Taking inspiration from the past, director Sam Mendes has crafted an immaculate exercise in technical wonder, passionate vision and suddenly vital reminders.
The inherent gamble in crafting a film via one extended take – or the illusion of it – lies in the final cut existing as little more than a gimmick, spurring a ‘spot the edit’ challenge that eclipses the narrative.
1917 clears that hurdle in the first five minutes.
It is WWI, and British Corporals Blake and Schofield (Dean Charles-Chapman and George MacKay, both wonderful) are standing before their General (Colin Firth) amid the highest of stakes. Allied intelligence has revealed an imminent offensive will lead straight into a German ambush, and the corporals’ success at traveling deep into enemy territory to deliver the order to abort is all that will keep thousands of soldiers – including Blake’s own brother – from certain death.
Mendes dedicates the film to the stories told by his grandfather, and it stands thick with the humanity of bravery and sacrifice that ultimately prevailed through the most hellish of circumstances.
Blake and Schofield head out alone, enveloped by ballet-worthy camerawork and pristine cinematography (Roger Deakins, natch) that never blinks. The opportunities for edits may be evident at times, but the narrative experience is so immersive you’ll hardly care. We’re not merely following along on this mission, we’re part of every heart-stopping minute.
Anyone who’s seen the actual WW1 footage from Peter Jackson’s recent doc They Shall Not Grow Old (an irresistible bookend to 1917) will recognize a certain sanitation to the production design, but the trade-off is a fresh majesty for familiar themes, one that’s consistently grounded in stark intimacy. Mendes and Deakins (buoyed by a subtly evocative score from Thomas Newman) brush away any dangers of “first-person shooter” novelty with a near miraculous level of precise execution that succeeds in raising several bars.
1917 is absolutely one of the best films of the year, but it’s more. It’s an unforgettable and exhausting trip, immediately joining the ranks of the finest war movies ever made.
Got some stuff this week – good week to avoid the chill, pull out that ratty old throw and stay on the couch, especially if you like to watch white guys descend into madness. If you do, this is your week, brother.
2019 was an exceptional year in film. There were so many great movies to catch, undoubtedly some slipped by you. Here we offer a list of the best films we think you might not have seen this year in the hopes that you’re able to remedy that situation stat.
The second decade of the 2000s saw remarkable leaps forward in technology, a fact that democratized filmmaking in a way we’d never seen before. Between the tech available to help low-budget filmmakers get their vision created, and the platforms available to get that product out to consumers, we saw more high-quality (and low) films than ever before. This only meant that it got tougher to convince people to get off their bums and fork over the cash to see something on the big screen, but some filmmakers answered that challenge with the visual wonder and glory.
It’s a great time to be a movie lover. Here are our 25 favorite films from 2010 – 2019.
1. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)
Holy shit.
To say that George Miller has stepped up his game since he left
us at Thunderdome would be far too mild a statement to open with. Mad Max: Fury Road is
not just superior to everything in this franchise, as well as everything else
Miller has ever directed. It’s among the most exhausting, thrilling, visceral
action films ever made.
Unsurprisingly, the great Tom Hardy delivers a
perfect, guttural performance as the road warrior. As his reluctant partner in
survival, Charlize Theron is the perfect mix of compassion and badassedness.
Hardy’s a fascinating, mysterious presence, but Theron owns this film.
Fury Road amounts
to a film about survival, redemption and the power of the universal blood
donor. Clever, spare scripting makes room for indulgent set pieces that
astonish and amaze. There’s real craftsmanship involved here – in the practical
effects, the pacing, the disturbing imagery, and the performances that hold it
all together – that marks not just a creative force at the top of his game, but
a high water mark for summer blockbusters.
2. Toy Story 3 (2010)
It had been 11 years – time for all of us to grow up and
forget about all our favorite toys. And then Pixar returned to Andy’s room in
maybe the most honest and heartbreaking coming of age film every digitally
created.
Andy’s leaving for college. The toys’ jobs are done. Crated
to be packed away in the attic, the toys are accidentally donated to a day care
center. There, they will learn the true meaning of horror.
Sequels are not supposed to surpass the quality of their
predecessors, but this franchise has always been different. There is love and
pathos among these toys and between the toys and the audience. Whether it was
the handholding scene on the conveyor belt or Woody and Andy’s final goodbye,
something in this movie got to you. If it didn’t, we’re not calling you a
sociopath directly, but we do have our doubts about you.
3. 12 Years a Slave (2013)
Steve McQueen artfully and impeccably
translates Solomon Northup’s memoir of illegal captivity to the screen.
Northup, played with breathtaking beauty by Chiwetel Ejiofor, was a free family
man in New York State, a violinist by trade, duped, drugged, shackled and sold
into slavery in Louisiana. We are privy to the next 12 years of this man’s
life, and while it is often brutally difficult to watch, it’s also a tale so
magnificently told it must not be missed.
12 Years a Slave transcends filmmaking, ultimately become an event, one that
is destined to leave a profound, lasting impression. He’s matched by Lupita
Nyong’o, whose almost otherworldly performance netted her an Oscar, and Michael
Fassbender in one of the most brilliantly
unsettling pieces of acting you’ll ever find.
Even the smallest role leaves a scalding
impression. Whether it’s Paul Giamatti’s casual evil, Benedict Cumberbatch’s
cowardly mercy, Paul Dano’s spineless rage or Adepero Oduye’s unbridled grief,
there’s an emotional authenticity to the film that makes every character, no
matter how brief their appearance in Northup’s odyssey, memorable.
4. Take Shelter (2011)
For years, the undeniably talented Michael Shannon’s been a
bit of a “that guy.” His performance here as a man fighting a possible descent
into madness may make him that guy you can’t stop thinking about.
Shannon’s blue collar family man Curtis is plagued by
frightening dreams and apocalyptic visions. In telling his tale, filmmaker Jeff
Nichols exhibits the patience of an artist who knows just where he is taking us
and how much the journey will resonate once we get there. In one sense, the film
is a modern horror story reaching the parts of our deepest fears that no maniac
in a hockey mask could ever touch. More pointedly, it’s an allegory for now, a
beautifully shot summation of the anxieties of our time.
5. The Tree of Life (2011)
If you don’t mind a challenge, Tree of Life offers the most
personal and introspective work yet from writer/director Terrence Malick. He
begins at the beginning of life itself, then in a loose, autobiographical
narrative, he focuses on a Texas family in the 1950s and on the complicated
relationship between young Jack (Hunter McCracken) and his domineering father
(Brad Pitt) before leaping to a reflective, even spiritual present day.
Malick works on a bold vision and he’s not interested in
dumbing it down. For some filmmakers, this mix of the celestial and the
biographical wouldn’t work. In fact, you may be sure while watching it that The
Tree of Life doesn’t work. But ultimately, it leaves you feeling a way that
no lesser film could.
6. The Master (2012)
A seriously damaged WWII vet-turned-vagabond
(Joaquin Phoenix, in an astonishing performance) stows away on a yacht. Its
enigmatic commander (Philip Seymour Hoffman, incandescent as always) takes the
boy under his wing, determined to use this vessel to prove his theories about the
human mind – to himself, to the veteran, and to an increasingly hostile public.
Phoenix is a tightly coiled spring
of rage and emotion, so honest and raw as to make your jaw drop. He’s flanked
on all sides by impressive turns, not the least of which is Hoffman’s perfectly
nuanced megalomaniac. His presence provides the counterbalance to Phoenix
that allows filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson to explore core American ideas of
freedom versus security, submission versus power, self-determination versus
subservience. It’s a challenging but awe-inspiring film that proves Anderson
the true master.
7. Selma (2014)
Ava DuVernay’s account of the civil rights marches
in Selma, Alabama doesn’t flinch. You can expect the kind of respectful
approach and lovely, muted frames common in historical biopics, but don’t let
that lull you. This is not the run of the mill, laudable and forgettable
historical art piece, and you’ll know that as you watch little girls descend a
staircase within the first few minutes. Selma is a straightforward, well-crafted
punch to the gut.
Working from a screenplay by first time
scripter Paul Webb, DuVernay unveils the strategies, political factions,
internal frictions and personal sacrifices at play in the days leading to the
final march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama. Yes, she simplifies some
complicated issues and relationships, but she is a powerful storyteller at the
top of her craft and her choices are always for the good of the film.
8. Moonlight (2016)
Saving the world is great, so is
finding love, or cracking the case, funnying the bone or haunting the house.
But a movie that slowly awakens you to the human experience seems a little
harder to find at the local multiplex.
You can find one in Moonlight, a minor
miracle of filmmaking from writer/director Barry Jenkins. With just his second
feature (after 2008’s Medicine for Melancholy), Jenkins presents a journey of
self-discovery in three acts, each one leading us with graceful insight toward
a finale as subtle as it is powerful.
The performances are impeccable, the
craftsmanship precise, the insight blinding. You will be a better human for
seeing Moonlight. It is a poignant reminder that
movies still have that power.
9. The Act of Killing (2012)
Surreal, perverse, curious and
horrifying, The Act of Killing demands to be seen as much as any film in recent memory.
Co-director Joshua Oppenheimer met with some of the most
famous death squad leaders of the 1965 overthrow of Indonesian government and
made them a distasteful yet ultimately brilliant offer: would they re-enact
their savagery on camera?
The result is mesmerizing,
can’t-believe-what-I’m-seeing-stuff. The Act of
Killing is unforgettable. It
calls to mind past cruelty, an Orwellian present and an uncertain future,
emerging as essential, soul-shaking viewing.
10. Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2010)
Rarely has a film transported an audience back in time as
effectively as Werner Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams. The time is 30,000
years ago and the place is France’s Chauvet Cave, home of the earliest known
recorded visions in human history.
Herzog films in 3D, reminding you that the technique can be
so much more than a gimmick. You feel the breadth and the depth of the cave and
ogle the beautiful contours of its walls, adorned with the work of incredibly
sophisticated artists. Herzog’s camera lingers as art from tens of thousands of
years ago speak to you so loudly that you may find yourself holding your
breath.
11. Drive (2011)
Nicolas Winding Refn washes deliberately paced scenes in
neon, hangs on long pauses, and builds slow, existential dread that he
punctuates on rare occasions with visceral, brutal smacks of violence.
The perfect embodiment of this trancelike atmosphere and its
sudden spurts of violence, Ryan Gosling simmers quietly, a brooding, almost
childlike outsider in a weird satin jacket. He’s closed off, poetic in his
efficiency, until he’s drawn to the warmth and humanity of another. And others
always mean complications.
The aesthetic and the framing, the sound design and score,
the stillness and explosions of violence define this film as an impeccable and
bizarre vision unlike anything in its gangster genre.
12. The Revenant (2015)
There’s a natural poetry to Alejandro Gonzales
Inarritu’s filmmaking. The Oscar winning director seeks transcendence for his characters,
finding the grace in human frailty regardless of the story unfolding. And The Revenant is quite a story.
With no more than 15 lines in English, DiCaprio
manages to capture the essence of this grieving survivor brought to his most
primal self. This is easily the most physical performance of his career.
DiCaprio is alone for the majority of his time onscreen, and his commitment to
this character guarantees that those scenes are riveting.
One year after winning the Oscar for Birdman’s
intimate, internal journey, Innaritu snagged a second statuette, taking that
human journey toward redemption to the out of doors with a brutally gorgeous,
punishingly brilliant film.
13. Boyhood (2014)
Filmmaker Richard Linklater’s genius has always
been his generosity and patience with his cast and his mastery in observing the
small event. Many of his films feel as if they are moving of their own accord
and he’s simply there to capture it, letting the story unveil its own meaning
and truth.
Never has he allowed this perception to define
a film quite as entirely or as eloquently as he does in Boyhood. With the collaborative narrative Linklater
sets a tone that is as close to reality as any film has managed. It’s both
sweeping and precise, with Linklater’s deceptively loose structure strengthened
by his near flawless editing and use of music to transition from one year to
the next.
An effort that proves Linklater to be
indefinable as an artist even as it feels like a natural evolution of his best
work, Boyhood is a movie like no other.
14. Roma (2018)
A breathtaking culmination of his work to date, Roma pulls
in elements and themes, visuals and curiosities from every film Alfonso Cuarón
has made (including a wonderfully organic ode to the inspiration for one of his
biggest), braiding them into a semi-autobiographical meditation on family life
in the early 1970s.
At the film’s heart is an extended
group concerning an affluent Mexico City couple (Fernando Grediaga and the
scene-stealing Marina de Tavira), their four children and their two live-in
servants Adela (Nancy Garcia Garcia) and Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio).
Sequence upon sequence offers a
dizzying array of beauty, as foreground and background often move in glorious
concert during meticulously staged extended takes that somehow feel at once
experimental and restrained. The effect is of a nearly underwater variety, a
profound serenity that renders any puncture, from a street parade moving
blindly past the distraught woman in its path to a murder in broad daylight,
that much more compelling.
15. Toy Story 4 (2019)
Though a 4th installment seemed needless if not
sacreligious, the stars aligned, the talents gelled, and the history and
character so beautifully articulated over a quarter century found some really
fresh and very funny ideas. Toy Story 4 offers
more bust-a-gut laughs than the last three combined, and while it doesn’t pack
the emotional wallop of TS3 (what
does?!), it hits more of those notes than you might expect.
Between Forky’s confounded sense of self and Woody’s own
existential crisis, TS4 swims some heady waters. These themes are brilliantly,
quietly addressed in a number of conversations about loyalty, devotion and
love.
Characteristic of this franchise, the peril is
thrilling, the visuals glorious, the sight gags hilarious (keep an eye on those
Combat Carls), and the life lessons far more emotionally compelling than what
you’ll find in most films. To its endless credit, TS4 finds new ideas to explore and fresh but
organic ways to break our hearts.
16. The Witch (2015)
In set design, dialog,
tension-building and performances this film creates an unseemly familial
intimacy that you feel guilty for stumbling into. There is an authenticity here
– and an opportunity to feel real empathy for this Puritan family – that may
never have been reached in a “burn the witch” horror film before.
On the surface The Witch is an “into the woods” horror film that
manages to be one part The Crucible, one
part The Shining. Below that, though, is a peek into
radicalization as relevant today as it would have been in the 1600s.
Beautiful, authentic and boasting
spooky lines and images that are equally beautiful and haunting, it is a film –
painstakingly crafted by writer/director Robert Eggers – that marks a true new
visionary for the genre.
17. You Were Never Really Here (2017)
Lynne Ramsay adapts Jonathan Ames’s brisk
novella into a dreamy, hypnotic fable, an in-the-moment pileup of Taxi Driver, Taken and Drive.
Together, Ramsay and lead Joaquin Phoenix
ensure nearly each of the film’s 89 minutes burns with a spellbinding
magnetism. While Phoenix lets you inside his character’s battered psyche just
enough to want more, Ramsay’s visual storytelling is dazzling. Buoyed by
purposeful editing and stylish soundtrack choices, Ramsay’s wonderfully artful
camerawork (kudos to cinematographer Thomas Townend) presents a stream of
contrasts: power and weakness, brutality and compassion, celebration and
degradation.
18. Get Out (2017)
What
took so long for a film to manifest the fears of racial inequality as smartly
as does Jordan Peele’s Get Out.
Peele
writes and directs a mash up of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, Rosemary’s
Baby and a few other staples that should go unnamed to preserve
the fun. Opening with a brilliant prologue that wraps a nice vibe of homage
around the cold realities of “walking while black,” Peele uses tension, humor
and a few solid frights to call out blatant prejudice, casual racism and
cultural appropriation.
Peele is clearly a horror fan, and he gives knowing winks to
many genre cliches (the jump scare, the dream) while anchoring his entire film
in the upending of the “final girl.” This isn’t a young white coed trying to
solve a mystery and save herself, it’s a young man of color, challenging the
audience to enjoy the ride but understand why switching these roles in a horror
film is a social critique in itself.
19. Parasite (2019)
Joon-ho Bong, as both director and co-writer, dangles multiple
narrative threads, weaving them so skillfully throughout the film’s various
layers that even when you can guess where they’ll intersect, the effect is no
less enlightening.
Filming in an ultra-wide aspect ratio allows Bong to give his
characters and themes a solid visual anchor. In single frames, he’s able to embrace
the complexities of a large family dynamic while also articulating the detailed
contrasts evident in the worlds of the haves and have nots.
Parasite tells
us to make no plans, as a plan can only go wrong.
Ignore that, and make plans to see this brilliantly mischievous,
head-swimmingly satisfying dive down the rabbit hole of space between the
classes.
20. The Irishman (2019)
Scorsese’s sly delivery suggests that he’s
interested in what might have happened to Hoffa, sure, but he’s more intrigued
by memory, regret and revisionism in the cold glare of time. The result is
sometimes surprisingly funny, with a wistful, lived-in humor that more than suits
the film’s greying perspective.
Robert De Niro’s longtime partnership with
Scorsese makes it even easier to view his Frank Sheeran as an extension of the
director himself, taking stock of his legacy in film. Alongside career
re-establishing turns from Al Pacino, embracing type, and Joe Pesci, a gem
playing against type, De Niro reminds you just why he has the legacy he does.
Away from the chatter of Scorsese’s views on
superhero movies or the proper role of Netflix, The
Irishman stands as a testament to cinematic storytelling, and
to how much power four old warhorses can still harness.
21. Django Unchained (2012)
Quentin Tarantino’s first Oscar winning
screenplay since Pulp Fiction unleashed a giddy bloodbath that’s one
part blaxploitation, two parts spaghetti Western, and all parts awesome.
Astonishing performances from Leonardo DiCaprio and Oscar winner Christoph
Waltz might keep you from noticing the excellent turns from Sam Jackson, Jamie
Foxx and Kerry Washington. That’s why you’ll need to see it again.
22. Dunkirk (2017)
Solid
performances abound without a single genuine flaw to point out, but the real
star of Dunkirk is filmmaker Christopher Nolan. He dials back the score –
Hans Zimmer suggesting the constant tick of a time bomb or the incessant roar of
a distant plane engine – to emphasize the urgency and peril, and generating
almost unbearable tension.
Visually, Nolan’s scope is breathtaking, oscillating between the
gorgeous but terrifying open air of the RAF and the claustrophobic confines of
a boat’s hull, with the threat of capsize and a watery grave constant.
What
the filmmaker has done with Dunkirk –
and has not done with any of his previous efforts, however brilliant or flawed
– is create a spare, quick and simple film that is equally epic.
23. Black Panther (2018)
Just when you’ve gotten comfortable with the
satisfying superhero origin story at work, director/co-writer Ryan Coogler and
a stellar ensemble start thinking much bigger.
Coogler works with many of these basic themes
found in nearly any comic book film—daddy issues, becoming who you are, serving
others—but he weaves them into an astonishing look at identity, radicalization,
systemic oppression, uprising and countless other urgent yet tragically
timeless topics. The writing is layered and meaningful, the execution
visionary.
24. The Babadook (2014)
Like a fairy tale or nursery rhyme, simplicity
and a child’s logic can be all you need for terror.
Radek Ladczuk’s vivid cinematography gives scenes a properly
macabre sense, the exaggerated colors, sizes, angles, and shadows evoking the
living terror of a child’s imagination.
Much of
what catapults The Babadook beyond similar “presence in my house”
flicks is the allegorical nature of the story. There’s an almost subversive
relevance to the familial tensions because of their naked honesty, and the
fight with the shadowy monster as well as the film’s unusual resolution
heighten tensions.
25. Young Adult (2011)
Charlize Theron is singular perfection here as a walking
middle finger to the world. Director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody
create a world in which Theron can soar, vainglorious, damaged, vulnerable,
cynical, shallow and perhaps ready for redemption.
Or is she?
Surrounded by a whip-smart cast, each of whom offering
Theron opportunity for chemical spark, the Oscar winner proved that award was
no fluke. Hysterically subversive and deeply human, Young Adult offers the
greatest cinematic train wreck in recent memory.
It’s time! The year has come to its end and we need to sift through all the glorious horror 2019 had to offer and put it in some kind of order. Four of the most promising names in horror— Peele, Eggers, Kent and Aster—join some bold newcomers including Jennifer Reeder, Issa Lopez, Lane and Ruckus Skye to lead a pack of unforgettable horrors.
Truth is, there were an awful lot of great films that we had to leave off this list. But that just means the actual list is that strong. Here you go:
10. Ready or Not
At midnight on Grace (Samara Weaving) and Alex’s (Mark O’Brien) wedding night, everyone assembles in the Le Domas family game room: Mom and Dad (Andie MacDowell and Henry Czerny), Aunt Helene (Nicky Guardagni), other siblings and in-laws. It’s a ritual. Just one quick game of hide and seek. What could go wrong?
The inky black comedy plays like a game of Clue gone mad
with arterial spray, the film’s comic moments coinciding most often with the
accidental slaughter of servants.
The filmmakers take advantage of Weaving’s grit and comic timing, skipping from one bloody comic set up to the next. The plot and the chase move quickly enough to keep you from dwelling on the shorthand character development, the errant plot hole and the occasional convenience. It’s fun, it’s funny, and it’s a bloody mess.
9. Climax
Hey, club kids, it’s a Gaspar Noe dance party!
Noe’s usual reliance on extended takes, stationary cameras and overhead shots makes the dance sequences utterly intoxicating, the performers’ energy creating exciting visual beauty and a palpable exuberance for their art. These seductive odes to dance are interspersed with sometimes graphically sexual conversations between the dancers, sharpening character edges and laying down an interpersonal framework that will soon be turned on its head.
What spurred this sea change, and who is to blame? Noe turns that mystery into a greater conversation about the opportunity of birth, the impossibility of life and the extraordinary experience of death, and as is his wont, batters your senses while doing it.
8. Reckoning
Welcome to Reckoning, Lane and Ruckus Skye’s lyrical backwoods epic, grounded in a lived-in world most of us never knew existed. One of the most tightly written thrillers in recent memory, Reckoning peoples the hills of Appalachia with true characters, not a forgettable villain or cliched rube among them. The sense of danger is palpable and Danielle Deadwyler’s commitment to communicating her character’s low key tenacity is a thing of beauty.
Reckoning remains true to these fascinating souls, reveling in the well-worn but idiosyncratic nature of their individual relationships—a tone matched by sly performances across the board. And just when you think you’ve settled into a scene or a relationship, Reckoning shocks you with a turn of events that is equal parts surprising and inevitable.
It’s a stunning film, and a rare gem that treats Appalachians not as clichés, but certainly not as people to be messed with.
7. One Cut of the Dead
For about 37 minutes, you may feel like Shin’ichirô Ueda’s One Cut of the Dead delivers, cleverly enough, on a very familiar promise.
One Cut opens as a micro-budget zombie movie, which soon reveals itself to be a film within a film when real zombies show up on set. As the bullying egomaniac director continues filming, ecstatic over the authenticity, Ueda appears to deconstruct cinema.
And though that may sound intriguing on the surface, the
truth is that what transpires after that 37 minute mark officially defines Ueda
as an inventive, gleeful master of chaos and lover of the magic of nuts and
bolts filmmaking.
6. Knives and Skin
Falling somewhere between David Lynch and Anna Biller in the under-charted area where the boldly surreal meets the colorfully feminist, writer/director Jennifer Reeder’s Knives and Skin offers a hypnotic look at Midwestern high school life.
Knives and Skin’s pulpy noir package lets Reeder explore what it means to navigate the world as a female. As tempting as it is to pigeonhole the film as Lynchian, Reeder’s metaphors, while fluid and eccentric, are far more pointed than anything you’ll find in Twin Peaks.
And everyone sings impossibly appropriate Eighties alt hits acapella. Even the dead.
5. The Nightingale
The Nightingale is as expansive and epic a film as Kent’s incandescent feature debut The Babadook was claustrophobic and internal. In it she follows Clare (Aisling Franciosi), an Irish convict sentenced to service in the UK’s territory in Tasmania.
What happens to Clare at the hands of Leftenant Hawkins (Sam Claflin), the British officer to whom she is in service, is as brutal and horrifying as anything you’re likely to see onscreen this year. It’s the catalyst for a revenge picture, but The Nightingale is far more than just that.
Kent’s fury fuels her film, but does not overtake it. She never stoops to sentimentality or sloppy caricature. She doesn’t need to. Her clear-eyed take on this especially ugly slice of history finds more power in authenticity than in drama.
4. Tigers Are Not Afraid
Lopez’s fable of children and war brandishes the same themes as Guillermo del Toro’s masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth, but grounds the magic with a rugged street style.
Tigers follows Estrella, a child studying fairy tales—or, she was until her school is temporarily closed due to the stray bullets that make it unsafe for students. As Estrella and her classmates hide beneath desks to avoid gunfire, her teacher hands her three broken pieces of chalk and tells her these are her three wishes.
But wishes never turn out the way you want them to.
3. The Lighthouse
Director/co-writer Robert Eggers follows The Witch, his incandescent 2015 feature debut, with another painstakingly crafted, moody period piece. The Lighthouse strands you, along with two wickies (Willem Dafoe, Robert Pattinson), on the unforgiving island home of one lonely 1890s New England lighthouse.
For everything Eggers brings to bear, from the Bergmanesque lighting and spiritual undertones to the haunting score to the scrupulous set design to images suitable for framing in a maritime museum – not to mention the script itself – The Lighthouse works because of two breathtaking performances.
This is thrilling cinema. Let it in, and it will consume you to the point of nearly missing the deft gothic storytelling at work. The film is other-worldly, surreal, meticulous and consistently creepy.
2. Midsommar
In Midsommar, we are as desperate to claw our way out of this soul-crushing grief as Dani (Florence Pugh). Mainly to avoid being alone, Dani insinuates herself into her anthropology student boyfriend Christian’s (Jack Reynor) trip to rural Sweden with his buds.
Little does she know they are all headed straight for a modern riff on The Wicker Man.
Like a Bergman inspired homage to bad breakups, this terror is deeply-rooted in the psyche, always taking less care to scare you than to keep you unsettled and on edge.
1. Us
From a Santa Cruz carnival to a hall of mirrors to a wall of rabbits in cages—setting each to its own insidious sound, whether the whistle of Itsy Bitsy Spider or Gregorian chanting— writer/director Jordan Peele draws on moods and images from horror’s collective unconscious and blends them into something hypnotic and almost primal.
Loosely based on an old episode of Twilight Zone, Us is a tale full of tension and fright, told with precision and a moral center not as easily identifiable as Get Out‘s brilliant takedown of “post racial America.”
While it’s fun to be scared stiff, scared smart is even better, a fact Jordan Peele has clearly known for years.
One man’s moral courage provides the anchor for A Hidden Life, writer/director Terrence Malick’s affirmation that a life well-lived is a beneficial one, no matter how small the spotlight.
Malick brings his dreamlike focus to the story of Franz Jagerstatter, a conscientious objector who refused to fight with the Nazis in World War II.
Franz (August Diehl) and his wife Frani (Valerie Pachner) are living happily in an Austrian farming village with their three young daughters. The work is hard but the peasant villagers share a strong communal spirit, still untouched by the winds of war.
Malick showcases the mountain landscape with his customary visual brilliance, teaming with cinematographer Jorg Widmer to envelope us in an expansive and idyllic old world setting among the clouds. But those clouds soon turn literally and figuratively stormy, and as Hitler’s rhetoric is parroted by the villagers, Franz’s commitment to conscience turns him into a prisoner and his family into outcasts who “sin against the village.”
Franz finds little comfort from his church elders, who urge appeasement and seek a compromise. But even an assignment away from the front would require an oath of allegiance to Hitler and the Nazi cause – a line Franz refused to cross.
The hushed voiceovers, forced perspectives and dreamlike imaging that served Malick so well in his masterfully personal The Tree of Life here seem a bit ill-fitting when paired with someone else’s legacy. A frequent return to lingering shots such as clasped hands thrust into the air lose resonance with repetition, creating a subtle tedium that betrays the nearly three hour running time.
Not that Malick’s latest doesn’t deliver emotional power, it certainly does, most pointedly during Franz’s visit with a church artist. Suffice to say the exchange features some of Malick’s most brilliantly concise dialogue, using one man’s honest introspection to frame another’s moral quandary in a heartbreakingly beautiful new light.
Try hard, and you can imagine Malick working in a purely historical context, giving a deserving salute to a lesser known man for all seasons.
But on its face, the film presents a climate that is all too familiar, one where a rising tide of hate divides families, reduces religious tenets to twisted rationalizations, and where blind rage requires no subtitles. A Hidden Life is at its best when those stakes are clear, and Franz’s unwavering conviction is a sobering history lesson.
Not that long ago in a galaxy near and dear to us, J.J. Abrams brilliantly re-packaged our Star Wars memories as The Force Awakens. Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi took an opposite approach two years later, bringing a challenging and welcome nerve that sent a clear signal it would soon be time to move on.
Abrams is back as director and co-writer to close the saga with The Rise of Skywalker, which ends up feeling less like a course correction (which wasn’t needed) and more like a sly meeting of both minds. The fan service is strong with this one, indeed, though it never quite smacks of panicked fanboy appeasement.
In fact, the echoes of Johnson’s vision only make Abrams’s franchise love letter more emotionally resonant. We were told this goodbye was coming, and now here it is, so grab hold of something.
And that doesn’t mean just tissues (though you may need them), as Abrams delivers action that comes early and more than often. From deep space shootouts to light saber duals amid monstrous ocean waves, the heart-racing set pieces are damn near non stop and seldom less than spectacular.
But let’s be real, this is the Rey and (Kylo) Ren show.
We knew their fates would collide, we wanted that collision, and here we get it, propelled by two actors in Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver who are able to fully embrace the weight of their respective arcs. As all our questions are eventually answered, Driver and Ridley never let us forget what drives their characters: the closure of identity.
And from a new hope to the last hope, it is precisely those bloodlines and destinies that have always driven this entire franchise. Abrams makes sure he honors that legacy with a satisfying sendoff bursting with fandom in nearly every frame.
Yes, you’ll find some awkward dialogue and underused characters, but that’s not a bad scorecard considering all that The Rise of Skywalker throws at us. From welcome hellos (Lando!), to sad goodbyes (Carrie Fisher’s is handled with heroic grace), political relevance (“there’s more of us” in the resistance) to stand up and cheer moments, this is a one helluva farewell party.