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.