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.   

RTD: Top 30 Countdown - 30-21

30)  THE TURIN HORSE (2011, dir. Agnes Hranitzky & Bela Tarr)

Humanity’s impending doom takes on the form painfully violent winds in The Turin Horse. In his final masterpiece, Bela Tarr takes us to Turin, Italy, bringing us into the rugged world of an impoverished farmer, his daughter, and their temperamental horse (the very horse that Nietzsche clung to before his mental breakdown in 1889). They struggle for survival day by day, out of contact with the outside world. Their farm filled with dreadful silence, as if serving a confirmation that God has abandoned them.

Bela Tarr is less a filmmaker than a prophet of the apocalypse. His most signature traits are bleak black & white imagery, weather as an apocalyptic allegory, and long, long takes that stretch for a desperate eternity. It is a style that is trying for detractors, yet mesmerizingly striking for fans. The Turin Horse is no exception to his track record, and while this is not Tarr’s greatest achievement (a title earned by his 1994 opus Satantango), The Turin Horse is perhaps the best starting point for his impenetrable filmography. It is not an accessible film by any means, but what you see is what you get, and what you get is a chillingly pessimistic yet beautifully accomplished swansong from Hungary’s greatest cinematic export.

29)  HER (2013, dir. Spike Jonze)

Her is one of the most bittersweet movies ever made, chronicling the lonely and introverted Theodore’s (Joaquin Phoenix) relationship with an AI console (voiced by Scarlett Johannson), set in a truly not-too-distant future. On one hand, it becomes a coping mechanism for Theodore after a recent divorce; on another hand, what feels and beats like a genuine romance charmingly blossoms from their interactions. All at once heartwarming and heartbreaking, Her emerges as one of the decade’s most memorable romances and one of the most unique studies of loneliness in film.

The future of Her feels all-too plausible, but I hesitate to even say it takes place in the future, because it all seems so distinctly familiar. I think this is one of the most genius aspects of the film – creating a future we could foresee (without feeling alienated) perhaps allows more room to warm up to the strange romance of its characters, the real focus of Her. Phoenix finds the right balance of sensitivity without making Theodore a joke; Johansson may not appear onscreen, but the commitment to her voice work births a strong presence. Though Her is undoubtedly a Spike Jonze movie, this finds him at his most refined, restrained, and heartfelt as a filmmaker.

28)  THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI (2017, dir. Martin McDonagh)

Sick of local law’s uselessness, a divorced mother grieving the rape & murder of her daughter takes matters into her own hands, and her method is one of stark originality: she rents three underused billboards, plastering a message that calls out the local police chief’s incompetence. What follows is a tale of intense personal anger – pointed both outward and inward – told not in black and white, but those shades of grey that such a heavy film like Three Billboards demands. Topping off Three Billboards is a collective of excellent performances, but then there’s Frances McDormand, and there’s no other way to put it: at the risk of sounding hyperbole, she gives one of the very greatest lead performances of all time.

She alone is reason enough to watch, but there is amazingly more to Three Billboards: it boasts one of the best scripts of the decade. Fearless in tackling touchy subject matter, it is peppered with a darkly quirky wit that the Coen Brothers wish they had the chops to write. It is also full of surprises that don’t jump, but rather creep up on you – the characters we think we hate grow on us, and those we thought we sided with show more disturbing colors throughout, never feeling heavy-handed. In its grey depiction of the social war between law enforcement and the downtrodden people, Three Billboards is one of those few movies I can say we need right now. 

27)  GRAVITY (2013, dir. Alfonso Cuaron)

A rookie astronaut becomes stranded in space after a routine mission goes horribly wrong. That, right there, is the entire plot of Gravity, one so simple and minimal that I was positive Cuaron wouldn’t be able to pull it off. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I am honestly ashamed at these preconceived notions of mine, because Gravity gripped me by both the throat and the heart in a way few films have. Despite a setting, characters, and situation that very few of us can ever materially relate to, there is a profound, albeit subtle, universality to the stakes at hand.

But not everybody’s interested in what lies “between the lines”, an understanding that Cuaron humbly proves throughout Gravity. At an air-tight 90 minutes, Gravity bedazzles with its spacious spectacle and special effects, perfectly encapsulated in the film’s opening shot alone. Adding to my surprise with Gravity are solid performances from Sandra Bullock and George Clooney – though nothing ground-breaking in the long run, they give the film their all despite such little material to work with. Unfortunately, I missed Gravity during its theatrical run – bar none, this is my biggest movie regret of the decade. Like the best of its kind, though, Gravity is enhanced by the theater, but does not depend on it. Even at home, it’s still mind-blowing.

26)  FIRST REFORMED (2017, dir. Paul Schrader)

In the face of a world approaching apocalypse by mankind’s very own hands, an ailing and tortured priest battles within himself the meaning of carrying out God’s confusing word in Paul Schrader’s First Reformed, one of the most haunting and soul-chilling movies in recent memory. Anybody familiar with Schrader will be right at home here: an existentially alienated man on the verge of externalizing his inner crisis. The twist here, though, is the application to the definition of faith, which makes for not only one hell of a soul-ringing movie, but a fascinating love letter to the faith-based dramas of Schrader’s affection, Diary of a Country Priest and Winter Light in particular.

Though First Reformed makes some of the most effective use of the usual Schrader template, there is no argument that the Godly weight of this film is bore by Ethan Hawke, who carries First Reformed in what might be the best lead male performance of the decade, one that goes about with a delicate dread that suits the film perfectly, set to the backdrop of a weary color palette and an exquisitely brooding score by dark ambient master Lustmord. Structurally, First Reformed is far from new territory for Schrader, but the religious makeup makes for an experience that is quietly dreadful and hauntingly masterful.

25)  A GHOST STORY (2017, dir. David Lowery)

Life goes on, whether we’re here or not, whether we like it or not. Take what you will from that. These are the very thoughts still cycling through my head after seeing A Ghost Story, certainly one of the most enigmatic movies to come out in a while. A man dies in a car wreck and spends the afterlife dwelling the space of his home, watching many generations come and go, all the while dressed in the classic bedsheet ghost outfit. Simply put; it’s a haunted house story from the perspective of the ghost. As simple as this is, A Ghost Story is one of those rare experiences at the movies that cannot be simplified upon mere synopsis, and can only be seen to be believed.

Despite such simplicity, it is one of the most profound and deeply touching movies to come out in the last 10 years, even stranger that it works exclusively off of its concept. Sure, there are some striking moments here and there, but there is nothing remarkable or particularly spectacular as far as cinematography or performances go, though Daniel Hart’s score is worth a listen. For some, this is a red flag (and this certainly had its detractors), but I found that all the more impressive. I’ve only seen A Ghost Story once, which was when it was released locally, but to this very day, I’m still haunted by it. 

24)  UNDER THE SKIN (2013, dir. Jonathan Glazer)

Scarlett Johannson plays not so much a character, but an enigma that is known only as the Female in Under the Skin. After coming to be and learning the everyday vibes of civilization, she stalks the streets of Glasgow in search of unsuspecting men, seducing them into a literal black void. Rinse. Repeat. Though there is a story that can be followed, it is one that isn’t so much told as it is meditated, and it makes for a film that is mystifying, head-scratching, even frustrating, but too irresistible and mesmerizing to be dismissed – it begs for and greatly rewards interpretation, but the mystery of the experience is just as alluring.

Under the Skin is a cold, alien film that Stanley Kubrick would be proud of, a feel that is fully encapsulated by Johannson, in perhaps the most left-field role of her career, but also vital to the film’s sexily pulling quality is superb cinematography from Daniel Landin, framing some truly unforgettable images, all set to the backdrop of Mica Levi’s electronic score, which is nothing short of haunting and hypnotic. Under the Skin is certainly not for everyone – my head still isn’t quite wrapped around it, but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t captivated from start to finish. 

23)  THE IRISHMAN (2019, dir. Martin Scorsese)

For the first time since 1995’s Casino, Scorsese teamed up with De Niro and Pesci once again for quite possibly their most epic undertaking yet: The Irishman, the story of Frank “the Irishman” Sheeran (Robert De Niro), a World War 2 vet turned truck driver turned hitman. After a chance meeting with crime boss Bill Bufalino (Joe Pesci), Sheeran finds himself steadily treading into the depths of the mafia, eventually leading to an association and friendship with union leader Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino). After complications surrounding the election of Kennedy, Sheeran is given his most difficult hit job yet – the assassination of Hoffa, which leads to his mysterious disappearance.

Yes, it is a very long movie (3.5 hours), but not one single minute is wasted. It is enthralling from front to back, resulting in a story that feels truly complete by its emotionally jarring ending. Though the mafia is familiar territory for Scorsese, The Irishman feels fresh, due to its handling of the subject, being from the perspective of an everyday joe who gets wrapped into this world. Additionally, the film is very tensely restrained, a welcome change of pace for Scorsese. The Irishman does not claim to be based on a true story, as it is only based on allegations of questionable legitimacy – but, man, is it a story that feels frighteningly plausible.

22)  EX MACHINA (2014, dir. Alex Garland)

The past decade was especially packed with terrific A.I.-centered science fiction, an already prominent theme in the genre, and one of the finest examples is Ex Machina, the debut feature from novelist Alex Garland. Set in the remote home of the crude yet genius search engine CEO Nathan (Oscar Isaac), Caleb, a young programmer (Domhall Gleeson), is invited to take part in Nathan’s latest scientific breakthrough: Ava (Alicia Vikander), a humanoid robot seemingly capable of feelings and emotions. As Caleb becomes more allured to Ava and her lifelike emotiveness, tensions begin to rise between him and Nathan.

On a budget of only $15 million, Ex Machina exhibits a single solitary setting, used to hypnotizing effect, inhabited by a cast of only four (including a particularly chilling Oscar Isaac). The only special effect is that of Ava’s cybernetic being, which surely earned the film an Oscar for Best Visual Effects. Despite the lack of usual sci-fi extravagance, Ex Machina is all at once fascinating, thrilling, and thought-provoking, allowing the viewer to become fully absorbed into its world without unnecessary distraction while never calling attention to itself. Topped by Garland’s Oscar-nominated script, Ex Machina is surely destined to be a modern sci-fi classic.

21)  HEREDITARY (2018, dir. Ari Aster)

The remarkably confident and expertly crafted debut from one of cinema’s newest horror auteurs, Ari Aster, came in the form of Hereditary, one of the very best horror films released in quite some time. Hereditary puts us into discomfortingly close quarters with a grief-stricken family, observing the tensions between their dysfunction as it reaches a boiling point toward off-the-rails chaos, keeping a close eye on the mother’s (Toni Collete) questionable stability. Like the best of horror, Hereditary’s scares are deeply rooted in human drama, sometimes becoming emotionally exhausting before anything begins to happen – in particular, there is a confrontation at the family dinner table between mother and son so venomous that John Cassavetes may find himself unable to watch.

Make no mistake, though; Hereditary is absolutely terrifying, thanks in large part to a visual style that takes on a curiously voyeuristic quality, as if it’s the POV of some kind of metaphysical puppet master, exercising its misanthropic sadism on the family at hand. But what truly makes Hereditary so gripping is a brilliant performance from Collette, who sears with grief to the point of madness. I admit it took some time for Hereditary to grow on me – I originally awarded it only 3 stars out of 4. Sure enough, it crept in on my subconscious and demanded a revisit. At that point did its excellence hit me, just like the best of horror.

RTD: 5 Underrated Gems & 5 Biggest Disappointments

To kick off my Best of the Decade recap, I want to start with something a little small, five of the most underrated/overlooked gems and five of the biggest disappointments I experienced – nothing groundbreakingly amazing for the former (though there are some remarkable movies) and nothing earth-shatteringly awful for the latter, but movies I still couldn’t resist talking about. Also, for the disappointments, I want to make it clear that I don’t think any of these particular movies are bad – they’re simply movies that were dragged down by their inability to live up to their potential. Enough said – let’s get started!

5 UNDERRATED GEMS

BPM (BEATS PER MINUTE) (2017, dir. Robin Campillo)

Set in the early ‘90s, BPM recounts the Paris chapter of ACT UP, an activist collective working to combat the AIDS epidemic. Though ultimately a fictionalized account, director Robin Campillo injects his personal experiences of his involvement with ACT UP, and the film remains in my mind as an exceptional addition to the canon of LGBT cinema. Though there is no remarkable cinematography or any philosophical profoundness, BPM is a film powered purely by heart and soul, and it delivers. It is a political film, yes, but it is never once alienating, as BPM never forgets the human lives at hand, making for an experience that is thematically engaging and profoundly human for all of its 140 minutes, a feat indebted to the skills of actors Arnaud Valois and Nahuel Perez Biscayart, who take centerstage as a couple directly impacted by AIDS and the tragedy that ensues from it. Despite excellent reviews and a marvelous performance at Cannes (taking home the Grand Prix award), I’ve yet to hear anybody discuss BPM following its theatrical runs – for a film as assertive as this, with a great viewing experience to suit, BPM demands more attention.  

COLUMBUS (2017, dir. Kogonada)

Stuck in their own existential crossroads, two uncertain souls – the middle-aged son of a renowned architect (John Cho) and a high school senior with a passion for architecture (Haley Lu Richardson) – cross paths and form an unlikely bond in Columbus, the directorial debut from video essayist Kogonada. It’s a small, humble film that never reaches for the throat in the drama that carries throughout. Despite this, Columbus triumphs as a provocatively quiet experience, sometimes even tearjerking – the solid performances and fascinating chemistry between Cho and Richardson play a huge part in this, complimented by a moody score by Hammock, perfectly suiting the small scale of the film. What makes Columbus such a singular experience, however, is the gorgeous cinematography from Elisha Christian, who truly captures the jarring and awe-inspiring architecture of Columbus, Indiana, often considered the birthplace of modern architecture. Though Columbus is perhaps a bit too humble for its own good, I cannot deny that it is an effective indie film, and as far as I’m concerned, Kogonada is a name to be kept on every cinephile’s radar.

IN THE FAMILY (2011, dir. Patrick Wang)

In his 2011 debut In the Family, Patrick Wang writes, directs, and stars as Joey, who is in the midst of a complicated custody battle of his partner’s young son after the sudden death of the former. From my experience, movies that deal with progressive themes have a tendency to bank on said themes as the main feature, sometimes to the point of self-righteous smugness, rather than something circumstantial. Though Wang deals with a myriad of progressive themes here, he never calls attention to these issues – open, but not in-your-face, a truly refreshing change of pace in contrast to the trends I previously mentioned. And the actual film is truly something special. My only criticism is the bloated runtime (just shy of 3 hours), but within that timespan is a gripping courtroom drama (a setting I’m usually not a fan of), touchingly human thanks to phenomenal performances, especially from Wang – if I were to rank my top 10 favorite male performances from the last 10 years, Wang’s lead role here would earn a spot in the top 3. For such a talented auteur, it’s a shame Wang isn’t more well known, unfortunately further evident after the release of 2018’s A Bread Factory (which was Matt Zoller Seitz’s pick for that year’s best film). He may not be recognized, but at least he’s making movies. Here’s to hoping for more from Patrick Wang, because indie cinema needs more filmmakers like him.

JAMES WHITE (2015, dir. Josh Mond)

Fewer thoughts are more painful for me to dwell on than that of inevitably losing my mother, and very few films have been able to tap into those fears like James White did, and the lack of attention it gets baffles me (the only reason I know if it is a 4/4 rating on rogerebert.com). A terrific Christopher Abbott takes the lead as the titular protagonist, a man in his late-20s with no direction, no prospects, and no particular motivation to care. Soon, however, his life takes a sharp left turn when his mother (Cynthia Nixon) suddenly approaches her final days when she becomes terminally ill, and only James is in a place to take care of her, forcing him into a life-changing crossroads. Granted, all of the circumstantial elements of James White – cinematography, script, etc. – aren’t much to write home about, the proximity this film gets with its subject matter is almost literally too close for comfort. I wish you the best of luck not tearing up by its end, but as sad as James White is, it ends on an optimistic note. When it does end, you just might feel compelled to give your mother a call. For your and her sake, do that.

KRISHA (2015, dir. Trey Edward Shults)

Trey Edward Shults has been steadily rising as an auteur to be reckoned with (further solidified with the recent release  of the exceptional Waves), all of which has started with the 2015 release of Krisha. Set on Thanksgiving Day, the titular Krisha (Krisha Fairchild), a recovering alcoholic, comes to the family gathering to redeem herself, but tension gradually boils to discomforting degrees. Anybody who has ever had that family member and/or has been put in the midst of a similar situation, Krisha is so well done that you will have no choice but to relive that moment in your life. What’s truly remarkable about Krisha is how it thrives via its meager limits; it was shot over the course of only 9 days, with the cast made up of mostly friends and family of Shults, including Fairchild, Shults’ real-life aunt. Not once does a glimmer of amateur filmmaking glare, and Krisha becomes one of the most confident and assured debuts I’ve ever seen, and the lack of attention Krisha gets borders on criminal.

5 BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENTS

BRAVE (2012, dir. Mark Andrews; Brenda Chapman; Steve Purcell)

Not many may expect this from me, but I have a huge soft spot for Celtic lore, especially all of the beautiful folk music that goes along with it (my mother and I were regulars at the annual Kansas City Irish Festival). Containing my excitement was difficult upon seeing the first trailer for Brave, the next Pixar film centered on ancient Celtic culture. My expectations were soaring in the heavens, but what I got was yet another “princess against traditional roles” story. I don’t mind a familiar story as long as something unique is done with it – other than the setting, it just felt stale and a touch tired, not to mentioned paired with a subplot involving a bear that was, frankly, just plain silly. It wasn’t a complete failure: the voice acting was solid (especially from Kelly Macdonald), and the climax was a terrific lesson that there is a time and place for diplomacy as well as for battle. Not a bad film, by any means, but a mediocre outing from Pixar as well as a major missed opportunity.

THE DISASTER ARTIST (2017, dir. James Franco)

There’s always been a magnetic enigma to The Room, the cult sensation dubbed “the Citizen Kane of bad movies”, and Greg Sestero’s book The Disaster Artist was something of a revelation. It was the Ed Wood of my generation, as well as perfect material for a film adaptation. James Franco must have felt the same, not only directing the film adaptation, but also starring as Tommy Wiseau. Despite James Franco’s surprisingly effective performance (I didn’t think anybody could capture Wiseau that well), The Disaster Artist minimizes the bizarre friendship of Sestero and Wiseau (the true heart of the story) in favor of uninspired hopping of one funny highlight to the next, often taking superficial jabs at Wiseau’s expense. Sure, the recreation of key scenes The Room are fun to watch (albeit feeling like plastic knock-offs), but once the novelty has worn off, there’s little to latch on to – this movie would be nothing of significance if not for The Room. There is at least passion behind Franco’s The Disaster Artist, but more often than not, it’s misdirected. In other words: the book was better.

JOKER (2019, dir. Todd Phillips)

I may not be big on the whole comic book movie craze, but I must admit that I looked forward to Joker. A non-canon origin story dual-functioning as a stand-alone urban loner drama a la Taxi Driver was not only ripe for potential (further promised with a lead performance from Joaquin Phoenix, one of the best actors today), but a much-needed break from the standard issue comic book movie fare. It was certainly refreshing to see something different that took risks, but different and risky doesn’t make a good movie by default. Joker indeed talks the talk of Scorsese & Schrader, rich in atmosphere and palpable in its depiction of urban decay. When it attempts to walk the walk, though, it stumbles comically, often resembling the attitude a teenager who thinks being edgy is deep and profound by default. What a shame, because there are moments when Joker really, really tries, but its pseudo-deep attitude and bad choices leave the film horribly unbalanced. Not even Phoenix could save it – despite a committed performance, this Joker is a character that hasn’t been fleshed out enough to be worth such talent and commitment.

T2 TRAINSPOTTING (2017, dir. Danny Boyle)

Trainspotting was never a masterpiece for my taste, but it’s difficult not to be won over by its bizarrely memorable characters and the drug-fueled misadventures they get tangled in – they deserve to be revisited. Granted, a sequel already existed in the form of Irvine Welsh novel Porno, but Trainspotting’s morbidly beloved ensemble needed to be brought back to the screen. Well, 2017 saw the release of just that: T2 Trainspotting, set 20 years after the events of its predecessor. Admittedly, seeing the skagboys on screen brought a smile to my face, but it didn’t take too long before that smile was brought down by Boyle’s trademark over-stylization, a lackluster script, and some of the clunkiest pacing I’ve seen yet in a movie. Though Spud’s subplot about writing memoirs is very touching, none of the hijinks or stakes feel worth getting invested in, and the film ends up feeling like an aimlessly nostalgic dwell, despite the kinetic style and energy that power it. I equate T2 Trainspotting to eating a stale cupcake – no matter how sweet it is, no matter how much frosting or sprinkles top it, the dry, hardened basis makes for an unpleasant experience.

YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE (2017, dir. Lynne Ramsay)

We Need to Talk About Kevin was one of the best films I saw in the last 10 years. It firmly placed acclaimed Lynne Ramsay on my radar. Needless to say, I was psyched for her next film, whatever it may be. Well, circulating around the 2018 festival season was You Were Never Really Here, starring Joaquin Phoenix as a troubled war veteran who tracks and rescues missing girls. The praises and accolades were high, with one critic calling it “Taxi Driver for a new century.” To say I was excited was understatement, but when I finally got around to it, well…indifferent. Though Phoenix was absolutely terrific (in one of his most interesting roles), You Were Never Really Here feels detached from itself, never getting fully invested in its characters, story, or themes, despite such jarring subject matter. Other than a rescue sequence set to “Angel Baby”, there are no scenes worth talking about, and the entire film just comes and goes without much impact. These are all valid enough reasons to criticize a film, but the fact that I waited 6 years, but with the knowledge of the greatness Ramsay is capable of, You Were Never Really Here is disappointing in the coldest way possible.

EDITORIAL: Red Eye Recaps the Decade! 2010-2019

Good day, readers, and Happy (Belated) New Year!

It’s hard to believe such time has passed already, but there is no purpose in questioning it: here we are in 2020, at last. Not only a new year, but a new decade.  Before we settle into this new decade, I think it’s only appropriate to look back on the 2010s in movies, because to tell you all the truth: it was a great decade for movies.

Interesting that I say that, though, because I came into 2010 kind of worried about where film was going: the late 2000s further perpetuated the trend of overblown CG epic action flicks, a cycle attributed primarily to the 2009 release of Avatar, but also synonymous with the one-two punch of Iron Man and The Dark Knight in 2008, reviving comic book movies after dying for a while in the mid-to-late 90s. I don’t hate these movies, but for a while it felt like that’s all there was with no alternative. Even indie/arthouse cinema was stale at the time, stuffed with vapidly mundane films shot on handheld masquerading as “hyperrealism”.

I’m not sure what happened, but suddenly there were more solid movies being released rather consistently, and by the late 2010s, I couldn’t believe just how much great cinema was coming out, and how appropriate that 2019 was quite possibly the best year for movies this decade. Even movies that weren’t particularly great were at least interesting. Here’s what I have noticed, though: more risks from producers & distributors. It blows my mind that Paramount actually managed to get mother! and Annihilation major theatrical releases. And along with the riskiness from producers have been remarkable ambitions from independent filmmakers like Terrence Malick, who cinematically contemplated the entirety of existence in The Tree of Life, as well as Richard Linklater and his epic coming-of-age chronicle Boyhood

But the real heroes of the production/distribution side of movies are A24 and Neon Films, who frequently put out exceptional movies time and time again, and what a great domino effect: I can’t imagine how inspiring it must be for ambitious, aspiring young filmmakers realizing that there is, indeed, a market for their unique films, as well as producers willing to give them a chance. And who would’ve thought that Netflix, once a simple disc-mail rental service, have not only dominated the streaming market (something that admittedly has me nervous about the future of physical media), but continue to prove themselves as a powerhouse studio with masterworks like The Irishman and Roma.

The 2010s were certainly a great time to be a sci-fi fan, with some of the most remarkable movies this decade wisely taking notes from artful sci-fi of the ‘70s, the kind of films that deeply penetrate you consciousness and make you seriously contemplate life and the very world around you, something that’s been depressingly absent from sci-fi for so long. Two releases of this category in particular – Blade Runner 2049 and Mad Max: Fury Road – not only live as ultimate proof of the upward trajectory of sci-fi, but also proved what a sequel/reboot can be, no matter how belated or unnecessary it may be.

While we’re talking about genre films, I feel the 2020s are going to be a great time for horror, a genre that has failed to rise up to the bar set by its ‘70s golden age (with a few exceptions, of course). The former half of the 2010s saw the release of plenty of horror films that ultimately weren’t too special, but were at least trying. But then they started getting not only more interesting, but more terrifying. Then came Ari Aster in ’18 and ’19 with Hereditary and Midsommar, and I officially have faith that horror will see greatness before too long.

So, there’s my overall thoughts on the decade itself, but now I need to get into what this post is really all about. Throughout next week (starting Sunday), I will not only be counting down my top 30 favorite films of the decade, but also my 10 most honorable mentions, 10 most overrated, as well as 5 underrated gems & 5 biggest disappointments.

What are the qualifications? Simple: using IMDb as my primary source of dates, it can only be on the list if it premiered from 2010-2019, even if the wide release wasn’t until later. For example: Lee Chang-dong released a terrific faith drama called Secret Sunshine in 2007, but it didn’t see a wide release until 2010. In spite of its wide release in 2010, it still first premiered in 2007, so it won’t be making it on the list.

Before I let you go, I will be posting the schedule of entries below for your reference. See you on Sunday!

SUNDAY: 5 Underrated Gems & 5 Biggest Disappointments

MONDAY: Top 30: 30-21

TUESDAY: 10 Most Honorable Mentions

WEDNESDAY: Top 30: 20-11

THURSDAY: 10 Most Overrated

FRIDAY: Top 30: 10-1

FILM REVIEW: Uncut Gems (2019)

Directed by Ben & Joshua Safdie

* * * *

Howard Ratner, Adam Sandler’s character in Uncut Gems, dons something of a mask, one that doesn’t so much conceal his face as much as his person. It is a mask of glitz, characterized by gaudy eyeglasses and tacky jewelry including diamond earrings and gold necklaces. A pedestrian glance at him would allow dismissal as a shallow, materialistic showoff with nothing else going in his life. I don’t deny this as fact when discussing Howard, but look deeper into his face – his eyes are hollow and weary, revealing desperate exhaustion. His inner being pleads for a way out, but a lifetime of greed and fortune has permanently trapped him.

Howard is a jeweler in New York City, one with a gambling addiction that’s spiraling out of control, owing money apparently all over town (he cannot walk anywhere without being hounded by somebody about his dues). Life at home doesn’t bring him much rest – his wife (Idina Menzel) makes no secret of her hatred for him (his affair with a sexy coworker, played by Julia Fox, doesn’t help much). At this moment, though, Howard couldn’t care less; he has just received an uncut opal from Ethiopia, allegedly worth a million, which immediately catches the interest of Celtics basketball star Kevin Garnett, who convinces Howard to borrow it for tonight’s game as a good luck charm. What could possibly go wrong? Well…to say where it goes from there would simply spoil the experience, which would be nothing short of a crime.

Make no mistake, though; Howard’s dilemma is not likely to end well. It is a plight that tortures the viewer for over 2 hours, a depth-charge nosedive into a blackened pit that does have an end (one of rock bottom oblivion, no less), but the journey to that bottom stretches and spins to a dizzying, anxiety-inducing eternity. How will it all end? How out of control will it get? Despite an overall idea of the ultimate outcome, Uncut Gems keeps its viewers gripped hook, line, and sinker from start to finish, and the end result is one of 2019’s most memorable and intense films, as well as a startlingly profound study on the corruptive power of greed with an appropriate sense of humor peppered throughout.

Uncut Gems is the kind of film that never shuts up. Every minute, somebody needs to know where the money is, where somebody important is, where the jewelry is, and so on. The stakes are raised higher and higher, and the viewer is never allowed solace from the chaos. When the film quiets down, the trouble at hand never leaves the racing minds of Howard or the audience, and the immersion we get into Howard’s shoes is masterful – it’s the kind of movie that will demand a cigarette afterward. Don’t you dare take a break during the movie, though.

I’ve never been a big sports guy, and basketball plays a big part in Uncut Gems, but the method of incorporation is brilliantly played out. The film takes place in 2012, featuring actual games from that time. Those unfamiliar with those games will naturally be on edge, anticipating the outcome of the game itself. Basketball fans, knowing the outcome, will be left even more curious how Howard’s fortune will turn out. It’s one of the most genius uses of real events I’ve seen, and it’s perfectly encapsulated in the final act, which ironically turns the simple act of spectating into the tensest moment of the movie.

There was a trend in indie cinema some time ago, where all one had to do was shoot their film handheld and it was immediately indie/artsy/etc. It is a trend that got old really fast, but that doesn’t mean handheld can’t be utilized well. A perfect case study in that regard is Uncut Gems. Cinematographer Darius Khondji shoots the action in handheld, usually in very tight close-ups, and its powerfully stressful. When the camera goes wide, we get a pedestrian perspective that humiliates the characters, alongside a gritty depiction of New York that reminds us of the seedy underbelly that lies between the hip townhouses.

We’ve been ignoring the elephant in the room for far too long, the main reason to watch Uncut Gems: Adam Sandler. While dramatic territory is rare for Sandler, it is not new, but Uncut Gems has been getting particular praise in the case of Sandler’s performance. Believe the hype. Like Travis Bickle and Ratso Rizzo, Howard Ratner will be a gritty New Yorker known to movie lovers for years to come, and this is thanks to Sandler’s complete and total commitment to his performance, complimented by a refreshing sincerity: not once does this feel like a vanity project for Sandler. That said, while Sandler does take center-stage, the rest of the cast is exceptional. The wonderful resting bitch-face of Idina Menzel, the underrated Eric Bogosian as a loan shark, and Kevin Garnett as himself are especially deserving of recognition.

What a time we live in. By 2011, Sandler already had an awful reputation when he contaminated cinema with Jack and Jill, which has already gone down in history as one of the worst films of all time. Here we are in 2019, with only a week left of the decade, and one wouldn’t even fathom Sandler as capable of such garbage after witnessing this. Uncut Gems wisely avoids over-capitalizing on this rare gem in Sandler’s track record, but there’s a line seemingly directed at the Sandler-weary audience (curiously featured in the trailer) where Howard, begging for his wife’s forgiveness, utters the following sentence:

“Please…gimme another shot.”

FILM REVIEW: Doctor Sleep (2019)

Directed by Mike Flanagan

* *

For decades, there’s been a war over the superior vision of The Shining – Stephen King’s original novel vs. Stanley Kubrick’s iconic yet polarizing film adaptation. I side with the latter. The Shining is not only is it my favorite horror film by far, but it is one of the greatest films I’ve ever seen, and what made Kubrick’s film so fascinating and terrifying was its complete reworking of King’s novel into something more allegorical and elusive, rather than an air-tight paranormal story. I walked into Doctor Sleep knowing it could not hold up to Kubrick’s masterpiece, but the comparison can’t not be mentioned: this is acting as both a sequel to King’s novel as well as Kubrick’s film.

Rather than being a cynical cash-in on The Shining, Doctor Sleep is a sincere attempt at appeasing both the Kingians and Kubrickites with a clear passion for its source material. As admirable a move as this is, it is not a good one: the result is mangled by a story that is overwritten to the point of disinterest from the viewer, taking all of its substance down with it.

It is some 30 years after the events of The Shining. Dan Torrance (Ewan MacGregor), unable to shake the trauma from his childhood experiences, lives as a deadbeat and an alcoholic. He hits the road to a small town to start anew, where he gets sober. Over time, he forms a bond with young Abra (Kyleigh Curran), a psychic bond at that – she also shines, and communicates with Dan via chalk on a blackboard. Some years later, Abra’s communications become suddenly urgent – across the country is a cult known as the True Knot. They are caravanning across the States, feeding on “steam”, a sort of life essence from those that have the Shining. When their leader, Rose the Hat (Rebecca Ferguson), discovers Abra’s psychic meddling, she sets out to take the child down.

I won’t completely rule out the idea of a sequel to The Shining. Considering that child abuse is one of the many horrifying themes that can be mined from Kubrick’s film (see Collative Learning’s terrific analyses on YouTube), coping with that trauma into adulthood seems like the next logical step for the saga of Dan Torrance. Doctor Sleep’s opening moments are admittedly engaging, but once the story gets going, it becomes a muddled and convoluted mess that wants to be psychological terror, supernatural thriller, and deeply personal human drama all at once, but doesn’t know how to seam these tones together.

In addition to the unbearably rapid shifting of locations (one minute we’re in New Hampshire, next we’re in Iowa, etc.), pacing is handled poorly, with many key moments coming and going too quickly (little Danny’s resolution with the rotting corpse of Room 237 is laughably brief). I think this is more because of how overwritten the story is (one of Stephen King’s notable weaknesses): Doctor Sleep attempts to exhibit the capabilities of Shiners a bit more, but the results don’t feel completely fleshed out: they may seem like they have limitless powers until the plot requires them to have limitations. This lack of clarity with the Shining’s rules and limitations is only made more complicated with a new plot element, where the spirit of Dick Halloran teaches Dan to keep his haunting memories locked away in metaphysical boxes, which becomes a major plot point later on. It’s all headache-inducing.

Then there’s our characters. Though Dan is supposed to be our protagonist, played by a slightly bored Ewan MacGregor, Doctor Sleep really belongs to Abra, who emerges as the most compelling character in the story, played wonderfully by Kyleigh Curran – while her acting style feels out-of-place for this kind of story, there is still great talent on display. But then there’s the villainous True Knot, who, at best, have no menacing presence and are vapidly uninteresting. At worst, they’re kind of goofy, especially leader Rose, who resembles Diane Keaton if she were a New Age gypsy.

Despite these circumstances, there are some well-constructed sequences that don’t necessarily make the entire experience worthwhile, but are noteworthy. There are a few genuinely bone-chilling moments, one in particular involving a Little League Baseball player’s fate in the hands of the True Knot. The psychic duels between Rose and Abra are admittedly really cool and creatively executed, particularly one moment set in a supermarket.

But to top everything off, there’s the climactic showdown at the Overlook Hotel. Complimented by a meticulously crafted set design, it is now closed, boarded-up, and dilapidated – perhaps I shouldn’t be talking about this, but it’s shown in all the advertising. I think this whole sequence showcases the best aspect of Doctor Sleep: there’s a passionate sincerity for the source material that shines brightly through the entire film. Yes, there is fan service, but it’s in reasonable doses and never overshadows the main substance at hand, no matter how weak it is. At least Flanagan has his priorities straight.

There’s actually a lot more to Doctor Sleep that I’ve not even touched, but I honestly don’t care – the more the film went on, the more discombobulated it became, and the more detached I was. Considering the film was two and a half hours long, I definitely lost almost all interest. What a shame. There’s subject matter that is ripe with potential for a great horror film, and continuing Kubrick’s approach could have made Doctor Sleep interesting, but by simultaneously committing to King’s novel, it becomes an awkward experience that never reaches take-off speed due to frantic gear-shifting, confusing enough for fans of Kubrick’s film and even more so for fans of King’s novels.

FILM REVIEW: Parasite (2019)

Directed by Bong Joon-ho

* * * *

I’m having trouble coming up with an opening paragraph for my review of Parasite, Bong Joon-ho’s universally acclaimed satire on class. There’s an element of it that is simply beyond description, despite Parasite being quite accessible – it’s simply one of those movies best discovered on your own, and is best walked into knowing as little as possible. But, if you’re reading this, you want to know what I have to say: Bong Joon-ho has a remarkable track record in his career, and Parasite is no exception. While I don’t think it’s going to live on as one of the all-time great Korean films, I can’t think of a bad thing to say about it. You can clearly see that 4/4 rating above, and if you can take my word for it, stop reading here and go see it. It’s good. Damn good.

From here on out, I’m doing my absolute best to avoid spoilers, but proceed at your own risk.

We are introduced to the Kim family, and there’s no other way to put it: they are dirt poor. Without a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out, they spend their days attempting to construct pizza boxes (1 out of 4 boxes are unusable) and opening their windows for free bug extermination when the fumigators roll into the neighborhood. A light shines at the end of this impoverished tunnel, though: son Ki-woo (Choi Woo-sik) is offered a job to teach English to the daughter of the Parks, a family so rich they probably don’t even know what to do with their money. Despite having no credentials, he is hired and accepted into the Park home, where he sees the perfect job opportunity for his art-inclined sister (Park So-dam). Before too long, the entire Kim family is working at this house (albeit, fraudulently), serving as the laborious backbone of the Parks.

I cease my plot synopsis here. I feel to say any more would result in some kind of criminal prosecution, because the yarn-ball that is Parasite unspools from one of the best scripts in a while. The Kim family is easy to warm up to, and the urgency of their poverty grabs your attention. With this, seeing them gradually shift from poverty to prosperity wonderful unto itself, but also darkly thrilling as they cleverly integrate themselves into the Park’s work force, pulling off one of the most memorable cons in 21^st Century Cinema.

By all means, Parasite tells the kind of story that should agonizingly test (if not shatter) one’s verisimilitude, with all of the twists and turns it takes throughout. Amazingly, this never happens: no matter how wild or unrealistic a certain idea may seem, Parasite brilliantly rebounds into the realm of reality and possibility. For instance, without spoiling too much, a major twist occurs when things go…under, so to speak (you’ll know what I’m talking about once you see the film). Just when the movie was escaping believability, a quick explanation was given – rather than feeling like a hand-wave, it made complete sense.

Bong Joon-ho’s direction certainly plays a huge part in Parasite’s ultimate effect. It’s exciting upon the start, and the film becomes more and more gnarled as it goes on, resulting in a climax that goes completely off the rails. There’s major risk of things getting too out of hand, but Bong keeps everything in check the entire film – pacing is always consistent, shifts in tone are always warranted, and the film never bites off more than it could chew.

But I think what I admire most is the treatment of the two families. The subject of class in Parasite has been brought up for every discussion on the film. Considering this day in age, I feared that this would be a one dimensional “evil rich vs. misunderstood but gold-hearted poor” nonsense. To my surprise (and relief), this was not the case. Yes, the Parks (the rich) aren’t depicted in the most flattering light, but they’re not bad people – they’re just well-intentioned people whose naivete has become more prominent with their riches. As for the Kims, though they’re poor with almost nothing left to lose: considering that the family is pulling off one hell of a con job, the film never gives them license to get away with whatever they want beyond that (for the most part, anyway). You ultimately root for the Kims, but nobody becomes your object of hatred or intense condescension.

Parasite took home the Palme d’Or at Cannes 2019. I must admit that I am not convinced of this level of greatness – along with a lack of prominent or singular style, I feel the commentary on class tends to take a backseat to the incredible story, instead of the commentary emerging from the substance, though this will differ from viewer to viewer. It doesn’t quite transcend for me, but speaking on its own merits, I can’t say a bad thing about it. It accomplishes everything it set out to become without a single point of significant fault. I may see myself moving on from Parasite in a few months or so, but I definitely won’t forget it.