Quite frankly, I’ll be glad to put 2019 in my rearview mirror. But movies still made life better, as they always do. I loved the last half hour of Joker when it turns into total anarchy. Marriage Story may be one of my favorite Noah Baumbach movies- if just for the incredible performances of Scarlett Johansson and Adam Driver. I thought Greta Gerwig did an incredible directorial job on Little Women. I wish all movies were as much fun as Knives Out and The Dead Don’t Die. The conclusion of It: Chapter 2 may have been long (most movies this year were too long) but it was creepy and poignant too. And speaking of long, I had a fabulous time watching Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman and thought De Niro turned in a very subtle, sensational performance. But there were still movies that I loved more than others.
My 10 Best:
Pain And Glory (Pedro Almodovar). In Pedro Almodovar’s exquisite film, Antonio Banderas plays Salvador Mallo, an acclaimed filmmaker, who, after a series of debilitating health problems, has stopped working. For Salvador, “without filming, my life is meaningless.” The performances are stunning, particularly Banderas– just to watch his body language in the film is to be awed by the depth of his talent as an actor. And because the film itself seems so personal and revelatory, what occurs carries more psychic weight. Like Almodovar, Salvador is not at the end looking back- he is at a difficult crossroads which causes him rueful reflection. The story unfolds with great simplicity, but also great tenderness and cinematic beauty. It’s a quiet masterpiece.
Crawl (Alexandre Aja). A deceptively simple premise- set during an approaching Category 5 hurricane in Florida- about a professional swimmer (Kaya Scodelario) who heads to her dad’s (Barry Pepper) house to check up on him only to find him injured and trapped in the basement of the house while scores of alligators prevent both from escape. The suspense and scares escalate unbearably. I remember seeing this on opening day to a wildly vocal audience who shrieked and cheered at the end. Aja’s direction is perfection in this superb thriller.
Climax (Gaspar Noe) “The Ultimate Bad Trip” is how the ad should read for Gaspar Noe’s harrowing, hallucinatory nightmare of a rave that goes disastrously wrong. A dance company rehearses their new piece in a remote warehouse-like structure. Their dance movements are thrilling to watch- the eclectic group of multi-ethnic kids hurl their bodies into motion with spectacular abandon and style. Afterwards there’s an after-party, with a DJ and bowls of sangria. But soon it becomes clear that someone has doused the punch with some lethal LSD and everything quickly unravels. All of Noe’s usual tropes are applied- the end credits run at the beginning, the camera dizzyingly follows behind dancers as they freak out and the camera often tilts upsides down- but these devices work spectacularly well in this case- they really dramatize the vertiginous, scary, surreal elements of a bad trip.
Dolemite Is My Name (Craig Brewer) A glorious, funny and funky tribute to trail-blazing comedian Rudy Ray Moore. Eddie Murphy give one of his best performances as the frustrated comic, who created a persona “Dolemite” from stories passed down from drunks and hobos in the neighborhood. He channeled this rapping pimp on stage to great acclaim and created his own home-made, unbelievably rude records. Eventually he captured it all on film. This movie concentrates on the can-do (almost Ed Wood) attitude that caused Rudy to round up friends and film students to help bring his vision on screen to inner city theaters. Expertly directed by Craig Brewer (Hustle & Flow)- it’s warm-hearted, riotously funny, and with a sensational cast. Wesley Snipes is hilarious as the eye-rolling, fey director D’Urville Martin, the sublime Da’Vine Joy Randolph is great as Lady Reed, a woman Rudy Ray Moore took under his wing and helped her find her comic persona on stage and in bawdy records- her Sensuous Black Woman discs are filthy and fabulous.
Parasite (Bong Joon Ho). Sardonically warped social satire about a poor, but wily, South Korean family who insinuate themselves into the life of a wealthy family. Creating assumed identities, the son becomes the daughter’s English tutor, the sister becomes the young boy’s art therapist, their father the dad’s chauffeur and their mother the housekeeper. Of course, that’s after cleverly eliminating the original staff. The first half of the film is witty, and wickedly fun, and then the rug is pulled out from beneath you in an inspired way. The audience is catapulted into a darker, more violent, and, mordantly ironic, universe. The director has such command of the material he plays the audience like a conductor. It’s a virtuoso performance, and a fiendishly fabulous film.
Once Upon A Time…In Hollywood (Quentin Tarantino) Tarantino’s affectionate portrait of a down-on-his-luck former TV star (Leonardo DiCapriro) now relegated to playing a villain role on an episode of a Western series. It’s also about his loyal stunt-man best friend (Brad Pitt) in 1969 L.A., crossing paths with the Manson family (the scene at Spahn Ranch is so creepy and wonderful), and next-door neighbor Sharon Tate (touching played by Margot Robbie). It all builds to a fateful night in August. DiCaprio and Pitt have never been better and Tarantino’s re-imagining of that historically culture-changing summer is blazingly satisfying. I remember leaving the theater in such a state of bliss after I saw it.
Ray & Liz (Richard Billingham) Photographer Richard Billingham made a name for himself with alarming autobiographical photos of his family- his alcoholic father and obese, tattooed mother in England. This film expands on that by plunging the audience into the squalid house, with Liz (Ella Smith/Deirdre Kelly) plunked down doing Jigsaw puzzles on the table and smoking furiously, and poor husband Ray (Justin Salinger/Patrick Romer) lying in bed (in flash-forwarded sequences) with bottles lined up on his bureau, in a room filled with wasps. The children fend for themselves, while a menagerie of animals- dogs, hamsters, birds, rabbits pee all over. But there’s a pitch-dark humor to all of it. An amazing film.
Midsommar (Ari Aster) Director Ari Aster’s gloriously disturbing new movie is drenched in sunlight but every frame drips darkness. Florence Pugh plays Dani, still reeling from a family tragedy, who interjects herself into the summer vacation plans of her boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) and his college mates Mark (funny Will Poulter), Josh (William Jackson Harper) and Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren). Pelle has invited his friends to visit the commune he grew up with in Sweden, and they will be able to observe their Summer Solstice celebration. The minute you see rosy-cheeked blonde girls dancing around a maypole in white linen with garlands of flowers in their hair, you start thinking- oh, oh: The Wicker Man, and you wouldn’t be far off. Everything is bathed in warm light, and the length of the film lulls you into a false sense of security. The friends take mushrooms when they arrive and they observe in a stoned haze the pagan dances and rites of the compound, which combines the community’s love of nature with runic symbols and ancient rituals. It all seems fascinating and amusingly quaint. At first. Aster is truly an original talent. It’s impossible to actually describe what it’s like to see his films, but the unsettling elements haunt you for weeks afterwards.
John Wick: Chapter 3- Parabellum (Chad Stahelski) God, I love these films. Keanu Reeves is just perfection as the lean, mean, fighting machine John Wick, and in this exhaustingly action-packed entry he is “excommunicado” and there is a price on his head (for flaunting the rules of his hit-man organization). Every killer on earth comes after him. Scene after scene boggles the mind. The library fight, the snarling dog fight, etc. Wick finds respite with an old mentor (Anjelica Huston) and a reluctant friend from the past (Halle Berry). Director Chad Stahelski barely lets the audience catch a breath in this deranged bullet ballet.
Amazing Grace (Alan Elliott & Sydney Pollack). This is the documentary of Aretha Franklin’s live recording of her gospel album at the New Bethel Baptist church in L.A. in 1972. Shot over the course of two nights we watch Franklin singing at the height of her power and in her comfort zone- in church. Luminaries like conductor Reverend James Cleveland and the glorious Southern California Community Choir and singer Clara Ward show up, not to mention a wildly enthusiastic Mick Jagger sitting in the pews. But to watch a full-tilt Aretha’s voice soar is to be in the presence of the angels. This film has frustratingly sat on the shelves for years due to all sorts of problems. To see it now is to be transported. And that’s what good movies have the power to do.
So excited to have your syllabus for a sublime cinematic survey of 2019. Thank you!