ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Akira (1988)

Directed by Katsuhiro Otomo

“Neo Tokyo is about to explode.”

So boasts the famous tagline for Akira, and it couldn’t be more appropriate: futureless juveniles zip throughout the streets on their motorcycles as urban decay, political corruption, and civil unrest terrorize the city of Neo Tokyo. Only miles away is the apocalyptic rubble of Japan’s capital, a bleak backdrop masked by decaying urban squalor masked by gaudy neon lights. Such circumstances have planted a gravid combustion of shattered dreams, hopelessness and nihilism, especially among the youth, all of which becomes manifested in a blubbering, corpulent mass of flesh and technology once known only as Tetsuo. It’s only natural to say that Neo Tokyo’s ultimate demise is inevitable.

1988 was a defining year for Japanimation, with three of its most iconic films of its kind seeing a release that year: My Neighbor Totoro, Grave of the Fireflies, and, of course, Akira, and the release of the latter, ironically, triggered an explosion of sorts in life itself. Simply put: there was pop culture before Akira, and then after. Over 30 years later, Akira assertively stands as not only landmark in adult animation alone, but one of the finest achievements in the art of 2D animation, and very arguably the most iconic film in the world of Japanese anime, one that was enough to spark an entire generation’s interest into the world of anime.

The city of Neo Tokyo is the result of a world desperately trying to put its broken pieces back together, a mold of civil normality shattered by Tokyo’s obliteration in 1988 (an event which provoked World War 3) by a phenomenon known only as Akira, its existence of which is only known by the government. Here we are in 2019, and some of the pieces have been put back together, albeit rather crudely. Teenagers Kaneda and Tetsuo are products of the Post-Akira world. Apathetic toward their studies in vocational school, the highlights of their life consist of late-night mischief with their biker gang, popping pills in seedy pubs and getting wrapped up in violent skirmishes with rival gangs.

It’s a night like any other with these ruffians when things take a sharp turn: after a collision with a mysterious child, extraordinary powers are awakened within Tetsuo, who is promptly abducted by the government for research purposes. As events unfold, the very powers Tetsuo possesses are identical to that of Akira. Meanwhile, after another run-in with the law, Kaneda teams up with not only a member of a local resistance force, but also a trio of psychic children (one of which was the cause of Tetsuo’s collision), who prophesize that with Tetsuo’s abilities now harnessed, it is only a matter of time before said powers grow beyond his control, which will lead to Neo Tokyo’s destruction.

It sounds like a mess of ideas, and Akira indeed feels like it could go off the rails at any moment, especially considering the film is a tightly condensed adaptation of the then-incomplete manga series, which would not conclude until 1990. I must admit that I am yet to read the manga (it is certainly on my reading list now), but whatever omissions were made were for the best in terms of a movie adaptation, and it makes sense why. Behind the film adaptation is the author of the manga himself, Katsuhiro Otomo, who was wise to helm this film – after all, nobody knows the source material at heart level like the original creator.

Akira may not have been made for the explicit purpose of bringing anime to the west, but it had the perfect myriad of elements and influences to introduce us to the form. Blind-sided viewers of Akira in the early 90s were undoubtedly made right at home upon first viewing, fondly reminiscent of Blade Runner’s cyberpunk metropolis and Mad Max’s frantic motorcycle action, elements of which are clearly present in Akira. We are given exactly what we need to be bought into Akira’s world when Otomo begins giving us the insanity, one plot point at a time, but never giving away too much too early, but just enough to keep us interested and enthralled.

Watching this for only my second time in my life, and my first in over 10 years, I was struck by just how bleak Akira is. Dystopian futures are difficult to pull off without some kind of fetishization of their imaginations (lets admit it; the future of Blade Runner looks pretty damn rad). Very, very few films of this caliber remain grounded in their portrayals of doomed futures, and Akira stands out as one of those few (the only other that immediately comes to mind is The Terminator).

By the time Akira peaks to its climax, one so bizarrely mesmerizing it compares to nothing else, we are out of breath and can only gawk at the screen, only to conclude on a note of open-ended profundity (though this open ending was done in part to give no clue to the manga’s future). Did we scratch our heads in bewilderment? Absolutely, but Akira was such a spectacular experience that our lack of understanding didn’t matter. We witnessed something truly special, and we wanted more like it, and so the west’s love for anime truly begins.

While I am in no way the most well-versed in the world of anime, I’m no stranger either, but even among its peers then (let alone now), Akira still stands out, particularly in regards to animation. Anime has always been characterized by a sort of choppy stiffness in the animated portions, particularly amongst characters (notice in many animes how characters cease movement when talking). Akira, meanwhile, had the biggest budget for its time ($9 million), and not one penny went to waste, as Akira boasts animation like few films. Character movement is startlingly fluid through each and every interaction, but where Akira really shines is it backgrounds: the cityscapes are expansive in scope and scale, monolithic in a way that few animated films were at this time. Not only that, but they are rich in detail and breathe prominently with life – Akira is the kind of movie that rewards repeat viewings, shining a light on certain details not previously noticed before.

Furthering the bewilderment is Akira’s score, which sought to expand on the film’s maddening effect. In research for this piece, I turned to a retrospective video on YouTube by one Oliver Harper (one of my favorite YouTubers), whose own research revealed that Akira’s composer, Geinoh Yamashirogumi, was also a scientist who wanted to experiment with ultrasound and hypersonic effects on the mind.Assembled with kinetic use of various exotic instruments and a particular emphasis on heavy breathing noises, and other such vocal usage, the final product sounds nothing short of a noh play from hell.

Akira is one of those movies that has laid its fingerprints on countless pieces of various media for years to follow. It would define the overall setting for a number of animes into the 90s (Dragon Ball Z’s cities feel like a cleaner version of Neo Tokyo), and its cyberpunk atmosphere would influence countless imitators that could never quite match up, Ghost in the Shell being perhaps the most notable example (which feels more like a bloated pilot for a series rather than a movie). But the influence goes much further than just Japanimation; parallels in a number of movies (Chronicle), video games (Final Fantasy VII), and TV shows (South Park, with a hilarious parody – you know the one) can be seen all over the place, whether in major influence, or subtle references peppered in. Anime is sometimes maligned as being outrageous to the point of hilarity, but Akira is nothing short of master-level Japanimation, and with the seismic effect that followed its release, its truly one of the greatest animated films ever made.

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Vertigo (1958)

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

Early in Vertigo, as Scottie tails Madeline all across town, observing her curious behaviors, the streets of San Francisco adopt a quality that feels a touch labyrinthine. Indeed, at this point, a maze is being entered, not just by Scottie in his obsession with this woman, but also by us, as we become drawn into his world. Subsequently, we don’t realize just how lost we’re getting into his world, and by the time Scottie goes mad, having lost his ideal woman as well as attempting to recreate her, the tension of being lost in this maze becomes unbearable for not only him but also the audience, because at the end of this maze is a pitfall, and the question of Scottie reaching that point is not “if” but “when”, and it’s a key element to the thrills that ensue throughout Vertigo.

Perhaps ex-detective John “Scottie” Ferguson (James Stewart) was destined for that pitfall, considering he’s already got a few of the proverbial screws loose, as he is handicapped by acrophobia, only made worse after witnessing a colleague die as a result of Scottie’s condition (albeit, inadvertently). Forced into early retirement, indifferent about the inertia of retirement, Scottie finds purpose once again when he is approached by Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore). Elster wants Scottie to follow and observe the activities of his wife Madeline (Kim Novak), whom he believes to be in danger for superstitious reasons. Scottie agrees, tailing her all over San Francisco, eventually leading to Fort Point, where she attempts suicide by jumping into San Francisco Bay.

It is an attempt that is thwarted by Scottie’s presence – fortunate for Madeline; unfortunate for Scottie. They commence a strange romance, one that ends in tragedy when Madeline yet again attempts suicide, this time successfully when she jumps from a bell tower. Due to his acrophobia, Scottie was unable to intervene, and undergoes severe depression. That is before crossing paths with Judy (Kim Novak, again), who bears some physical resemblance to Madeline. Via Scottie’s desperation, they engage in a relationship, this time on the foundation of Scottie’s attempt to fully transform Judy into Madeline.

It gets even more complicated, when it is discovered that Judy was, in fact, the Madeline that Scottie had been tailing – in reality, Judy was Gavin’s mistress, and her posing as Madeline was part of a conspiracy to get the real Madeline killed. Or was it?

In reading about Veritgo, the term “dreamlike” pops up over and over, and it is certainly an appropriate descriptor. With a soft, thin haze that permeates throughout and a robust and intimate color palette (all complimented by an incredibly score by the one and only Bernard Herrmann), one feels like they’ve entered a completely different world, and it is this dreamlike style that is fundamental to Vertigo’s power (David Lynch certainly took a ton of notes watching Vertigo): without it, the film could be overcomplicated and indulgent; with it, Vertigo frequently makes the viewer question if we really are in reality, as it becomes difficult to trust Scottie’s perception of the world – frankly, I find the conspiracy subplot quite fishy, and I can’t help but wonder if Scottie concocted this story in his head in denial of Madeline’s ultimate fate.

Vertigo is certainly Hitchcock at his most personal and confessional. It’s been brought up many times before, but it needs to be addressed here to continue this piece: Hitchcock certainly had a type when it comes to the women in his movies, with their stark blonde hair and a demeanor that seems suspiciously detached from the world around them – for Hitchcock, women so perfect they cannot be comprehended. From a filmmaker, one so notorious for being controlling and fetishizing, to come forward with the subjects in Vertigo, a film that sympathizes with both Scottie as well as the women in his is maddened grasp, is not only courageous but audacious, as these are personal plights we can relate to in some way, and contemplating Vertigo becomes internally confessional for the viewer as well. We may not all fancy blondes but we’ve all got our ideal type. While unhealthy habits should indeed be called out, it’s difficult to blame any man for trying to manifest their ideals and fetishes into their partner, especially if that perfect woman was once in their world so intimately as Madeline was in Scottie’s.

Not in a million years would I have believed Stewart to be the perfect choice for Scottie. Stewart, for me, is one of the most lovable actors from that time, with a humble and patient demeanor and a voice with a subtle nervousness that I would usually consider quirky. Stewart, and all of these defining traits, was certainly no stranger to Hitchcock, having starred in three other films of his prior to Vertigo. In knowing Stewart so well, Hitchcock uses those very traits against the viewer (not to mention utilizing Stewart’s eyes in a way I’ve never see before), and this bait and switch is startlingly well-executed. In short, I never thought I’d be terrified by James Stewart.

Of course, Vertigo demands discussion less in its technical merits than in its themes, but Vertigo is as technically captivating as it is narratively. Of course, there’s the legendary stretch-shots that convey Scottie’s acrophobia – 60+ years later, it’s still an effective visual. I’ve already covered the dreamlike atmosphere that defines the film, but this is further bolstered with cinematography, lighting, and shot composition that makes everything just a touch off, as if nothing is quite what it seems (the photography during the first museum sequence, in particular, is fascinatingly shot). When Judy first emerges as a fully realized Madeline, with the green neon reflecting off of her, giving her a ghostly aura, is an image that is simultaneously breathtaking and mystifying.

Modern consensus hails Vertigo as not only one of Alfred Hitchcock’s finest films, but one of the very greatest films ever made, alongside the likes of Citizen Kane and 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is such an endlessly layered film that a simple retrospective review cannot do it justice, and I may not have anything new to add to the topic, but not one Hitchcock film has been discussed on Red Eye. Being an involuntary shut-in during the COVID-19 pandemic has led me down the Hitchcock rabbit-hole to pass the time, including a revisit of Vertigo, and it is time to pay my respects and add it to the canon: Vertigo is indeed a masterpiece, not only an arresting mystery that takes you by the throat with a slow but unbreakable grip, but one of the most piercing depictions of sexual fixation ever made.

RTD: Top 30 Countdown - 10-1

10)  HUGO (2011, dir. Martin Scorsese)

Yes, Martin Scorsese found a formula that has proven critically and commercially successful that started (arguably) with GoodFellas. From there, most of his most prominent work have been high-energy, kinetically stylized stories of the criminal underground. In spite of this, I don’t think Marty gets enough credit for the versatility in his catalog, and nowhere is that more evident than in Hugo, the story of an orphan boy, an automaton, and a journey through the history of cinema. In stark contrast to the vast majority of his filmography, Hugo marks Scorsese’s outing into not only strictly family-friendly territory, but also into the realm of 3D moviemaking.

It may sound like a shameful cash-grab, but Scorsese instead brings us a magical 3D wonderfest, using the medium as a celebration of the great distance cinema has reached in its century or so of existence, as well as excitement of the possibilities of the future. Call it a “Love Letter to Cinema”, but Hugo is not just mindless pandering to cinephiles; the story is captivating in that classically rapturous way, the characters are lovely, and the entire movie is spectacular in the most literal sense. Watching Hugo at home (I missed its theatrical run), its 3D-specific moments glare more than I'd prefer, but nothing could take away the magic that Hugo casted.

9)  MAD MAX: FURY ROAD (2015, dir. George Miller)

After three decades of silence, apocalyptic wanderer Max Rockatansky roared back onto screens in Fury Road, the fourth installment of the Mad Max series. Now played by Tom Hardy, Max escapes captivity and joins forces with Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron), who has gone rogue from the rule of a tyrannical army and is now on the run. What follows couldn’t be simpler: to put it bluntly, Fury Road is a two-hour car chase, and there’s no other way to have it. Despite such a bare-bones premise, Fury Road never stalls out, endlessly thrilling the viewer with explosive, gritty action.

Contrary to the usual tight-framed, handheld fare, George Miller widens his scope and beholds a spectacle that is breathtaking. Set to the backdrop of beautiful desert landscapes, Fury Road assaults the viewer with a barrage of awesome special effects and jaw-dropping stunt-work, all complimented by imaginative car & costume designs, always maintaining its exciting momentum. And then there’s Hardy and Theron, who are nothing short of badass with their grunts and growls that suggest a lifetime of survival in an unforgiving world. Topped off with an egalitarian message that is effectively profound (especially for a film of this kind), Fury Road is not only one of this decade’s most memorable films, but fully deserves its reputation as one of the best action films of all time.

8)  PARASITE (2019, dir. Bong Joon-ho)

After getting their feet in the proverbial door, the unemployed and impoverished Kim family infiltrate their way to employment into the other-worldly wealth of the Park home. Such is a very bare-bones premise for Parasite, and I dare not say anymore, as Parasite is one of the most singular and original movies in ages – the less you know going in, the better. From there, it is a genre-defying romp that twists and turns to mind-boggling degrees. Most remarkably, as off-the-rails as it becomes, Parasite never crosses the line into a muddled mess, thanks in great part to tight direction from Bong Joon-ho, debatably South Korea’s best cinematic export.

It’s definitely a mouthful of a movie, with commentary touching on class divide, the atrophic effect of frivolity, and the cutthroat nature that lurks within society, even at its most civilized – all without falling into patronizing clichés. It’s the kind of film that demands discussion afterward, but for those still reeling from Parasite’s singular chaos know they’ve seen a great film. Parasite is enthralling for every second of its runtime, thanks to flawless direction, crack technicality, and one of the best scripts of recent memory. Joon-ho’s filmography has one hell of a great track record, from the tense Memories of Murder to the thrilling Snowpiercer – Parasite just might be him at the top of his form.

7)  THE LIGHTHOUSE (2019, dir. Robert Eggers)

Shot in gorgeously bleak black & white, two wickies descend into Lovecraftian madness in the confines of a New England lighthouse in Robert Eggers’ sophomore effort, The Lighthouse. Here is a premise that bore the greatest of promises that only art house cinema could live up to, and combined with the phenomenal teasers, there was not one film I was more psyched for this past 10 years than The Lighthouse. By all accounts, I hyped this movie up so much that there was no way it could have met my expectations, but I’ll be damned that Eggers actually pulled that off, let alone making one of the best films of the decade.

The power of the film is ultimately anchored by career highlights for sole leading men Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe, but buoying The Lighthouse is a terrific production design and masterful atmosphere – gorgeous cinematography, hypnotically maddening sound design, and meticulously detailed set design (the viewer can feel the very setting) – further complimented by a singular personality that is commonly, if depressingly, absent from films of this kind. Though The Lighthouse may not have been the horror experience some expected, it is undeniably absorbing and breathtakingly tense (surprisingly rewatchable, as well), and with an openness to countless interpretations, The Lighthouse is absolute cinema at its purest form.

6)  INSIDE OUT (2015, dir. Pete Docter)

The human mind, and all of the emotions that ensue from its workings, is difficult enough for adults to comprehend. To break down and analogize that in a way that children can understand must be a task of towering difficulty. Believe it or not, Pixar pulled this off with Inside Out, gracing a film that's great for children and even better for adults. Though technically the story of Riley and her trouble in moving to a new home, the real action centers around the feelings within her – Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust (taking on manifestations as characters) – and their frequent butting of heads in properly guiding Riley through this new chapter in life.

Inside Out is one of those strikingly universal films in which we all see ourselves in Riley one way or another. In turn, a whirlwind of feelings will flood the viewer. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry (among many emotions), and lucky for you, Inside Out knows exactly when and how to balance itself, never dwelling in one tone too much or too little. When you have the opportunity to wipe the tears from your eyes, you then get to enjoy the terrific imagination employed, the gorgeous animation, and the witty and engaging script. Inside Out won the 2016 Oscar for Best Animated Feature – rightfully so. If you ask me, though, I say this deserves to go down in history as one of the greatest animated films ever made.

5)  BLADE RUNNER 2049 (2017, dir. Denis Villeneuve)

I’ve talked enough about the past decade’s resurgence of masterful science fiction, but it all built up to this: Blade Runner 2049. Set some 30 years after the events of its predecessor, 2049 follows K, a replicant Blade Runner and his journey on the meaning of artifice vs. humanity, traversing a rain-soaked dystopia masquerading as Los Angeles. Like the greatest sequels, Blade Runner 2049 acts less as a next chapter than a whole new novel: while founded on the style and themes that made its predecessor a sci-fi landmark, it widens the scope of its material with a bigger story and expanded lore.  

Blade Runner 2049 is an entrancing and absorbing experience from start to finish, ultimately bolstered by the cinematography of Roger Deakins (earning his first Oscar here) as well as a mesmerizing score by Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch, of which Vangelis would be proud. Make no mistake, though, the style harmoniously balances with its substance with a story that alluringly leads the viewer through many a twist and turn, complimented by a vision of the future that is, yes, bleakly plausible, but magnetic in its imagination and the special effects that bring it to life. Blade Runner 2049 may not be the sequel we deserve or needed in the first place, but I’m forever grateful it exists. 

4)  THE GREAT BEAUTY (2013, dir. Paolo Sorrentino)

Jep Gambardella has spent a lifetime wrapped up in the glam and glitz of the elite of Roman nightlife. That lifetime has led up to now: he has just turned 65. With the past behind him, the present surrounded by the aged aimlessness of his peers, and the future uncertain, Jep finds himself longing for something more, something beyond description – the Great Beauty, if you will. It is a journey that takes him through the antiquated streets of Rome through and through, one that Fellini would be proud of, marked with a profoundness amidst the superficial dazzle, making for one of my very favorites this decade.

Rome is set to a canvas of lush colors and moody lighting in The Great Beauty, all shot marvelously with sprawling photography that wows the viewer with every single frame. A feast to the eyes, yes, but style in place of substance? Hardly. Sorrentino regular Toni Servillo carries the film with a charming swagger that exhibits a sense of humor as well as elder vulnerability. Assisting Servillo, as well as the film as a whole, is an excellent script that never lets up with witty humor and thoughtful musings on where this journey called life is headed toward. 

3)  THE MASTER (2012, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson)

Perhaps the trauma of warfare splits a man into two separate extremes – one that has been reduced to beastly primordial instinct; the other that passes off as intellectual as a guise to keep that beast at bay. Such is my personal interpretation of The Master, the story of Freddie Quell, a damaged war veteran with a desperation to fit back into society. Enter Lancaster Dodd, a culturally elite pseudo-religious leader. Quell is taken under his wing, tasked to perform strange and seemingly arbitrary rituals as a means to become civilized, but no matter what, that beast refuses to stay at bay.

The duality of man is no new territory for cinema, but few times has it been so simultaneously confounding and compelling as much as this. Excellent production design and alluring cinematography certainly play a part, but The Master wouldn’t be a fraction of what it is without the lead performances of Joaquin Phoenix and Philip Seymour Hoffman, who are at their absolute best here. Yes, The Master is a puzzling experience but it is the kind that allows a new layer to be peeled upon repeat viewings, becoming something different with each watch. P.T. Anderson is a filmmaker I’ve never been able to warm up to, but the towering mastery of The Master tempts me to reevaluate his entire output up to this point.

2)  THE TREE OF LIFE (2011, dir. Terrence Malick)

The works of Terrence Malick can perhaps be described as cinematic prayers, films that profoundly examines man’s place in the world, always at a crossroads between the path of nature and the path of grace. Malick films were always an event to look forward to from the start of his career, but everything was building up to The Tree of Life, his most obtuse and intense prayer to date. Malick ponders the entirety of existence, from the distant past of the dinosaurs to the far reaches of the cosmos, yet all of this is deeply rooted in the tribulations of the O’Briens, a humble family in suburban Texas circa 1950s.

It is certainly cinema at its most ambitious, artistic, and absolute, even taking home the coveted Palme d’Or – an award I’m commonly critical of, but I couldn’t think of a more fitting winner than The Tree of Life. Stylistically, this is Malick taking his trademark style as far as it can possibly go, and I’m prepared to say this is his most ambitious undertaking yet in an already audacious career. It is certainly one of the best-looking movies of recent memory, fondly recalling simpler times with a childlike wide-angle lens, exhibiting an exceptional cast that doesn’t deliver performances as much as they generate presences. It’s a film that’s borderline impossible to describe, but is imperative to be experienced.

1)  BOYHOOD (2014, dir. Richard Linklater)

The term “masterpiece” is undeniably overused, but I couldn’t think of a more appropriate descriptor of Boyhood, Richard Linklater’s coming-of-age drama that was 12 years in the making. They pushed that hard in the advertising, and that’s exactly why I was extremely skeptical of Boyhood walking in. Then I finally saw the film, and when it was over, after wiping the tears from my eyes, I realized that Boyhood has every right to boast about its lengthy production timeline. To maintain the consistency in tone, performance quality, and overall artistic momentum for such a period of time without fault is one of the greatest achievements in the history of the form, as far as I’m concerned.

And then there’s the film itself, which is ultimately most important. Complimented by a wonderful cast and Linklater’s Average Joe-brand of ponderousness, Boyhood is the coming-of-age drama to end all coming-of-age dramas, timeless and universal without exception. Despite a subplot involving an abusive stepfather that feels cheap and out-of-place, Boyhood lets the power of its scenario speak for itself, never derailing into contrived melodrama. Though the film has its detractors, their cases have failed to sway me. I was touched beyond description by Boyhood. Though we were brought many great films in the last 10 years, nothing won me over quite like Linklater’s magnum opus.

RTD: 10 Most Overrated

AMOUR (2012, dir. Michael Haneke)

Of all the films I have on this list, Amour is the one I dislike the least, so much so that I sometimes question if I should be including it on this list – its two lead performances from Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva are amazing, its solitary setting is effective, and there are moments of mortal dread that would send chills up even Ingmar Bergman’s spine. In spite of this, when all is said and done, my ultimate reception is lukewarm, an identical reaction to every Michael Haneke film I’ve seen yet. There’s a cold detachment that permeates through every one of his films, and this film is no exception. What ultimately lands Amour on this list, though, is the overwhelming grand-scale praise it receives, even being called one of the very greatest films of the century (so far, anyway). I truly hope for Haneke to click with me one day, and maybe that day will come, but for now, I will continue to be the voice of dissent.

CAROL (2015, dir. Todd Haynes)

Face it: it is no longer progressive or radical to make movies about people with secretive lives in the 1950s, and dare I say that its debatably unnecessary to make such movies anymore. Todd Haynes should be the first to know this, considering he made the excellent Far from Heaven, which is very much this kind of movie. Well, he appears to still have hang-ups with taboos and the 50s, because now he has brought us Carol, a vapid study of a secret lesbian relationship during this time. Nothing whatsoever is worth getting involved in, and not even the film itself seems particularly interested in what it has to say. Carol plods along in all of its tediously flat glory, without any kind of clever writing, riveting drama, spectacular production design, awesome performances, or even any heart and soul to latch on to, and after all of that vacuously familiar melodrama, Carol adds absolutely nothing new for gay cinema. And because of that, this might be my most hated on this entire list.

DRIVE (2011, dir. Nicolas Winding Refn)

Drive is one of the most pretentious examples of “style over substance” I’ve ever seen. This movie is trying so, so hard to be cool and edgy that it borders on being downright precious. Tightrope-tense action set in stark contrast with a hypnotizing electronic score (admittedly the best parts of the movie)? Check. An attempt at humanization of a gritty criminal by involving him in a terribly forced side-plot that has little fit to the material at hand? Check. Vapid character interactions masquerading as surreal to give the viewer the illusion of substance? Check. Drive was one of the films to gravitate us toward Ryan Gosling, whose uniquely quiet style of acting emanates a very unique presence, but Drive couldn’t quite figure out just how to handle him, so his performance comes off as unflattering strange – in all fairness, I blame this in part on the material & directing he was given. When his talents are exercised correctly (which is more often than not), Gosling has gone on to be an exceptional actor, and it's great seeing him move forward from Drive. If only everybody else could.

FRANCES HA (2012, dir. Noah Baumbach)

Admittedly, my exposure to Noah Baumbach’s work has been fairly minimal, but his work that I’ve seen has convinced me that he does not live in the real world. His films feel endlessly filled with bohemian-esque would-be artist types with little connectible qualities or relatable struggles, and nowhere are Baumbach’s worst traits more prevalent than Frances Ha. This film is such a negative stereotype of indie cinema its almost remarkable: following the Woody Allen playbook, a dancer (Greta Gerwig, who’s trying way too hard) in the Big Apple floats from one cushy joint to the next, wallowing in her ennui and unrealized aspirations with zero reason care beyond her “I’m so quirky and indie” attitude, surrounded by an uninteresting and gentrified New York City (hey, it’s in black & white, though!). Perhaps there’s some kind of satire going on, but Frances Ha feels so unironic and sincere that it’s a laughable effort.

GET OUT (2017, dir. Jordan Peele)

I found a few things to like within Get Out – the Sunken Place sequence is memorable, Daniel Kaluuya shows a promising future as an actor, and the protagonist’s security guard friend is an absolute riot. In general, I suppose I can understand the appeal of Get Out to a certain degree. The key words there are “certain degree”. What I can’t understand is how Jordan Peele’s admirable yet ultimately flawed debut – marred by serious tonal imbalance and a hilariously off-the-rails climax, with no particularly memorable style – is widely regarded as this visionary masterwork of horror and social commentary, as if that’s never been done before, let alone done better or even more memorable – despite the elements I mentioned earlier, I struggle to remember any kind of significant impact any of the film may have had while I was watching it. It just kind of comes and goes. Personally, I’m more in favor of Peele’s follow-up, Us. Also flawed, but it is a lot more poignant, clever, and, frankly, scary.

HOLY MOTORS (2012, dir. Leos Carax)

Listen, a movie doesn’t necessarily have to have a cohesive narrative to be an enjoyable experience. In fact, that’s the key word: experience, and that’s what matters at the end of the day after watching a movie. Then there are films that abandon the idea of narrative in favor of being a totally unique experience, films like The Color of Pomegranates and Upstream Color. While this isn’t particularly to my taste, I can appreciate them. But now we have Holy Motors, which follows the routine of Mr. Oscar (Denis Lavant) and all of the strange affairs he gets involved in, with no particular stakes or bigger picture at hand. Just a series of vignettes – fine. But what is so special about Holy Motors? I didn’t see anything particularly profound ideas behind it, no distinct style, or no interesting visuals or effects (with the exception of an awesome body-motion capture sequence) – just a lukewarm series of weird things, which aren’t even entertainingly weird. Holy Motors has become one of the most beloved arthouse films of the last 10 years, but if you’ve yet to see it, trust me when I say you’re not missing much.

MOONLIGHT (2016, dir. Barry Jenkins)

The first third of Moonlight is some of the most riveting and piercing drama I’ve seen in quite some time, driven by a powerful dynamic between its central characters, further anchored by a bold performance by Mahershala Ali, a performance so strong I stood and applauded his Oscar win as it unfolded on the television. And then the rest of the film played out, chronicling the coming-of-age and sexual discovery of Chiron (played by three different actors), and it didn’t take long for the film to gradually lose my attention, due to a second act that feels all-too familiar, and a third act that moves at a snail’s pace just to arrive what felt like absolutely nowhere, all of this with no attempt at any kind of distinct singularity: no remarkable cinematography, a half-baked script. Because of the mastery of that first third, all of these issues I have with Moonlight become all the more exasperated. At least the Best Picture flub made for an entertaining moment at the 2017 Oscars.

PHANTOM THREAD (2017, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson)

Trust me when I say I genuinely want to like Phantom Thread: the story of a meticulous dressmaker (Daniel Day-Lewis) and his dominant relationship with a modest and submissive young woman (Vicky Krieps) is a premise with promise, promise that carries through the first third of the film. After that, though, despite the lavish sets and costumes, despite the unsettling yet alluring score by Johnny Greenwood, despite giving the film a second chance (which ended with me shutting it off halfway through) Phantom Thread ends up becoming a tedious chore as it plods from one scene to the next, becoming stale as it remains in a stasis as its characters and subject matter never really amount to much, nor do they really go much of anywhere, and when they do, it’s not enough to regain my interest. I think worst of all with Phantom Thread is a lackluster performance from the incredible Day-Lewis, in his final performance (in all fairness, his abilities as an actor peaked with There Will be Blood). Maybe one day I’ll see Phantom Thread that will ignite the love that I want to give this movie, but for now, all I can do is shrug my shoulders and say “so what?”

WINTER’S BONE (2010, dir. Debra Granik)

I can understand the appeal of Winter’s Bone, Debra Granik’s landmark sophomore effort: the world it inhabits is flawlessly realized, being a section of rural blue-collar America with a curious hue of the post-apocalyptic. Most of all, though, this was the film that put the talents of one Jennifer Lawrence on the map, playing a young woman desperately searching for her father with the weight of her family’s welfare on her back. Like I said, there are remarkable elements exhibited in Winter’s Bone, but I was only to appreciate it from a distance. Not once did I feel truly captivated by the drama at hand, leaving the film rather lukewarm. This isn’t uncommon for me with indie films, but the praise that Winter’s Bone got in 2010 (and continues to get) is impossible to ignore, and it just kind of baffles me for something that feels like yet another indie film, albeit one with something more to offer. It’s nothing too special at the end of the day, but eight years later saw the release of Granik’s absolutely incredible follow-up, Leave No Trace.

YOUR NAME. (2016, dir. Makoto Shinkai)

Your Name. went on to break box office records for Japanese anime, and I admit that this movie does not go without its charms: the animation is absolutely gorgeous (my mouth was agape a few times from its quality), the romance is quite sweet, there are plenty of heartwarming & cute moments, and the concept is certainly unique and dare I say ambitious in its story of a boy and a girl linked together through ways that transcend time & space (quite literally). If only the script was ironed out, because throughout Your Name., despite its charms, is a clunky mess of a narrative, with none of its world’s rules or functions explained concisely, and it becomes a hell of a head-scratcher, and for a film that has apparently joined the ranks of great anime next to Akira and Spirited Away, I would expect something more cohesive. In all fairness, I’ve heard that a lot of the viewer’s understanding of the mind-bending story depends on whether they’re watching the sub or the dub version (I can’t remember which I watched). Regardless, I can’t say I think Your Name. is a great film, but I can say I still enjoyed it to an extent.

RTD: Top 30 Countdown - 20-11

20)  CLIMAX (2018, dir. Gaspar Noe)

I will be the first to admit that I have a bias by default for the polarizing Gaspar Noe. I firmly believe he is one of the most unique visionaries working today, so many will find it unsurprising that Climax lands on this list, let alone so high. That said, despite the generally positive reputation that the film received during its film festival run, I wasn’t particularly grabbed by its premise; a group of dancers’ simultaneous descent into an involuntary LSD trip just didn't captivate me that much. Come March 2019, we finally received the film here in Tucson, and leave it to Noe to leave me speechless and blown away yet again, even at my most skeptical.

A dance troupe prepare to embark overseas for a competition, but not without one last hurrah in their native France. Unbeknownst to them, they will crash into drug-induced oblivion after a sangria bowl is spiked with acid. Instead of any kind of act-structure, Noe masterfully crafts a gradual spiral downward, resulting in one of the most uniquely horrifying experiences in recent cinema. As scary as Climax is, it is equally hypnotic with mesmerizing choreography and masterful technicality, not to mention a soundtrack that the kids these days would call “fire” (along with some great original tracks by Thomas Bangalter). Long story short; Noe has done it again.

19)  LA LA LAND (2016, dir. Damien Chazelle)

Sometimes a film’s greatness is measured less by its perfectness than how much the viewer enjoyed it, was moved by it, inspired, etc. (without sacrificing artistic integrity). This point brings me to hit musical La La Land. Yes, it has more than its fair share of, the most glaring of all being a complete lack of memorable songs (though this could differ from person to person). This flaw should be fatal for a musical, but La La Land ends up being one of those rare cases: a film so lovable, dare I say magical, that flaws become nothing more than irrelevant, like that itch on the back of your neck resolved by a quick scratch.

The songs may be lackluster, but everything around those songs – choreography, sets, camerawork – make up for it and beyond, my personal favorite being the opening number set in the midst of classic L.A. traffic. There is a deep passion for the Hollywood But La La Land wouldn’t be nearly as much as it is without the charming duet of Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling, who are nothing short of perfect, beautifully culminated in a terrific finale, albeit rather bittersweet, all set to an adorable Hollywood backdrop with a kind of wide-eyed wonder. One of the greatest musicals? That’s a stretch, but it’s undeniably a memorable one that can only be described as irresistible. Try not to be won over by its spell. I dare you.

18)  ENDLESS POETRY (2016, dir. Alejandro Jodorowsky)

After 23 years of cinematic silence, 2013 saw the return of beloved psychedelic guru Alejandro Jodorowsky with The Dance of Reality, a Felliniesque autobiography chronicling his growing up in a Chilean coastal town. Though it was a welcome return, and certainly an entertaining movie, it was rather flawed, most notably due to its derailing from Jodorowsky’s story to that of his father’s. Well, three years later, Jodorowsky continued his story with Endless Poetry, detailing his move to the city of Santiago and his ambitions to become a poet. The Dance of Reality may have been perfect, but Endless Poetry is about as perfect as a movie can get.

A beautiful tale of independence, individuality, and finding a place in the world, Endless Poetry breathes with life that few films do, contagious in energy, vibrant in color, and rich with imagination, all the while learning from the faults of its predecessor. While this is nothing close to his bizarre ‘70s films (fans of those may be underwhelmed here), Endless Poetry is not without Jodorowsky’s signature self-indulgence, of course. If that’s not your thing, look elsewhere, but if it is, you’ll be treated to one of Jodorowsky’s finest films yet. Capped off with one of the decade’s greatest movie endings, Endless Poetry is pure movie magic, and a tale of self-discovery for the ages.

17)  THE LAST BLACK MAN IN SAN FRANCISCO (2019, dir. Joe Talbot)

San Francisco itself becomes a prominent character this most excellent drama by Joe Talbot, where the future is uncertain but the present is becoming more and more unpleasant: gentrification, economic instability, and a touch of urban decay. In spite of all this, citizens remain, chained to memories and nostalgia. Such is the story of Jimmie (Jimmie Fails), a man at a crossroads between younger days and adulthood. Alongside childhood friend Mont (Jonathan Majors), Jimmie embarks on a passionate yet desperate journey to revitalize and re-inhabit his childhood home, allegedly constructed by his father’s own two hands.

It’s a plot that is at great risk of becoming overbearingly politicized, but Talbot never loses balance, keeping the intimate human drama a top priority – the result is touching in its humility. Backed by solid yet modest performances and gorgeous cinematography, peppered throughout with one of the decade’s most underrated scores, The Last Black Man in San Francisco is a bittersweet take on nostalgia and the ever-changing days ahead that is sometimes funny, sometimes heartbreaking, but always enthralling. Yes, life is scary in the steady dissolve of the past along with the fog of the future – The Last Black Man in San Francisco may not help alleviate that tension, but it makes for one of the decade’s most moving and profound films.

16)  WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN (2011, dir. Lynne Ramsay)

We Need to Talk About Kevin, without spoiling too much, is the story of Eva (Tilda Swinton), a wife & mother whose life is thrust permanently upside-down after the violent, horrific deeds of her teenage son, the titular Kevin (Ezra Miller). It is told in a fragmented and disorienting style, out of chronological order. The effect is not only chillingly intoxicating, but the perfect method to enter Eva’s mind, a broken place that is desperate in its attempts to make sense of such tragedy and to put the pieces back together. There is a suggestion that such efforts may be futile, but it makes for one of the very greatest psychological dramas I have ever seen.

The effect of this film is something like quicksand, gradually pulling you into an overwhelming abyss, masterfully directed by Lynne Ramsay with an acute attention to detail (there’s something new to notice with every watch). Though Kevin is essentially a one-dimensional character, he never feels cheap or written off, thanks to a creepy performance from Ezra Miller. But then there’s Tilda Swinton, who has emerged as one of my favorite actresses, and that all started here, which I believe to be her best role to date. Palpably creepy, tightly focused, brilliantly acted, We Need to Talk About Kevin is a nightmarish masterpiece.

15)  CALL ME BY YOUR NAME (2017, dir. Luca Guadagnino)

Nature acts not as a malevolent force but as a lush and alluring (if mysterious) aura in Call Me by Your Name, a most lovely and tender coming-of-age tale of emerging sexuality and uncertain love – it is also quite possibly the decade’s best romance. Elio, an American teenager, spends the summer with his parents in rural Italy where he meets Oliver, a grad student. Initially, there is nothing between them other than a casual acquaintanceship, but before too long Elio is head-over-heels in love with Oliver, and that love takes him on a journey into the world of love that is both devastating and beautiful.

Aside from being one of the most relaxing movies I’ve seen (thanks to exceptional use of location and atmosphere), Call Me by Your Name is one of the greatest depictions of romantic longing and the confusing, frustrating yet irresistible magnetism it brings. Carrying these complex feelings are exceptional performances from Timothee Chalamet and Armie Hammer, who share a subtle yet striking dynamic that compliments the overall film perfectly, and that bittersweet final shot wraps up the entire experience flawlessly. No matter your gender, no matter your sexual orientation, there is a tearjerking reassurance to Call Me by Your Name – longing and heartbreak are known well to all of us.

14)  PATERSON (2016, dir. Jim Jarmusch)

In Paterson, Jim Jarmusch forgoes bombastic genre-mashing in favor of the humble beauty of day-to-day life, spending one week with Paterson (Adam Driver), a man with a remarkable talent for poetry, specifically in his sharp attention to the littlest of details. His inspiration: the ordinary world around him, which he ordinarily strolls through every single day as an ordinary bus driver in Paterson, NJ, with an endlessly creative girlfriend (Golshifteh Farahani) and a mischievous dog to come home to. There are highs, there are lows, but Paterson isn’t much more (or less) than what is outlined here, but it is nothing short of a beautiful experience.

Paterson is the role Adam Driver was born to play, carrying his role as an unassuming everyman with a subtle sensitivity, perfectly balanced by Golshifteh Farahani as the girlfriend, who is adorable from start to finish. But Paterson would not be what it is without writer-director Jim Jarmusch. I’ve always found him to be at his best when he’s depicting the rhythmic ebb and flow of daily life, as his Paterson-like ability to find art and poetry in the most mundane is not only fascinating, but also sublime. With Paterson, Jarmusch puts his abilities to the test, and the result is one of his finest achievements.

13)  THE SOCIAL NETWORK (2010, dir. David Fincher)

A classic American story chronicling the building of an entrepreneurial empire, set in the contemporary days of the digital frontier – such is the basis of The Social Network, the story of one Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg), a genius, determined, yet socially inept Harvard student, and his domination of cyberspace with Facebook. It is a venture that made him the youngest billionaire in the world, but not without a price, as the film details every bridge he burned along the way, which has pinned him down in the midst of not one, but two lawsuits that forever scarred his reputation.

I skipped out on The Social Network upon release, dismissing it as a cash-in on the Facebook name. When I finally got around to it, what I got put Facebook in the backdrop. In the foreground is a compelling and timeless story of business, friendship, and betrayal – considering the subject matter (computer nerds), it is amazing just how accessible this movie is. I credit this fully to Aaron Sorkin, whose script is one of the absolute greatest of recent memory, even earning an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay. Tack on a suiting score by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross, and a lead performance by Eisenberg that is nothing short of brilliant, The Social Network is the Citizen Kane for the millennial generation.

12)  INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS (2013, dir. Coen Brothers)

Inside Llewyn Davis begins and ends with its titular protagonist (Oscar Isaac) sitting atop a stool in the Gaslight, guitar in hand, lamenting his struggles through folk songs. When we first see this, we are told everything we need to know about Llewyn. By the film’s end we get to experience where all of those troubles come from – some a result of the harshness of life, but many, many more a result of Llewyn’s own stubbornness and arrogance. For one reason or another, though, we stick through Llewyn as he braves through the cold streets of ‘60s New York.

Like the film itself, Oscar Isaac carries this irritating character without apology, but with sympathy, even proving himself to be a formidable and haunting folk singer. The world around Llewyn matches the character, shot in cold hues with hints of warmth. Folk music is a bit of a morbid icon of American culture, and for that, I couldn’t think of a better fit for this film than the Coen Brothers, making one hell of a folk song of a film, even going so far as to acknowledge Llewyn’s plight as one sick joke. Then again, there’s a key rule to comedy: somebody has to suffer.

11)  ROMA (2018, dir. Alfonso Cuaron)

Mexican auteur Alfonso Cuaron takes another spot in this countdown with Roma, the best film of 2018 and perhaps his greatest achievement as a director. Following a middle-class family in Mexico City in the midst of political and social upheaval, circa 1970s, a housemaid ultimately becomes the heroine of the story in a silent yet glorious emergence, bolstered by an incredible lead performance from Yalitza Aparicio, who approaches her character with the perfect combination of humility and timidity to suit her character.

Equally as humble is the film itself. As amazing as it is to experience as it is to look at, it never really calls attention to itself, politely inviting the viewer to its world. Yes, Roma is a slow film, but willing viewers will find themselves absolutely absorbed by the film’s osmotic spell, with each striking moment etching itself in the viewer’s memory, all building up to a climax that sneaks up on you with its tension, as well as being perhaps the most original baptism scene in cinema. I admit that I’ve been skeptical of Netflix’s gradual emergence in film, and I certainly still have some reservations, but if they can produce films of Roma-level quality, I can rest easy.

RTD: 10 Most Honorable Mentions

BLACK SWAN (2010, dir. Darren Aronofsky)

At some point in Black Swan, the theater director (Vincent Cassell) states that his stage version of Swan Lake will be unlike any other adaptation seen yet, and I can’t help but feel this is Aronofsky talking. Black Swan is, indeed, an adaptation of the seminal ballet, and a very unique one. In an Oscar-winning role, Natalie Portman stars as a timid and overly-modest ballet dancer in New York, who lands a role in said production of Swan Lake, taking herself to twisted extremes to achieve the perfection she so desperately desires.  Her journey becomes a deranged head-trip into torturous physicality and psychosexual insanity. Though Black Swan is a maddening film, its energy and mystery are irresistible. Though Black Swan is somewhat hindered by a bland visual style and production design, Aronofsky still delivered one of the best films in his wild filmography, but it’s really all about Portman, who absolutely dominates in the lead role, even earning herself an Academy Award. An imperfect film, sure, but Black Swan is still undoubtedly an exceptional backstage drama and a fascinating approach to the seminal ballet.

BROOKLYN (2015, dir. Jonathan Crowley)

Based on the novel by Colm Toibin, Brooklyn is a simple story of a young Irish woman (Saoirse Ronan) immigrating to the United States, circa 1950s. In between finding her footing in this new place of opportunity, she falls in love with an Italian-American (Emory Cohen), but eventually finds herself caught between the promise of America and the familiar comfort of Ireland. At the risk of sounding sappy, the first word that comes to mind when I think of Brooklyn is “lovely”. As both a coming-to-America story as well as a romance, Brooklyn is absolutely enchanting. This film is made all the better with Ronan in the lead, who carries Brooklyn in a powerful performance marked by quiet subtlety. Brooklyn may not transcend beyond what it is, which is the main reason I’m not putting it in my final countdown. I’m just fine with this, though, because what we got may not be a masterpiece, but it is nonetheless an exquisite parable of young love, the frightening yet promising crossroads of being in one’s 20s, and, most importantly, finding one’s place in the world.

CHI-RAQ (2015, dir. Spike Lee)

Though the 2016 #OscarsSoWhite controversy resides in memory overall as typically obnoxious virtue signaling, there was a black film that was disappointingly absent from the Academy’s recognition that year: Chi-Raq. In his 27^th feature, Spike Lee adapts the Ancient Greek comedy Lysistrata into contemporary Chicago, where the violence has gone too far after a child is caught in gangland crossfire. The solution: Chicago’s women band together and bar their men from sex. Chi-Raq’s only downfall is its third act, which slogs the pacing down something fierce in spite of an entertaining climax (pun more or less intended). While it lasts, though, Chi-Raq is a firecracker of a movie, showcasing some of Lee’s most urgent and clever filmmaking to date. What makes Chi-Raq stand out so much, though, is its script, which takes a modern approach to the style of Greek theater – i.e., all of the dialogue is spoken in verses. Some may consider this whole approach a forced gimmick, but I think it functioned extremely well. Besides, has Spike Lee ever been somebody to restrain himself?

A HIDDEN LIFE (2019, dir. Terrence Malick)

It may not take much for a movie to make me tear up a bit, but it takes something of elemental force to make me cry uncontrollably. Every film that has ever accomplished this I could count on my one hand, and my most recent experience with this is A Hidden Life, the unsung true story of Franz Jagerstatter (August Diehl). A Catholic farmer who desired nothing more than a simple life with his wife and daughters, all of this was taken from Jagerstatter when he refused to swear loyalty to Hitler – purely on personal principle. Terrence Malick’s singular style has never been for everyone, and his last three films were admittedly borderline self-parody, but A Hidden Life is absolutely redeeming. Perfectly complimented by the usual Malick traits, it is a soul-piercing meditation on personal integrity in the face of evil (Pureflix wishes they had the chops to make a movie like this), with an excellent performance from Diehl to top it all off (who ironically played a Nazi a decade prior in Inglourious Basterds). A Hidden Life is undoubtedly going to have its detractors, but I couldn’t think of a better person to properly handle this material than Malick. Bless his soul.

THE INSULT (2017, dir. Ziad Doueiri)

Two stubborn men – an Israeli and a Palestinian – get into a verbal confrontation that peaks with a vulgar insult. What they don’t realize is that they will be at the center of the international spotlight when their altercation is taken to court, a premise that is startlingly funny but jarringly believable. Such is the basis of The Insult, Ziad Doueiri’s Oscar-nominated (and subsequently snubbed) take on Middle Eastern politics, Palestine-Israel relations, and the courtroom drama. Now, here’s something interesting: the three elements I just mentioned do not interest me in any way whatsoever, and I didn’t look much forward to this, in spite of the great press it was getting (I can’t emphasize enough how much I rarely enjoy courtroom dramas). A couple of hours later, my world was completely rocked. Despite everything it had going against it for me, the entertaining story (often bordering on absurd), delivered with a bangingly witty script, kept me completely gripped from start to finish. The subject matter may not be everybody’s cup of tea, but trust me when I say to give The Insult a solid chance.

ISLE OF DOGS (2018, dir. Wes Anderson)

I’ve never been able to warm up to the works of Wes Anderson. In all fairness, I’ve always had great admiration for his detail-attentive eye and his overall technique, but his colorful brand of quirk, quite frankly, gets on my nerves. Then came Isle of Dogs, and, oh boy, did I love this movie. Set in a dystopian Japan where dogs are outlawed, this is the tale of a group of alpha dogs searching for a lost boy (who’s searching for his own dog), and their journey is one that is funny, adorable, and absolutely touching. This is made all the better with an absolutely amazing cast (seriously, go scroll through the cast on IMDb), a clever script, and stop-motion animation that is jaw-droppingly great, not to mention homages to classic Japanese cinema peppered throughout. How ironic that the one Anderson film that has won me over yet is considered one of his weakest, but that doesn’t matter to me: it’s a touching ode to Man’s Best Friend, and I absolutely loved it.

LEAVE NO TRACE (2018, dir. Debra Granik)

Notions on the very idea of “home” and the sacrifice of choosing one’s path are firmly challenged in Leave No Trace, the story of an off-the-grid daughter (Thomasin McKenzie) and father (Ben Foster). They are both struggling to find a place in the world – they are forced off of the earthly landscapes they seek refuge in, and they flee from the traditional home settings they are brought into by the government. Written & directed by Debra Granik, Leave No Trace is her first film since the smash indie hit Winter’s Bone from 2010. Though I was not won over by the latter, Leave No Trace is truly something extraordinary, an opinion I’m not in the minority of. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be much of a minority opinion on Leave No Trace, as it currently holds 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes (it really is that good). Despite such a feat, nobody appears to have really talked about it since its release, which completely slipped on my radar. The only criticism I have of Leave No Trace isn't even really a criticism; had the film taken place on a much larger scale, I feel it could have been Graink's magnum opus as well as one of the decade's undisputed masterpieces - it feels just a bit small for its own good. I digress, though; they can't all be perfect, and for what it’s worth, Leave No Trace borders on perfection. 

A SEPARATION (2011, dir. Asghar Farhadi)

Chronicling a middle-class couple and their difficult divorce (nothing short of stigmatizing in Iran), A Separation is, simply put, a perfect movie…perhaps too perfect. Despite such masterful filmmaking at hand, I just don’t find myself thinking about A Separation all that much in the long-run. This is the only reason I’m not placing A Separation in my countdown, because to ignore a drama as expertly-crafted as this would be unforgivable. Like the greatest of drama, A Separation avoids melodramatic cheese, aware that there are no easy answers or outs with this predicament – shades of gray rather than clearly defined black & white. People are treated like people, with the film siding with nobody’s plight in particular – everybody has their point as well as their foibles. Topping everything off is a refreshingly real portrait of Iran The acting, the pacing, the writing, every single aspect of this movie…there is not one single bad thing I can find.

SHAME (2011, dir. Steve McQueen)

On the surface, Brandon (Michael Fassbender), the protagonist in Shame, appears suave, cool, and collected, perhaps leaving little mystery for the casual passerby that he has mythological luck with getting women into the bedroom. But Shame brings us closely into Brandon’s world, and we see him for who he truly is – a sex addict, deeply tortured by his addiction, hardening his exterior to cover up his shame. All of this is brought to a boiling point with an unexpected visit from his sister (Carey Mulligan). Bolstered by phenomenal work from Fassbender, director McQueen masterfully avoids the potential juvenile and titillating pitfalls of something as taboo as sex addiction, creating an empathetically immersive experience, and one of the most alluring yet piercing dramas of recent memory. Foregoing melodrama and over-exposition, McQueen allows us to see this character in the here and now, observing mannerisms and behavior in place of obligatory dialogue. Shame is psychosexual drama of the highest caliber – sincere, empathetic, always enthralling, never sexy. Just the way it should be.

UNCUT GEMS (2019, dir. Safdie Bros.)

Imagine enduring an inbound anxiety attack for over two hours. Such is the experience of Uncut Gems, and for all of the film’s intents and purposes, I can’t think of a higher compliment. Over the course of a few days, we are thrown into the world of Howard Ratner (Adam Sandler), a Diamond District jeweler who can’t walk a single block without somebody pestering him over owed money, undoubtedly due to his insane gambling addiction. There’s little doubt in anybody’s mind that Howard’s predicament is not going to end well, but we stick through the hellish journey anyway. You have Sandler to thank for that – despite his reputation, he is a capable dramatic actor, and with that said, Sandler showcases the highlight of his entire career here. Graced with a brilliant script, Uncut Gems is a marvelous throwback to the gritty NYC cinema of the ‘70s (Martin Scorsese is even an executive producer), but it is not without a sense of humor, wrapping up Uncut Gems in a diamond-encrusted bow, making for one of 2019’s most memorable films.

WHIPLASH (2014, dir. Damien Chazelle)

An aspiring jazz drummer (Miles Teller) is pushed to his absolute limits by his instructor (J.K. Simmons). You’ve heard this before, haven’t you? The teacher-student dynamic is one that is not only all too familiar in film, but also complete with a predictable formula. Instead of seeking shelter in contrivances, Whiplash avoids the pitfalls of cliché, and crashes and bangs into the film world as one of the most entertaining and memorable films of the decade, first and foremost shattering the conventions of the dynamic: unafraid to touch on the darker aspects of pursuing greatness, Teller’s drummer is one who is egotistically aware of his abilities, and Simmons is nothing short of sadistic as he channels his inner R. Lee Ermey, which earned him an Oscar. Suiting the characters and story is tightrope-tense pacing and editing with the pinpoint precision of a jazz musician, all capped off with a powerfully triumphant ending that is simply perfect. Ultimately, Whiplash couldn’t quite place on my countdown, but to leave it completely unmentioned couldn’t do my conscience very good.