2008 - The Year in Movies

2008 fell a bit short of 2007, both number- and quality-wise. I blame the numbers largely on my discovery of Hulu, and all of the Joss Whedon it has to offer (and Burn Notice! Burn Notice is fantastic!). My total number of new films watched in 2008, not including TV shows or re-watches?

109.

In that number, there was a slightly smaller proportion of American films than last year – about 64, not counting international co-productions. I branched out with the Europeans, with films from Romania, Sweden and Belgium alongside the more typical French and UK stuff. I also saw more Canadian movies, in part due to my growing love for Guy Maddin. I’m still a little burnt out on Bollywood, though the excellent Veer-Zaara may have helped turn that around. (Sorry for the lack of a formal review on that one, but in short – I loved it.) I’ve had my interest in Japanese film similarly re-awakened by Tokyo Sonata. And by this point, if you’ve made a half-decent vampire movie, I’ve probably seen it.

Overall, I was uninspired by most of what I saw in theaters, with the exception of some 2007 holdovers that I didn’t get a chance to see until the start of the new year. Here’s a shortlist of some of my favorite films watched in 2008, in alphabetical order –

4 Months 3 Weeks and 2 Days
Brief Encounter
Le Doulos
Exotica
Funny Games (original version)
Gerry
The Insect Woman
Into Great Silence
Iron Man
Last Year at Marienbad
Let the Right One In
The Lives of Others
My Brilliant Career
My Winnipeg
There Will Be Blood
Wristcutters – A Love Story

As for the stuff that I didn’t like . . . well, I watched a lot of crap this year. I’m going to let some of the direct-to-DVD stuff like The Lazarus Project slide, because no one expects anything from movies like that. And though I saw BOTH Mr. Brooks and The Number 23 this year, I can’t say that they were the worst things I watched, because, like the remake of The Wicker Man, they’re just too funny to hate. However, the latest Body Snatchers movie, The Invasion, was both dull and angry-making, due to the complete cop-out at the end. And I intensely disliked The Darjeeling Limited, production values be damned, because Anderson’s little-boy-lost oeuvre has really started to grate. But for sheer worst of the year? The movie I most likely wouldn’t watch again if you paid me to? National Treasure: Book of Secrets managed to be boring, moronic, entirely too long, and a career low for Helen Mirren. La vie en rose frustrated me so much that I still can’t quite believe I watched the whole thing. But neither of these takes last place, because this year we had the fourth installment of the Indiana Jones franchise. Officially, hands-down, my least favorite movie of the year. Worse than Lost Boys 2!

Then we come to those films that you really, really wanted to be better than they were. Like Redbelt, which, despite the excellence of Chiwetel Ejiofor, was ultimately a letdown. I’m probably one of the only people I know who expected more from Neil Marshall’s Doomsday, but for a movie about punk Scottish cannibals fighting Medieval knights, it was surprisingly dull. Be Kind Rewind fell pretty flat, and Fido took an inspired premise but failed to push it far enough. Then there was Hiroshima, Mon Amour, which took my Marienbad-inspired interest in Alain Resnais and slowly suffocated it under endless montage sequences.

Surprises? Probably the biggest one was the aforementioned Wristcutters, which charmed me enough to land on my bests list. I also quite liked In Bruges, despite my general aversion to Colin Farrell. Year of the Dog also took an actor I don’t care for – Molly Shannon – and created a character for her that was both sweet and quite melancholy. The Signal and JCVD both turned genre on its head, and though neither was entirely successful, they were two of the more memorable films of the year.

Looking through my list of 109 films, I probably have a lot more to say about the year that was, but more than anything I’m looking towards 2009, hoping that at the very least, its offerings will be more interesting than what American theaters had for us this year. I mean – not one, but TWO mall-cop comedies? How can 2009 not be awesome?

As luck would have it, this is my 200th post. I don't think I ever expected filmsnack to enjoy this long a life. Thanks, everyone for reading and commenting.

Dog Soldiers (2002, UK/Lux)

Neil Marshall’s first film is a tight little horror flick with some mean comic timing. A squad of green soldiers, lead by the awesome Sean Pertwee and the even awesomer Kevin McKidd, are dropped in the Scottish woods on a training mission, where they shortly encounter some very bad trouble in the form of a pack of werewolves. In many ways, it’s your typical b-movie fight and flight from that point in, with the advantage that the acting and interactions between the squad members are generally top-notch. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the action sequences, as a combination of budget and directorial inexperience make these the weakest part of the film, with the exception of an inventive chase sequence at the very end. There’s also a very weird misogynistic rant that pretty much comes out of left field (coupled with a bizarre lapse in logic), made all the stranger that the fact that both of Marshall’s latter films – the nifty Descent and the markedly worse Doomsday - feature kick-ass female leads. But I can’t fully fault a movie that makes a Matrix and an Antonioni joke within minutes of one another. Marshall’s a smart man, and he knows a ton about film, but his biggest problem thus far seems to be a general lack of polish and restraint.

Doubt (2008, USA)

Doubt is essentially an actor’s film. There’s not too much to it apart from the script and the three central roles – all of which are played beautifully by Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Amy Adams. It’s obvious that this is a stage adaptation, and unfortunately writer/director John Patrick Shanley, in his first directorial project in nearly 20 years (the only other film Shanley has helmed was Joe Versus the Volcano), does not have the skills to push the look of the film past inherent staginess. There are a lot of awkward, heavy-handed shots (don’t let me get into how much I dislike the off-kilter camera), which unfortunately highlight some of the more overbearing aspects of the script – though, due mostly to the topics the film deals with, some weightiness can be forgiven.

It’s not just the did-it-or-didn’t-it-happen question at the center of the film that provides for some serious contemplation, but deeper issues which inform the plot – the use of power within the church, particularly between the sexes, and to a lesser extent, the place of the church in an increasingly secular world. Standing in for church tradition (mostly) is Sister Aloysius (Streep), whose suspicions about progressive priest Father Flynn (Hoffman) are brought to light by the young Sister James (Adams). But neither Aloysius nor Flynn are exactly what they seem, particularly when it comes to the hidden power dynamics between nuns and priests that inform every movement of their interactions with one another. James becomes something of a pinball between the two, as do the students at the parochial school that Aloysius runs and the parishioners at Flynn’s church.

I’ve never been an enormous Streep fan, but the more of her recent work I see, the more I respect her, and I’m hard-pressed to think of another American film actress who could bring the ambiguities of Sister Aloysius to life. I’m a shameless Hoffman fan, and both he and Adams deserve their Globe nominations (nothing against Viola Davis at all– her one scene is quite devastating, but it is just one scene, and I’m tired of award-granters handing out nominations for such minimal parts). I’m fairly certain that at least two of the three will show up in the Oscar nomination roll call as well. Unfortunately, the film itself is too stilted to really bring anything truly cinematic to the fore – it remains essentially a filmed play, lacking that extra spark to make it a great movie.

Finishing the Game: The Search for a New Bruce Lee (2007, USA)

It’s my hope that Justin Lin will continue making work like Finishing the Game and Better Luck Tomorrow in between various episodes of the Fast and Furious franchise. He’s one of the only directors in Hollywood who deals explicitly with Asian-American characters and identity issues while simultaneously creating interesting work for young actors of Asian heritage. With Finishing the Game, Lin takes the premature death of Bruce Lee as his launching board for a satirical look at how Asians are portrayed in popular film and television, while at the same time affectionately parodying 70’s kung-fu cinema. It’s a slight film (clocking in at well under an hour and a half), and not quite as funny as it could be, but still – I can’t imagine another director who would tackle this material at all, much less straight on and with a fair deal of humor. It’s obviously a labor of love for Lin, his co-writer, Josh Diamond (who also plays the interviewer in the film’s faux-doc set-up), and their cast, which includes such Lin regulars as Sung Kang and Roger Fan (look fast for a James Franco cameo and listen close for George Takai). It may not pay off in full, but it’s certainly fresh.

2008 Golden Globe Nominees

Man, I have to get to the movies. I have seen NONE of the Best Picture - Drama nominees. Mostly because only one of them has actually opened wide yet. It's been a pretty dismal year, at least for conventional films, if all of your nominees open after the month of October.

In any case, it's impossible for me to handicap this one. My guess is that Benjamin Button will prove too weird, and they'll go with something more conventional, like The Reader or Revolutionary Road, but Slumdog has been firing up the critical press . . . the only sure thing I think I can say here is that Frost/Nixon is the longshot. Oh, and no Milk? Surprising.

Wow, In Bruges got a comedy nod? Cool! I liked it, but didn't expect anyone to remember it by this time of year. My guess? Happy-Go-Lucky or possibly Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Sean Penn. All the way. And I am NOT a big Penn fan. Rourke has an outside chance (call it the Polanski effect - no one actually likes the guy, but he makes good movies), and personally, it would be cool to see Frank Langella nab it. He's a class act, and his Nixon is supposed to be outstanding.

As far as Best Actress - Drama is concerned, it's mostly the usual suspects plus a fresh face or two (good on you, Kristen Scott Thomas), though this will probably be Winslet's year.

I hope Brendan Gleeson gets Best Actor - Comedy or Musical, though I'm pretty amused that James Franco was also nominated for Pineapple Express. This one could go any which way.

Sally Hawkins will probably get Best Actress - Comedy or Musical, unless I'm underestimating how much people love their Streep (see also, Best Actress - Drama).

I think the memorial award will go to Heath Ledger, for Best Supporting Actor, though Robert Downey Jr. should already have had that one messengered over to his house. The Hollywood Foreign Press should be embarrassed that Tom Cruise's name is even up there.

Ah-hah - Best Supporting is where the other Winslet nom landed. Interesting. I have no take on this one, though if she gets passed over in favor of Streep for the big prize, she should end up with this one by default.

My guess is that Best Director will end up being a competition between Danny Boyle and David Fincher. Never thought that I would write THAT sentence. In any case, if their movies end up being too weird to win Best Pic, this is the consolation prize.

Why did they even bother to nominate animated films OTHER than Wall-E?

I am still angry at myself for missing Gomorra at the Chicago International Film Festival.

Anyway, those are my immediate reactions. I've got to get out soon to see Slumdog, and hopefully Frost/Nixon will get here this weekend, though I'm generally allergic to Ron Howard (with the exception of Arrested Development). Revolutionary Road was a devastating book, and in Mendes' hands, promises a pretty dark cinematic treatment as well. I'd like to see The Reader, because I'm a sucker for Ralph Finnes and period pieces, but Benjamin Button is still leaving me kind of cold, even though I typically like Fincher's work. Maybe it's the Pitt effect. I just can't take him seriously.

Transporter 3 (2008, French)

The only word I can think of to describe this movie is - redonkulous. There is absolutely no reason to even try to describe the plot, which is so senseless that it makes the first two movies look like . . . well, never mind. They’re all pretty silly, really. If you enjoyed the other Transporter films, you’re going to love this one. It’s got ridiculous driving (though a little less than expected, sadly), and a lot of Statham-fu. Unfortunately, there is also a half-assed romantic plot, but just try to think of it as an additional opportunity for comedy. (For example, if I tell you that there’s a Tricky song that comes in halfway through the big love scene, you know exactly which one I mean, don’t you?) And I’ve got to applaud the fact that Prison Break has finally broken Robert Knepper out of the Species III joint and right into his rightful spot as a B-movie baddie. He’s so much awesomer than direct-to-DVD. But not as awesome as Jason Statham’s abs.

Transsiberian (2008, UK/Euro)

I’ve long been a fan of Brad Anderson (the oddity Happy Accidents is a favorite), but he more or less disappeared after The Machinist, returning this year with Transsiberian, an odd character study masquerading as a thriller. Jessie (the terrific Emily Mortimer) and Roy (Woody Harrelson) are an American couple returning from missionary work in China via the trans-Siberian railroad. Onboard, they encounter Carlos (Eduardo Noriega) and Abby (Kate Mara), a mysterious couple whose occupation is rather obvious, though never explicitly stated.

The first half of Transsiberian is the best, as Anderson and Mortimer reveal Jessie’s character, and how she plays off of the very different forces of Roy, Carlos and Abby. It’s a terrific role, and Mortimer digs in with glee, using her somewhat mousy exterior to its full advantage in hiding Jessie’s murkiness. Concurrently, Anderson suffuses the atmosphere with a terrific sense of place – there’s the natural claustrophobia that comes with shooting in such a tiny space as a train, but there are also the little details, such as the cabin music that can’t be turned off, the train’s surly tea ladies, and the strange mix of Chinese and Russian cultures and people that inhabit what feels like a moving village.

Once the movie makes the turn to full-on thriller, a bit of the momentum gets lost – it feels somewhat cheap, and not a little unsatisfying, to use these characters in such an obvious way. Anderson’s a trickster, though, and still leaves the audience wondering about a number of things after the credits roll – is Abby as innocent as Jessie thinks she is? What would Roy really do if he knew? Or does he know – did he figure it out, or did Jessie tell him after it was all over? Open endings such as this are probably one reason that Anderson has never made the transition from indies to Hollywood, a place that rarely allows its audience to form its own opinions.

Milk (2008, USA)

A very moving film, Gus Van Sant’s Milk feels like a personal project for all involved. A biopic that occasionally masquerades in documentary form (using both stock footage and filming scenes as if they were stock footage), it’s the rare sort of film that tells not only the story of a man, but the story of his a movement as well. Ignoring Harvey Milk’s beginnings, Van Sant and screenwriter Dustin Lance Black introduce us to Milk at forty, only a few years before he begins his tragically short career as a political activist in San Francisco. What we see of Milk is his transformation from semi-closeted businessman to openly gay city official, the community that forms around him, and the wreck he makes of his personal life as he lives more and more in the public eye.

Much has already been written about Sean Penn’s amazing transformation into Harvey Milk, but I’ve got to admit – it’s all true. There are points when you can completely forget that it’s Penn you’re watching; he embodies the character so completely. Surrounding him are strong performances by James Franco as Milk’s long-suffering boyfriend, Scott Smith, and Emile Hirsch as newly-hatched activist Cleve Jones. (Hirsch is particularly good, though he so strongly resembles Jo Lo Truglio in Wet Hot American Summer that I couldn’t help but giggle at first.) Josh Brolin serves well as Dan White, though it’s nearly an impossible role, particularly with all of the film’s implications that White was a closeted homosexual himself, and Diego Luna flails a bit as Milk’s boy-toy, Jack Lira. No matter – it’s really Penn’s show here, and no one crowds around enough to detract attention.

The real question that I always have to ask myself about a biopic – is it a hagiography? Do Black and Van Sant show Milk as a man or a legend? I think that with Penn’s help, they largely achieve the former – there are moments when Milk’s fervor for the movement seems self-serving (he does seem to love to be in the public eye) and overzealous (calling for ALL gay men and women to come out, regardless of personal safety or feelings). Then there’s the question of his love of younger, often unstable, men, something that Milk never fully develops as a theme, but that it tends to use more as a symbol of Milk’s sense of mortality, which I think is cheating a little bit.

Biopics are tricky, but Milk largely succeeds where many stumble. It may play with the borders of its subject’s life, and there are a few moments that feel cheap but manage to move all the same (has Van Sant been taking lessons from Spielberg?), but I think it gives us a picture of a man who, thirty years after his death, continues to serve as a hero to many. As I was leaving the theater, I overheard a man asking his friend, “Is your nose running?” – receiving the reply, “I’ve been crying for two hours!” That’s the kind of film Milk is – unabashedly emotional, and sometimes highly-strung, but with a real heart and a mission, too. Perhaps not so different from the man himself.

La vie en rose (2007, French/Euro)

I’ll just come out and say it – I couldn’t stand this movie. The filmmakers use so many lazy tricks in order to create drama that I grew frustrated about a third of the way through, and pretty much resigned myself to annoyance. First, they assume that their audience automatically knows enough about the life of Edith Piaf that they don’t really need to create characters for any of their actors to play. No one is introduced, no one is given a real arc or much in the way of context. Second, the structure of the film is so haywire that the audience is pulled back and forth through time, with little care for the development of story or pathos. The two problems are intertwined – without a coherent structure, it’s hard to build a sense of character, and sooner or later there’s very little to care about here at all. As for Marion Cotillard – she’s very good, but due to the deficits of the film, it feels as if she developed a caricature rather than any sense of a real person.

But maybe I’m the wrong person to listen to, as I have many problems with biopics, in particular with those that attempt to glorify artists. La vie certainly doesn’t shy away from Piaf’s alcoholism or her dependence on painkillers, but nothing is shown of her activities during WWII, and only coy nods are made at the rumors of bisexuality. The deathbed confession also irks greatly – even if it’s true, the film feels like it's grasping for unearned tears. It’s a familiar trope with biopics, one that rarely ceases to bother.

Let the Right One In (2008, Swedish)

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit how much vampire fiction I’ve been consuming in the last few weeks (something hinted at in the entry below, I’m sure). However, perhaps this fact will lend credence to my claim that Let the Right One In is one of the best vampire stories I’ve come across in some time. Oskar is a quiet young boy living in an apartment complex outside of Stockholm, spending much of his time on his own when he’s not being tortured by bullies. One night, he meets Eli, a strange girl who just moved in next door and doesn’t appear to be bothered by Sweden’s below-freezing winter temperatures. It’s obvious almost immediately that Eli is a vampire, though I don’t think the word is mentioned until near the end of the film, once Oskar, who isn’t privy to some of the same evidence the audience sees, finally gets it.

One of the best things about Right One is the world of childhood that it invokes. I particularly liked how Oskar’s bullies interact with him – in one of the earlier sequences, the look captured on one of the boys' faces is incredible, a mixture of loathing and fear that perfectly captures the complex interactions between bullies and their prey. That Eli is not the most vicious creature around is a canny take on the need to feed versus the desire to inflict pain. Eli may in fact be the perfect friend to Oskar, as she cautiously advises him in the principles of schoolyard defense while in the meantime causing chaos in the world of adults around them. (That's another nice thing - adults rarely factor in here, existing primarily to push the plot forward. It's a child's world.)

Right One is also that rare genre movie that carefully swings between horror, to romance, to a childhood coming-of-age narrative. It's gorgeously shot in cool blue and grey tones, amid a snowy landscape that makes everyone look like a vampire (I think there may be two, possibly three sunlight scenes). In all, it's a carefully constructed film, and the cumulative effect is spellbinding.

Martin (1977, USA)

George A. Romero’s Martin may be the perfect antithesis to Twilight. What if, instead of a marble-carved walking Calvin Klein ad, your average young vampire was more of a shy, pasty creep? One who was even too shy to do the “sexy stuff” with a woman who wasn’t unconscious, and who needed sedatives and a razor blade in order to be able to feed at all? The most interesting thing about Romero’s vampire re-imagining isn’t necessarily the is-he-or-isn’t-he conundrum at the center, it’s how the director pokes fun at the legendary seductive skills of your average bloodsucker, draining the myth of its typical romantic overtones. Instead of a suave monster sweeping the ladies off their feet, Martin can hardly open his mouth in the company of other people, and his belief in his vampiric tendencies might actually be a bit delusional. Like Romero’s work in general, the effect is comedic and creepy at the same times, and Martin is well deserving of its cult status.