of others that I liked a great deal for reasons of their own.

* * The following movies are ordered alphabetically by their titles.

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(1).  2022 Films: "Best Of"

All Quiet on the Western Front  (2022) -- Dir. Edward Berger

Erich Maria Remarque's timeless 1929 novel All Quiet on the Western Front possibly created the whole "anti-war" genre with the desperation, sadness, despair, futility, and death running through its brutally realistic scenes of the insanity and horror of W.W. I trench-warfare fought along the "western front" bordering Germany and France.

The novel has been adapted for the screen--large and small--many times (sometimes more successfully than others). Berger's film is visually and emotionally stunning. It is devastating, of course, as any film carrying this title should be. 

I was struck, though, by just how different this adaptation is from Remarque's source-material: While Berger's film keeps many of the same characters and certain key scenes and plot points of the novel, much of it really isn't Remarque's novel at all. Through most of the film, I felt this All Quiet on the Western Front had more in common with Sam Mendes' 2019 W.W. I masterpiece 1917 than the original novel of which it is loosely based and shares a title.

None of this is a criticism or a complaint, however, merely an artistic observation. In the end Berger's film is a creative re-molding/re-telling of Remarque's famous book; it maintains the spirit of the written source, and by its close you will feel the same horror, the same emptiness, the same revulsion, the same sense of waste, the same hatred of war that Remarque wanted you to feel in his original work. This is an All Quiet on the Western Front for 2022. Many of its scenes and images will linger with you long after the film is over. It will have an effect on you. You may be shocked. You may find yourself sickened. And by its inevitable, inescapable closing scenes you may even cry. 

The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) -- Dir. Martin McDonagh

The son of Irish parents, Martin McDonagh was raised in London and first made his name as a young, burgeoning playwright on the London theater scene. With plays like The Lonesome West (1997), The Cripple of Inishman (1997), and The Pillowman (2003) he gained notice for his wordplay, his wit, and his ability to turn his stories and his characters on a dime, revealing uncharted depths not yet explored.

He soon made a name for himself in the movies as well, writing and directing his own screenplays, including In Bruges (2008), Seven Psychopaths (2012), and the Academy Award-nominated Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017). 

2022's The Banshees of Inisherin is his first film since Three Billboards, and (seeing as how I thought Three Billboards was ridiculously overrated) this is the far superior film--perhaps his masterpiece, in fact.

The unique McDonagh dialogue--the sharp Irish wit, the turns-of-phrase, the joy, the sadness, the ability to leave an audience wanting to use the word "feck" in all of its wonderful grammatical forms--is just right throughout the film. The stunning cinematography. The performances--leading and supporting--as well as the music by Carter Burwell all set the stage for a warm, menacing, uplifting, tragic, funny, sad rumination on the nature of friendship, of community, of love, and longing, and loss, and faith, and revenge, and war.

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) -- Dirs. Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert

Full disclosure: When I first saw this movie, I wasn't sure I liked it. I wasn't sure what to think of it, to be honest. I wasn't sure what I was thinking at all, really, particularly during my initial viewing. 

So much comes at the viewer so quickly, without let-up, without time to catch up on whatever plot development or character development you might have just missed, there is no time to process, to fully absorb, to think even. Images, ideas, movement, sound, all coming at you--literally--everything, everywhere, all at once (to coin a phrase).

I've heard it said that this is possibly the first feature film to fully attempt replicating the experience of what being on the internet is like. (If we want to go back a bit further to 1999, it could be argued that The Matrix might have been the first film to seriously scratch the surface of this idea, possibly....)

Don't get me wrong: I like this movie. I wasn't sure that I did at first, but on a repeated viewing--after having some time to think about the film, and to talk about it with others, and to process it, the film began to take on a shape for me--it clicked into place, more and more.

The movie is kind of like the experience of being online, to be sure, which is a very strange thing for these bright, young filmmakers to have accomplished. And then to do all of the technical/editing wizardry while at the same time telling a very human, ultimately moving family drama. (This is, in fact, the movie's most impressive accomplishment, I think. For example: The quiet, meditative scene with the rocks overlooking the canyon is on a shortlist of one of the greatest film moments of the year.)

What brought the biggest smile to my face at the movies this year, though, was the return of Michelle Yeoh (garnering the most glowing reviews of her esteemed career), the return of veteran actor James Hong (always a delight), and the celebrated return of Ke Huy Quan ("Short Round" for fans of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom as well as "Data" for The Goonies fans)--and all of them sharing moments onscreen together.

The movie can be exhausting (it's true), but it is finally, also, exhilarating. That is a rare combination. 

[Aside: But, then again, see RRR below.]

The Fabelmans (2022) -- Dir. Steven Spielberg

It is no secret that over the long course of his career, Steven Spielberg has threaded personal elements of his own life into the body of his work, addressing various memories, thoughts, emotions, fears, angers, and anxieties, working them out onscreen, and resolving them with a Hollywood ending at times--a full emotional outpouring of grace, forgiveness, hope, and redemption, eliciting a sense of closure and meaning that, let's face it, usually only happens in the movies.

Themes of divorce, broken families, lost children, abandonment, the saving grace of one's imagination, of one's dreams, the power of hope. This is all in the fabric of his films over the years: The Sugarland Express (1974); Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977); E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982); The Color Purple (1985); Empire of the Sun (1987); A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001).... 

I could go on.

He is certainly no stranger to incorporating autobiographical elements into his art. But never before has Spielberg so intentionally set about detailing (albeit still a shadowy "fiction," of sorts) the story of his youth--his growing up in Arizona, and his parents' splintered marriage, and their eventual divorce, and his early love of movies, and his grappling with his Jewishness and the pervading anti-Semitism of his teenage years, and always his preternatural gifts of experimental, homemade filmmaking beginning at an early age. A form of escape for him, yes, but also--and more importantly--a way for him to control the uncontrollable and to fashion the world the way he wanted it to be.

This is a uniquely personal movie--even for a filmmaker like Steven Spielberg who has spent his life making unique, personal movies.

Fleishman is in Trouble (2022) -- Prod. Taffy Brodesser-Akner 

Journalist/editor/novelist Taffy Brodesser-Akner published this, her first novel, Fleishman is in Trouble, in 2019, and I loved it. At the time I was reading it I felt she had either been looking over my shoulder since my divorce in the long-ago days of 2004 or had somehow found a way to tap into my mind--my thoughts, my memories, my bank of feelings regarding the whole expansive universe of divorce: rejection and pain and sadness and loss and lostness... I thought the book was extraordinary. I thought it was an honest and revealing contemporary take on a tricky subject matter.

But it's what Brodesser-Akner accomplishes about 2/3 of the way through her novel that impressed me even more--a "flipped-script" meta plot-twist that I did not see coming and that (as a reader) changed my perception of everything that preceded and followed it.

Brodesser-Akner oversaw the movie-adaptation of the novel and decided on the long-form storytelling approach. (When I was young, classics like Roots, and Shogun, and The Winds of War created the template for something called the "mini-series." Now, in today's streaming world, the same thing is more commonly referred to as a "limited series.") Whatever you want to call it, this 8-part, episodic retelling of her novel is fantastic. 

The writing, carried out by Brodesser-Akner herself, is brilliant. The directing--from various contributing filmmakers--is spot on. And the casting is perfect. The film's three leads shine--Jesse Eisenberg (giving some of the most heartfelt work of his career), and Lizzy Caplan (whom I had to look up because I wasn't familiar with her), and most notably Claire Danes (whom I have always loved and who impresses me here in ways she's never done before; she is exceptional in her turn as Rachel Fleishman, and I hope she is recognized for her work at awards time).

I know this isn't the typical sort of film normally mentioned this time of year in the same breath as most movies rounded up for "best-of" lists. But all the same, I'm including it. (And come to think of it, Ingmar Bergman released some of his finest late-career films--including Scenes from a Marriage and Fanny and Alexander--originally as multi-episode series on Swedish television. So if those movies are accepted as "great films," in whatever form they take, then maybe the rulebook can go out the window.)

Regardless of whatever type of movie we want to call it, Fleishman is in Trouble moved me, made me laugh, made me shake my head knowingly, made me cringe, made me care, played upon my expectations, played with filmic structure, and--put simply--was one of my favorite movie-watching experiences of this past year.

Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery (2022) -- Dir. Rian Johnson

Rian Johnson's Knives Out (2019) was one of my favorite movies of that year. A wickedly fun tribute to the classic Agatha Christie murder-mystery template, Johnson's first contribution to Christie's original world saw a typically dysfunctional group of crackpots assembled in a country mansion, an untimely murder, followed by Johnson's own Hercule Poirot, Daniel Craig's wonderful Shelby Foote-by-way-of-Foghorn Leghorn world-class detective, Benoit Blanc.

Johnson's follow-up three years later (delayed by the pandemic) is an unsurprisingly fun return to the files of Benoit Blanc and its exaggerated milieu of madness, murder, and mayhem.

I'm not sure this one is quite as much fun as the original film, but I'm also not sure if that's because Knives Out came out first and has the benefit of originality bias. Whatever the case, this is a wonderful return to Johnson's take on the "Whodunnit?" genre. As long as Rian Johnson is willing to churn out these stories and Daniel Craig is willing to return as this great comedic sleuth, I'm all in.

Nope (2022) -- Dir. Jordan Peele

This is a thought-provoking  and mysterious meditation from Jordan Peele on our popular culture of passive audiences quietly feeding on a steady diet of "spectacle" via the media, the internet, and even films themselves. Peele is hitting his stride here as an insightful, challenging filmmaker--a provocateur, in every sense of the word. 

With Nope, only his third film, he is in fine form. In his brief filmography, Peele really hasn't hit a wrong note yet. 2017's Get Out surprised everyone with its razor-sharp satirical take on race relations in America in the guise of a slow-burn, old-fashioned horror tale. Us (2019) upped the ante a bit, perhaps--wider in its reach yet no less lacerating in what it had to say about a fractured modern society, all in the guise, again, of contemporized terror.

This time, the horror is front and center, hitting us hard from the film's shocking opening and not letting up with its growing sense of hovering (literally) dread and unease. This is a movie about the weight of trauma, the inability to elude memory, and our attempts to control the modern-day terrors of our everyday world. Peele is on a roll.

The Northman (2022) -- Dir. Robert Eggers

You don't just watch a Robert Eggers movie, you live in it for a while. You get used to its rhythms, its paces, it ways of talk, its movement, its mannerisms, its compositions, its colors and shadings, its music, its melodies, its whispers, its screams, its heavens, and its horrors....

And then you come out of it and you suddenly are forced to re-enter your own world again. 

Like Jordan Peele above, here we have another young filmmaker with this, only his third feature, following the remarkable one-two debut punch of The Witch (2015) and The Lighthouse (2019). Put simply, Eggers makes movies today that are distinctly his own; it is safe to say that his filmography, to date, is not quite like any other living director's. 

His scripts and production designs are deeply and thoroughly researched into the histories and the locales and the cultures of the stories he tells. They are detailed, and dense, and you need to pay attention, and you need to follow closely, and you definitely can benefit from watching them more than once. 

The Northman, his "Viking epic," is no exception--it is extraordinarily rich. And Eggers is supposedly following it with a retelling of F.W. Murnau's 1922 silent German-expressionist horror classic Nosferatu. (This sounds to me like a perfect fit of story and storyteller.)

RRR (2022) -- Dir. S.S. Rajamouli

I really had no idea what to expect with S.S. Rajamouli''s RRR, beyond the positive buzz I'd heard and read leading up to seeing it.

I had no way to predict how much fun this movie would be, how entertained I would be from beginning to end, and how much I would smile during its 182-minute runtime.

And the moustaches... Did I mention the moustaches?

This movie is unlike anything I saw this past year. [Aside: Hell, I think this movie is unlike anything I've ever seen....] Part historical period-piece, part romance, part bromance, part family drama, part coming-out-of-nowhere "Bollywood" musical, and full-on 120% action extravaganza, RRR is like a pure shot of adrenaline directly to the heart. 

I don't recall the last time I've been this surprised by a film, nor the last time I've had so much fun with a three-hour epic, nor the last time I've bothered all my friends with repeatedly saying, "I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but...you've GOT to see this thing to believe it!"

TAR (2022) -- Dir. Todd Field

A recurring theme among some of this year's better films seems to be: A brilliant filmmaker releases a great third film to the world in 2022....

Add writer/director Todd Field to the list. With a film resume' like In the Bedroom (2001), Little Children (2006), and now what I think is his masterpiece, TAR, a few things are apparent: Todd Field is certainly eclectic in the subjects of his films; he is not (obviously) going to be hurried to make his art; and he damn well knows what he's doing.

TAR is another one of those movies that is mysterious, and humorous, and disturbing, and intriguing on its first watch, and on its second watch you notice things, see things, hear things that you either missed before or weren't able to piece together before. (I imagine this only increases with each repeated viewing.)

Much has been said about Cate Blanchett's celebrated Lydia Tar, and deservedly so. It's been called her "best work" and a "career-defining performance." Such accolades are not wrong. She is phenomenal here--it's fun (and also frightening) to watch her sink her teeth in this role. Blanchett is a seasoned actor--one of the greatest that we have-- digging into character, fully committed, fully giving all of herself for the dark, twisted performance of a lifetime.

(2.)  2022 Films: Honorable Mentions

Apollo 10 1/2: A Space Age Childhood (2022) -- Dir. Richard Linklater

If all one knows of contemporary American filmmaker Richard Linklater is his 1993 breakout hit, Dazed and Confused, which follows the graduating class of 1976 on the last day of school in Austin, Texas, that would probably be okay. But then you would be missing out on Linklater's amazing catalog of filmwork--a catalog of movies ranging from his indie-defining debut three years earlier, Slacker (1990), filmed on a 16 mm Arriflex camera with a budget of only $23,000, to his "Before" Trilogy (1995-2013), starring Ethan Hawke and Julia Delpy, to his ambitious, 12-years-in-the-making intimate epic Boyhood (2014), etc.

Linklater is a chameleon of a filmmaker; he is comfortable in various genres, exploring different types of films, and expanding his already expansive oeuvre. As a result, then, he is often misunderstood. He has--from the beginning--been a film artist concerned with profound things: the notion of time, the passage of time, and our perception--unfixed and changing--of our passing through time, as well as our memories of it.

This "little" film--his latest--is a delightful and touching bit of animated autobiography (to a degree) from Linklater, reminiscing about a Texas boyhood, and big dreams of a world away, all set in the summer of the Apollo moon landing.

The Batman (2022) -- Matt Reeves

When I first saw the trailer for this--the inevitable latest iteration of Bob's Kane's midnight vigilante--I thought, "Oh my God, another one? Again? So soon?"

I was not entirely looking forward to this. Even though Robert Pattinson has come into his own in recent years and is impressing me as an actor who can hold his own with anybody onscreen (i.e. Robbert Eggers' 2019 Persona-esque masterpiece The Lighthouse). And even though I have been a fan of Matt Reeves' work, going back to 2008's Cloverfield. And even though this new Batman's trailer looked kind of interesting and even pretty cool...still, I had reason to be hesitant.

And then I heard that Cat Woman would be played by Zoe Kravitz. And The Riddler, played by Paul Dano. And The Penguin, played by Colin Farrell. [Aside: Colin Farrell--let's just say it--had one hell of an impressive year at the movies. Go ahead...Google it. Not only this film but also The Banshees of Inisherin (see above), Thirteen Lives, and After Yang. Remarkable.]

But along with an impressive cast like this, though, I also heard that the film's proposed running time would be close to 180 minutes, which prompted my next thought: "No movie with the word 'Batman' in the title needs to be three hours long."

And  then the movie came out. And (although I still stand by my rule on the relationship between the word "Batman" and a film's length) I was more than pleasantly surprised. 

Blonde (2022) -- Dir. Andrew Dominik

This is undoubtedly the most controversial film on my list this year, and I would be surprised if it is mentioned among others' favorite movies of 2022.

And yet...here it is for me.

It is an imperfect film: It is too long; there are scenes and sequences that could be trimmed (if not cut altogether); I have questions about some of the film's pacing, as well as questions regarding one or two particularly notorious shots/edits. (Yes...those.)

But still.... I think the storm of controversy that exploded around the film is unfair and misplaced. I think what Andrew Dominik was setting out to do was brave and brilliant. And for the most part I feel he succeeded.

Based on the 2000 novel by Joyce Carol Oates, the film intimately portrays the sad, tortured life and career of Marilyn Monroe (a.k.a. "Norma Jean"). For me, the movie is a post-#metoo takedown of patriarchal, chauvinist, sexist, privileged, power-elite, Harvey Weinstein Hollywood. Though criticized for its supposedly unfair handling and "male-gazing" treatment of its star subject, I find the accusations to be off-the-mark.--particularly attacks against Ana de Armas and her portrayal of Monroe. She is strikingly brave in her performance here. (Though the film may have its flaws, she is not one of them. She is wonderful as Monroe and deserves to be recognized for her work.)

Dominik's 2007 The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is a great movie, one of my favorite films of that year. He has shown before an inclination to explore themes of the cult of fame and the nature of celebrity--what it is, what some will do for it, and what it will inevitably do to them. He is still chasing after those themes.

Crimes of the Future (2022) -- Dir. David Cronenberg

It's fair to say there are not many directors like David Cronenberg. At 79 years old, he is still hard at work and still just as polarizing a filmmaker as ever. Originally from Toronto, Canada, Cronenberg emerged from "the Great White North" with some arty student films in the early 1970s but soon made his name (sort of, for those who saw it anyway) with his first feature release Shivers (1975).

From the beginning, his films were known for their low budgets, their weak "acting," and their cheap-looking effects. But despite that, his films were also known for their innate ability to create an incomparable feeling of dread and disgust--what would later come to be known as its own underground genre of "body horror."

Bigger, more expensive, more expansive, and more successful films would soon follow: Scanners (1981); Videodrome (1983); The Dead Zone (1983); The Fly (1986); Crash (1996); A History of Violence (2005); Eastern Promises (2007); et al. 

Like every artist, over the years some of his work has "landed" and some has not. But over the course of his career Cronenberg has never swerved from his dark, brooding, "body horror" vision. And this past year he returned in full glory with a film that only could have come from the mind of David Cronenberg.

[Aside: Reportedly, Cronenberg would even be considered (briefly) by George Lucas to direct Return of the Jedi (1983). That would, of course, not come to pass...which is probably for the best. For David Cronenberg's career, not to mention for Star Wars, as well. (Dear God...can you imagine?)]

Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (2022) -- Dir. Guillermo del Toro

Literally decades in the making, if this film doesn't define the terms "life's commitment" and "determination," I'm not sure what does.

Guillermo del Toro set his sights on the classic 1883 novel from Italian writer Carlo Collodi many years ago, knowing that he wanted to do his own movie-version of the famous, often-told tale.

And...wow...when Guillermo del Toro puts his name to the title of a film, he is not kidding. 

Visually stunning, yes, as you would expect from del Toro. But perhaps the most amazing thing about this stop-motion animated film--almost an impossibility, really--is that while watching it you are able to momentarily forget the famous (and infamous) screen iterations of Pinocchio over the years, and you feel, strangely, as if you are watching it all for the very first time.

All told, that is quite an accomplishment.

"It's supposed to be charming...": Watching Movies in 2021

 

Arthur Howitzer, Jr.: [reading aloud from a news story] "Pick-pockets, dead bodies, prisons, urinals." You don't want to add a flower shop or an art museum?

Herbsaint Sazerac: No, I don't.

Arthur Howitzer, Jr.: A pretty place of some kind?

Herbsaint Sazerac: I hate flowers.

Arthur Howitzer, Jr.: [reading aloud again from a news story] "Rats, vermin, gigolos, streetwalkers." You don't think it's almost too seedy this time?

Herbsaint Sazerac: No, I don't.

Arthur Howitzer, Jr.: For decent people?

Herbsaint Sazerac: It's supposed to be charming.

______________________________

We can say what we want about the year 2021. There would undoubtedly be a lot to say. If years had sequels, then--true to the notion that most sequels don't quite live up to the film that preceded them (rare and famous instances excluded, of course, like the often-mentioned exceptions, The Godfather Part II and The Empire Strikes Back)--2021 sucked as a sequel to the already historically dismal year 2020. I believe that's fair to say.

On most fronts--public, political, social, private--we couldn't seem to collectively or independently catch a break in 2021.

Just when things seemed to have gotten "better" as the year progressed, things soon took a nosedive again. We all know it. There isn't any sense in rehashing what we have all spent the past two years experiencing, again, collectively and independently, over and over.

In the world of film/movies/cinema, though, I have to say that I think this was an exceptionally good year. It was a challenging year for filmmakers and for their films, certainly--as artists making art, not to mention as workers in an industry. But we have discovered, through the fires of this ongoing pandemic, new ways of doing old things. In such a forge, the current struggles have seemed to strengthen some aspects of the film industry while simultaneously weakening others. We have accustomed ourselves, rather quickly--through necessity and because of a shared love of watching films--to a different, evolved way of "watching" movies. Cinemaplexes opened up again, with required social restrictions. Online streaming services flourished. Highly anticipated "big" movies--with big budgets, promising big-screen spectacle, or "smaller" new titles from big-name filmmakers--were given calendar-date releases, only to be stalled, or bumped back, or re-scheduled over, and over, and over, and over....

Again, I'm reporting on news that all of us already know.

And yet, all things considered--2021 being the terrible year that it was--we were treated to some really fine movies over the past year. One way or another, whether it was venturing out to the movie theaters again or staying home and catching up with films on streaming services like Netlix, Hulu, Prime, etc., I enjoyed a great year of movie-watching. 

Below are two different lists comprising my choices for some of the best movies I saw over the past year. The first list of ten titles are all "new" films that were released, one way or another, in 2021. The second list of ten titles includes some more "new" 2021 films, as well as a few "older" films from recent years that, through streaming at home, I was only now seeing for the first time. Regardless, these are all great films in my opinion. There is no system of valuation here, no ranking order--descending or ascending--of "greatness" to my lists. I didn't do that. Such valuation seems pointless right now, in light of the year that was.

Both of the lists below, then, are ordered alphabetically.

FAVORITE MOVIES -- 2021 FILMS:

Annette (2021) -- dir. Leos Carax

It isn't often that I find myself saying these days, as a film's end-credits begin to roll, "Well, I've never seen anything quite like that before." But such was my response to French filmmaker Leos Carax's latest project. With the exception of its dazzling self-aware opening musical number, "So May We Start," right at the film's outset, I found myself (in the movie's first 30 minutes or so) seriously questioning if I had the fortitude to make it through its looming 140-minute runtime. But by the end of it all, Carax's strange, haunting rock-opera/dark parable of the vampiric entertainment industry had completely won me over. I immediately started urging anyone who would listen to me to give this offbeat, dark, strange, moving, lovely little film the chance it deserves.

Annette is in a category all its own this year.

Dune (2021) -- dir. Denis Villenueve 

A lot can be said about a movie that makes you forget just how awful David Lynch's 1984 big-screen Dune debacle was. Anyone who's read Frank Herbert's dauntingly dense 1965 epic sci-fi novel knows how notoriously unfilmmable the book supposedly is. (To which Lynch's contribution nearly proved correct, I might add.) Fortunately for us, though, time has passed. Visual and sound effects have leaped light-years ahead in regards to what can believably be accomplished on a grand scale. And we have a filmmaker in Canada's Denis Villenueve who understands the intricacies of Herbert's original world-building and has the patience and the vision to successfully bring it to the screen.

A new sci-fi epic-in-the-making; I look forward to its "Part II."

The French Dispatch (2021) -- dir. Wes Anderson

You either love a Wes Anderson film, or you hate it. If you hate one of his movies--for whatever particular reason(s)--odds are high that you will more than likely hate all of them. Conversely, if you love one of his movies, the chances of you serving as an acolyte to the vaunted "Wes Anderson style" are exponentially (and probably annoyingly) increased.

I unreservedly and unabashedly fall in the acolyte camp. No apologies. No explanations. I just think his films are extraordinary explorations into the world of filmmaking (and art) itself, and into the nature of whimsy, and loneliness, and joy, and melancholy, and the people whom we love, and the people who don't love us back, and our need for acceptance, and our need for family--even if that family is made up, finally, of a "family" we make for ourselves. 

The Green Knight (2021) -- dir. David Lowery

For years my high school English classes--seniors who are bored, and tired of school, and simply wanting a passing grade so they can graduate--have read the 14th-century chivalric romance, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Originally written (anonymously) in Middle English dialect nearly 700 years ago, its 101 stanzas still manage to work their magic. Nine times out of ten my classes will begin the reading with the typical grumbling, moaning, griping, and complaining. And nine times out of ten my classes will come to the end of the poem surprised at how much they enjoyed it.

David Lowery is a daring artist, and his take on this old poem is everything you would hope a film adaptation would be in 2021. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen--right up until the movie's last line of dialogue (maybe one of the great film-closers of all time).

Licorice Pizza (2021) -- dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

I honestly think I had a smile pasted on my dopey face during the entire running time of this film. I couldn't help it. It is just pure delight. Funny, nostalgic (in the best sense), heartwarming (without being needlessly saccharine), and genuinely good-hearted. It is almost hard to believe that those adjectives are describing a P.T. Anderson film. Although he is easily on the shortlist of great contemporary American filmmakers, his movies are not usually described as "funny, nostalgic, heartwarming, and genuinely good-hearted" smile-busters. But this one seems to be that rare outlier.

Headed by first-timers Cooper Hoffman (son of Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Alana Haim (one-third of the band, HAIM, with her sisters, who also make brief appearances in the film), this thing has charm, charisma, and chemistry to spare. I loved every minute of it.

Pig (2021) -- dir. Michael Sarnoski

Imagine this elevator pitch for a new movie idea: A "retired" Portland chef, Rob Feld, now living off-the-grid in the outlying woods, wakes to find his truffle-hunting pig stolen from him. He goes on a journey to find his beloved pig and discovers, in the process, the dark underground of the urban restaurant scene--a world of drug addicts, and shady fight clubs, and desperate, lonely misfits who don't understand Rob's simple life-code: "We don't get a lot of things to really care about."

Imagine a first-time director at the helm. Now imagine Nicolas Cage being cast in the lead role as Rob....

No, by all calculus, this thing should not have worked. But against all odds it does. Beautifully. This is a stunningly good movie.

The Power of the Dog (2021) -- dir. Jane Campion

Set in 1925 Montana, yet filmed in New Zealand by renowned New Zealand filmmaker Jane Campion (her first feature since 2009's Bright Star) with a script she adapted from the 1967 western novel of the same name by closeted-gay author Thomas Savage about Old Testament-style brotherly resentment, grief, love, jealousy, anger, memory, fear, and sexuality.

Real Jane Campion sort of stuff, in other words.

Not your father's western, maybe. But this thing is going to have some staying power. While maybe not up to the level of Campion's masterpiece, 1993's The Piano, this is still a film that will be remembered over time, not only as one of her best (which is saying a lot) but also as simply a great movie. I think it is masterful.

Spencer (2021) -- dir. Pablo Larrain

What is a human life worth--in monetary value, I suppose (if that can even be definitively determined) but also in more metaphorical, emotional values? What is the cost of a human life? I don't know. But Larrain's movie made me ask such questions. And, granted, it also made me think of such current terms as "white privilege" and "first-world problems," etc. (Is it possible, after all, to feel sorry for a white, wealthy, privileged British princess suffering from depression, and bulimia, and existential despair? Fair questions, I guess. But the answer is simple: Yes.)

Kristen Stewart has come into her own as a fine young actress. And this is a stirring, strong, unforgettable performance as the late Princess Diana. Along with her recent films with French filmmaker, Olivier Assayas, this is some of Stewart's best work.

Summer of Soul (2021) -- dir. Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson

I had never heard of this six-week 1969 concert held in Harlem's Mount Morris Park, featuring some of the greatest black musical acts of the time. And chances are neither had you, I'm guessing.

And that, I suppose, is largely the point behind Questlove's absolutely mesmerizing work of archival documentary filmmaking. From original footage of the event, to interviews with older attendees looking back at the great concert and wondering why no one had ever documented it before, this movie soars.

"I thought I had dreamed it," one grown attendee says in the film.

This is a great musical documentary that deserves to be seen. And to be remembered.

West Side Story (2021) -- dir. Steven Spielberg

Steven Spielberg has nothing left to prove, really. He's done it. But he decided to prove himself again this past year, anyway, with his film remake of the great (and by "the" I mean maybe the), classic American musical.

Does it get any better than West Side Story as far as stage musicals? I don't know. I'm not an expert on the art. I just know what I like. With a classic score by the great Leonard Bernstein, and lyrics by the equally great Stephen Sondheim, as well as original dance choreography by the great Jerome Robbins (updated in 2021 by Justin Peck), Spielberg's retelling of the classic stage-to-film musical not only updates Robert Wise's tired 1961 movie-version but also ups the ante. And it does so with great urgency and with great style. We needed a movie like this during a year like 2021.

2021 MOVIE-WATCHING -- HONORABLE MENTIONS:

About Endlessness (2019) -- dir. Roy Andersson

This past year I quietly discovered Sweden's Roy Andersson. (Which is the best way, I suppose, to become familiar with an artist like Andersson and his work.) Though certainly not to everyone's taste, his minimalist, offbeat, often off-putting films--made up of short, individual scenes carefully pieced together in a thematic montage--inexorably begin to work their spell on you. I look forward to making up for lost time and working my way through his film-backlog.

Upon finishing this movie, I immediately started it over again and watched it straight through, beginning to end. (I imagine someone else could watch this movie and wonder what's wrong with me; but, honestly, this is the thoughtful, explorative, philosophical sort of film that I want to savor and to spend time with.) Great stuff.

Get Back (2021) -- dir. Peter Jackson

Never one to do anything in a small way, Middle-Earth visionary Peter Jackson is on a roll these days with back-to-back breathtaking documentaries, both pieced together with archival footage run through the best film technology of his New Zealand-based Weta Workshop. First there was Jackson's 2018 W.W. I documentary, They Shall Not Grow Old, blowing our minds with its stunning use of film-colorization done right. And now, this past year, we were treated to his nearly 8-hour behind-the-scenes glimpse at the inner-workings of the last days of The Beatles, holed up together (for the most part) in a London sound-studio, working feverishly for 21 days on the material that would make up the band's legendary final two albums, Abbey Road and Let It Be. The resulting film is unbelievably watchable.

Gunda (2020) -- dir. Viktor Kossakovsky

Filmed in glorious black-and-white by auteur Russian documentarian Viktor Kossakovsky on various farms and animal shelters in Norway, England, and Spain, and "starring" a sow and her scene-stealing piglets, and some cows, and some sheep, and a one-legged chicken, this is a film that follows the daily life of a simple mother and her children. Pieced together in deliberately slow, long takes (oh, the patience of the film crew here), the movie beautifully weaves a picture of pastoral life slowed down to a four-legged pace, a life lived on a farm by a pig and her litter of little piglets snuffling for a place at the dinner line, snorting behind her on the daily walks around the yard, tracing an existence of no small consequence lived from birth in the barn to...the film's jaw-dropping denoument of a mother's agonizing incomprehension turned to slow, painful realization of a pig's sad fate on a farm. 

I'm Thinking of Ending Things (2020) -- dir. Charlie Kaufman

I've noticed several online discussion threads dedicated to deciphering the supposed confusing and confounding nature of this film, with viewers seeking answers to what it's all about and what it's all supposed to mean. I streamed this movie on Netflix and so had the luxury of re-watching it quickly and yet at my leisure. It is a movie that certainly benefits from at least a repeated watch--if not more (taste willing). And although Kaufman is notorious for his elliptical, existential, postmodern touches as a writer/filmmaker, I actually found this movie to be fairly decipherable on the first (and second) viewing. You just have to pay attention, and be a cognizant watcher, and notice the subtle intricacies of what's going on--a dreamlike reverie (or nightmare) on loneliness, and love, and isolation, and dreams, and despair. Heavy stuff, maybe, but a work of art from a genuine artist.

The Killing of Two Lovers (2020) -- dir. Robert Machoian

I caught up with this movie on Hulu this past year, and it blew me away. It shook me. The gut-wrenching honesty of its indie-style exploration into the pain, and the confusion, and the awkwardness, and the sadness, and the rage, and the heartbreak, and the helplessness of a young husband/father going through a separation/impending divorce from his wife/mother of his children is visceral. I felt it under my skin. And it made me shiver with memory. Writer/Producer/Director Robert Machoian is fantastic here, from the film's startling opening shot, to its use of non-diagetic sound--a thunderous, repetitive clicking (the cocking of a gun?)--that works to unnerve you, to unsettle you, and to keep you wondering, right up to the movie's last scene, just what is going to come of all this agony.

The Lost Daughter (2021) -- dir. Maggie Gyllenhaal

Seasoned actress and first-time writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal seems to have intuitively absorbed, over the course of her acting career, just what it takes to make a damn good movie. She has obviously watched, and listened, and paid attention. With her script adapted from the 2006 novel of the same name by Italian writer, Elena Ferrante, Gyllenhaal enlists the aid of some top-shelf acting talent here to tell this tightly-wound examination of a middle-aged woman on the verge of coming unraveled. Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Ed Harris, Dakota Johnson... It's a heady brew. 

(Not that movie-awards season technically means anything--I get that. But still...it is recognition. And I hope Colman and Buckley, at least, are remembered and recognized for the great work they do in this film.)

No Time to Die (2021) -- dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga

All right.... Calm down. Calm down. I know. I know....

I feel fairly safe in assuming I am probably one of the few people anywhere mentioning this film on any sort of 2021-End-of-Year-Best-List. But....

I make no excuses: I enjoyed this movie. It made me smile. It was entertaining. While certainly not a "perfect" film, I liked the closure it brought to the arc of Daniel Craig's five-film run as 007.

(Side note: The film-stealing action sequence reuniting Craig with his 2019 Knives Out co-star, Ana de Armas, was worth the price of admission itself. It made me hungry for the rumored Knives Out sequel... We'll see.)

Raya and the Last Dragon (2021) -- dir. Carlos Lopez Estrada and Don Hall

Another "guilty pleasure" from the past year, I suppose. (Although I have never been entirely clear why we are supposedly hardwired to intuitively feel guilt over something that brings us pleasure. Oh well...I'm not going to tackle that conundrum here.)

I saw this movie in the theater with my daughter. It was one of the first movies we saw together, venturing back with one another into the sparsely populated movie theaters--like dipping a toe into the uncertain COVID waters--and we enjoyed it thoroughly. So much so, we returned together to the theaters to enjoy it a second time....

I think it is a good "guilty pleasure." I remember the movie, largely, for those shared experiences, the two of us. It is a great memory.

The Sparks Brothers (2021) -- dir. Edgar Wright

It is entirely possible that I enjoyed this movie more than any other single film on my lists. Edgar Wright's documentary about the 50-year career from the pop-music act of brothers Ron and Russell Mael (the creative duo behind the band they call Sparks). Like most viewers--I'm assuming--I had never heard of the band Sparks. (I find that fact almost impossible to believe, considering I am a music buff, and the brothers' career has spanned a large part of what could only be called my "growing up" years. But I'd never heard of them until this film. Not even once.)

Which, much like Questlove's documentary, Summer of Soul (see above), Wright attempts to correct. And he does so. Wonderfully.

(Side note: Sparks wrote the music/story for the film, Annette.)

Thelma (2017) -- dir. Joachim Trier

Like Sweden's Roy Andersson, I stumbled upon the Danish-Norwegian filmmaker, Joachim Trier, during the past year. And I'm glad I did. His 2021 film, The Worst Person in the World, has earned a lot of high praise and acclaim, to date; and, to date, I have yet to see it.

In the meantime, though, I came across this earlier film from Trier on Hulu, and I felt--while watching it--as if the wind had been knocked out of me. What a great movie-watching experience. From its shattering opening scene (some of the most impressive first 5 minutes of any film I've ever seen, perhaps) to its provocative closing scene, I never quite knew where this film was leading me.

Thought-provoking, disturbing, visually exciting: I love this movie.