Some time in 2006, almost half a decade ago, I started talking to a couple of guys from Australia who would quickly become two of my best friends in the world. They were just beginning a burgeoning interest into world cinema (which has now become a full-blown obsession) and they recommended me two films to watch – Lukas Moodysson’s Fucking Amal, and Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue. I downloaded and watched both of these, and that was it. I was headed down a road that’s shown me so many different viewpoints from so many different people in so many different countries, and gave me a love for film that I now wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. When I think of Satoshi Kon, I think of those dear friends, who I still speak to every day (and indeed, started a film criticism website with), and when I found out he had unexpectedly died of pancreatic cancer at the unthinkable age of 46, they were the first things to pop into my head.

I watched Kon’s Tokyo Godfathers for the first time in preparation for this article, and was moved by its warmth. The film has very little of the surrealism and reality-bending that Kon is known for, instead focusing on three vagrants who discover an abandoned child on Christmas Eve. Like some of the greatest movies, the characters in Tokyo Godfathers capture many different facets of humanity, and it deals with themes of guilt, despair, and the goodness inside all people. The works of Kon cannot fit into one genre – Perfect Blue is a psychological thriller, Millennium Actress is an epic love story, and Tokyo Godfathers is an intimate drama – yet all of them have a common theme: people, and who they are. He frequently blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, between the waking world and dreams, yet the truth is always discovered in the end. His stories always have a human core – his television series Paranoia Agent, a series about a ghost child on skates attacking people, ends up being about guilt and the loss of innocence that occurs when a girl enters womanhood – and his characters can find it in them to laugh even in the darkest moments.

Even working in anime, a style that allows one to do anything they wish, Kon’s ideas and style stood head and shoulders above most. He was brave, imaginative, and a true original. We can only hope that as he lived his final moments, perhaps preparing to fly into the unknown somewhere in his mind, Satoshi Kon was excited to continue the chase he loved. Goodbye, sir, and thank you.

“With feelings of gratitude for all that is good in this world, I put down my pen.

Well, I’ll be leaving now.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jaI1XOB-bs

Yessiree, it really is -

meets

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t in any way a slight against it. We’ve known about Aronofsky’s love of Perfect Blue for years (c.f. when he bought the rights to it just so that he could replicate the bath scene for Requiem for a Dream – and look, there’s another bathtub scene in this trailer), and a darker, nastier, more psychological The Red Shoes is a pretty neat idea, as long as it still retained a lot of colour (ala Suspiria?). There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of colour in the trailer admittedly, but then we don’t see a lot of the dancing either. This is something much more visual and I hope Aronofsky pulls off what could be a not-so-amazing idea purely through visual splendour.

Oh, but here’s a slight against it; Natalie Portman. Frankly, I don’t think she can pull off a dual role like this, and the reason I think that is because she can’t even pull off a single role. She hasn’t displayed any notable talent since Leon, for god’s sake. I realise a lot of people find her (and the prospect of lesbian lovin’, as seen in the trailer) attractive, but to me it’ll amount to watching Mila Kunis wanking with a branch, almost as if she’s a far crazier, more insanely sexual version of the Log Lady from Twin Peaks.

Still, I’m willing to be impressed, and I’ll be watching this with some level of interest. Impress me, Portman. Do it, I dare you.

Cool promotional pic, by the way.

I know that in my case I got a bit distracted by stuff marginally related to Projectorheads, such as the short film I’m trying to make, “Pineapple Face”. It’s related to Projectorheads in that Alex Tweedale and I have named our film production unit “Projectorheads Studios”, but the plan was always to implement this into the site. We always post film stuff we’ve done on the site, anyway (and that reminds me, I have something that I will post after this) Also, I started writing movie reviews for a local newspaper called “The Leader” (it has a circulation around Hamilton/Islington), though I’m still not sure how that works regarding copyright, if I can repost the reviews here. I’m sure there would be no problem scanning the newspaper clippings and posting them, but there might be complications if I publish the reviews verbatim.

Anyway, on the forum we’ve been doing “mini-reviews” for a fair while, but I thought it would be a good way of keeping the main page alive if we made weekly posts talking about movies we’d seen in that week. I might post a few from last week for the hell of it.

The Hole

I want to kiss Ming-liang Tsai’s feet. For me his films haven’t been immediate hits, but they’ve all lingered over me. Goodbye Dragon Inn was a grower but not as much as What Time Is It There, which haunted me for two solid weeks. It had some similarities with Goodbye Dragon Inn in terms of its humour (one bit felt straight out of it, or at least staged in the same cinema) and its melancholic feeling, but far stronger. With each movie I think Tsai fulfils that same astonishment I felt when I first watched Hidden, trying to figure out how a director could achieve so much while being so slight. I know I still have the “great” Hsiao-hsien Hou movies to go (City of Sadness, The Puppetmaster, A Time To Live A Time To Die) but it irritates me a little that Hou can make movies that feel so empty and half-arsed (I’m thinking Millennium Mambo, which would have five minutes of genuine character development and then fifteen minutes of the girl smoking in her apartment) while Tsai puts out movies even more minimalistic but they also happen to be hilarious, memorable and heartbreaking. Hsiao-Kang is like a Taiwanese M. Hulot. Even though I still prefer Yi Yi and A Brighter Summer Day over the Tsai movies (not by much though, and I’ve said that I’ve found Edward Yang’s other stuff a LOT less interesting), I concede, Tsai is thus far the most gifted Taiwanese filmmaker I’ve come across. The Hole ROCKS. The musical interludes are so good and would really make the film suffer if they weren’t there. I can’t talk about it without getting all ecstatic about how fantastic Tsai’s ideas are. He is a god at shot composition and creating believable, otherworldly atmospheres, letting you drain in the details of his worlds. I’d say that from what I’ve seen, this would be the best Tsai to start with.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars.

Ghost World

Two cooler-than-thou outsider girls brush off college and start planning what they’ll be doing with their lives after they graduate from high school. Seems like something that’d piss me off by design, but…it was really good. All the characters were compelling, well-written and well-acted (especially Steve Buscemi as the blues record collector), and the scariest part for me was how much Thora Birch reminded me of a girl I had a crush on in high school, right down to what she wore and how she acted and sounded. It’s true that the movie has a kind of self-awareness about it but for the first time ever I actually like that self-awareness. In a way, Ghost World feels like a live action Daria.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars.

The Wind Will Carry Us

I enjoyed bits of it, and Kiarostami again shows his talent for directing children, but a fair chunk seemed like Kiarostami was just trying too hard to be lyrical. It’s not like what he did in A Taste of Cherry, where the reflections on the world around him and driving through the sparse, beautiful hills just added to the character’s despair and confusion. Beautiful movie, but I didn’t find it nearly as emotional as some of his others.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars.

The Wayward Cloud

It has the most intriguing synopsis of all the Tsais: Following What Time Is It There, Hsiao-Kang becomes a porn actor, Shiang-chyi arrives back from France and Taiwan suffers a drought so severe that everyone has to live off watermelons. I ended up watching this twice: first time I saw it I was shattered by the end, not necessarily in a good way, and I wasn’t sure that it added up to a solid whole by the end. I’m still not sure if it does, but it’s grown on me a lot. I find the musical sequences funnier than the ones in The Hole, in particular the one of Hsiao-Kang dancing around in a penis mask while a group of choreographed dancing girls thrust toilet plungers at him. The ending does work, and I’ve come to like it now, but for someone who was so enraptured and moved by What Time Is It There I was really taken aback by where the characters ended up. You pretty much see the high and low ends of the moral compass. I’d say it’s probably as inaccessible as Goodbye Dragon Inn, for non-Tsai fans.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Wings of Desire

The title was a bit of a misnomer, I was expecting some bird fucking on par with Pink Flamingos. This is the first Wim Wenders movie I’ve seen other than his short in the ensemble film 8 (although when I was a kid I watched my dad’s VHS copy of Buena Vista Social Club. My memories of it are too vague for me to have an opinion though). I loved the atmosphere of the first half, in fact I probably would’ve been satisfied if the movie had no plot and was simply of angels listening to people’s thoughts. It was good, but I did lose interest by the end, I’ve gotta admit. I think the “human” part of the film was maybe a little too off-kilter with the tone of the angel part. It was very consistent until then.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

A History of Violence

Cronenberg tapped into a formula with The Fly that reached its peak in Dead Ringers, and he’s pretty much continued to follow the formula since. It’s applied here: A subtle dynamic between dark, absurd humour and serious drama, Howard Shore’s brooding scores, and acting that’s solid as hell. It’s strange, the dialogue on paper seems really bland but it suits the acting so well. I think what attracts me (and simultaneously repels me) about his movies is that they’re so primal. A History of Violence is about survival of the fittest, which culminates in a great scene where we realise Tom’s deep-seeded violent tendencies have been genetically passed onto his son. His pre-Fly movies that I’ve seen (just Scanners, now I think about it) check-out with what Cronenberg himself says: he was great at directing special effects and giving them a kind of humanity, but not his actors. All that has changed. The whole cast is excellent but Viggo Mortensen suits the character perfectly. He’s got a real jutting, hard face that’s capable of softness, but he’s the very definition of masculinity.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

Boy A

My timing is crazy. I went to Video Ezy with my dad and saw this, grabbed it on my teacher’s recommendation, and after I watched it I went on Google to read up on the case that inspired it to find that the guy had just been arrested for possession of child pornography that day. Even stranger is that I went to get American Splendour, thinking it was a Terry Zwigoff movie (I’m not that stupid for assuming that though, it looks like one), remembered it wasn’t, left it on the shelf and came home to find that the author of American Splendour had died. That day. The main actor in Boy A was incredible, and I mean, I know the movie deals with controversial subject matter but I found myself sympathising with him so deeply. It’s hard not to when you’re presented with the scenes of the two kids, and how his life was screwed up by something he was naively led into. You have to wonder if he was aware of what he was doing and what the consequences would be. I realise that the movie Boy A is a lot less disturbing than the actual events, and his grownup portrayal is nothing like his real life counterpart (otherwise it would have to be a very, VERY good movie to make me sympathise with him), but man, the IMDB discussion boards on the movie, talk about a lake of fire. People tell me that since I didn’t cry in Toy Story 3 and the Shawshank Redemption, I have no soul. Well, I found it in me to sympathise with Boy A, so boo-urns. Forgive me for feeling sympathy for people with complex, inescapable problems than toys afflicted with stockholm syndrome.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

On that note:

Toy Story 3

Yeah, I did like it, it’s hard to be offended by something so inoffensive. But it was literally 3 minutes before I was dealt the “you have no soul” card, which just makes me want to tear my pubic hair out. I admit that I haven’t had the emotional/nostalgic attachment to the characters as most people my age have. I was too busy with Miyazaki and other Ghibli animators (the Totoro cameo was kind of cool, thinking about it now). One criticism is that because of the enormous fanboy hype, the general consensus that it had an epic sweep to it and the length of time Pixar spent making the movie, I got to the end of the “escaping the nursery” bit and thought “Sweet, that’s the end of this plot, now Woody will make the journey to college to meet up with Andy”… but that was the end of the film. Was that really worth 10 years of production? I thought they could’ve taken it to a higher level.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

21 Grams

Completely unnecessary non-linear narrative, but I will admit that I found it effective a few times, mainly because we spend so much time putting together who the characters are, wondering how they end up where they do, and then suddenly a character will flat-out die and we feel the shock of that, but it’s not a story that requires this form of storytelling. Good performance from Del Toro though.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

Barton Fink

I liked this a lot, though for the first half an hour I was dreading giving it a score because it shared so much in common with Naked Lunch, which I love to bits. I’m not kidding: the plot is very similar, with the writer in his apartment trying his hardest to write while the lines between reality and fiction blur; the surreal 50s setting; the release date (both were out in 1991) and the supporting actress (Judy Davis). I do prefer Naked Lunch but there were some sudden score-changing scenes that creeped up on me a couple of times. I’m specifically referring to “I’LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND” which was far and away the most impressive moment for me.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Inception

A character informs us early on that an hour in the dream world equates to five minutes in reality. Numerous events occur in their subconscious states as they strive to achieve their goal, their car plummets from a bridge into the river below while in the real world they sleep soundly on a plane bound for the US. It’s pretty darn effective as a thriller, but whether it’s an accurate depiction of how the subconscious works is up for discussion. It was difficult for me to accept the dream worlds as “dreams”, perhaps because of how they conformed to cinematic conventions, and I wasn’t sure I accepted how events in the real world influenced the subconscious. But if there are discrepancies they don’t really take away from the experience. You can argue that the level of immersion we reach when watching a great movie is similar to a dream state, we find ourselves suspending our belief system and perception of time, and while we might be sharing a journey with characters that spans over days, in our reality only hours pass. I’m not sure my belief system was completely suspended but Inception is well worth the ticket money. One of my criticisms seems to be part of a popular theory: a bunch of characters (Ellen Page particularly) are suspiciously undeveloped and get thrown into the movie suddenly. Some people think that’s intentional on Nolan’s part, after all, there’s a scene where DiCaprio runs his plans past Page and asks her to recall how she ended up at the cafe with him, to point out that she’s dreaming. This kind of thing leaves the film open to interpretation as to how many of the scenes are dreamt up. If we’re interpreting the lack of character development as intentional, well, it’s interesting but it’s the sort of thing that’s less impressive on screen than it is on paper. Thomas Vinterberg’s It’s All About Love is an example, it’s arguable that the stilted roboticness of the acting is a comment on the cold, unfeeling reality they inhabit, but it’s also arguable that it’s a terrible movie. Despite what I said though, DiCaprio’s subplot with his wife (Solaris in other words) gives an insight into his character and this provides his later scenes with an emotional wallop. Inception might’ve suffered if it wasn’t for this compensating subplot. I say these things as a pedantic viewer, despite its flaws it’s the kind of movie that makes me hope for a revival of quality prevalent in 70s Hollywood, the Hollywood of Scorsese, Lucas, Malick and Coppola. A large amount of acclaimed Hollywood movies of last decade (ignoring the Coens and Nolan himself) came from filmmakers of the 70s period. Hopefully films of this calibre lead the way to a new Hollywood.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

See you guys next week.

Todd Solondz’s films have always have this certain inimitable style – one I like to call “Solondzian”, but that nobody else in the world does. Not including the one I can’t remember the name of but that Liam will probably tell me once he reads this, his films have been famous for their sympathetic brand of dark comedy, and going further with it than most folks, especially Americans – what other American film asked you to feel sympathy for a pedophile (and an ACTIVE one at that) before Happiness, and how many have since? Being a big fan of Solondz, I sat down to watch his newest feature, a sequel to Happiness, with great anticipation. After it had finished, I was satisfied, but a little confused. It felt almost like Solondz, who had presented such a natural (if horrifying) style with his last four films, had become almost too self-aware.

It’s not there all the time, and it’s subtle, but I noticed it. With his earlier films, aside from maybe a brighter colour scheme than most, the visual style and cinematography didn’t seem to hint at anything out of the ordinary; a direct contrast to the disturbing events. There are a few times in Life During Wartime where Solondz almost seems to be saying “hey, this is a bit weird, huh?” One example is the opening scene, where Joy (the eldest sister from Happiness) and Allen (the guy who came on the wall in Happiness and was originally obsessed with Helen but is now married to Joy despite finding love with someone else at the end of Happiness I dunno) are eating at a restaurant. While the scene is very similar to the opening of the film’s predecessor, it feels very claustrophobic and closed-in, which stuck out to me straight away as being a little too…obvious, I suppose. There are moments like this throughout the rest of the film, and it’s so odd to see Solondz stylising his work in such a cliched manner.

The plot again revolves around the lives of the three sisters from Happiness and their families. Trish raises her children and finds a new boyfriend while her pedophile ex-husband Bill gets released from prison. Joy visits Trish to take a break from Allen, and is haunted by visions of a previous suitor who committed suicide. Helen is only in one scene but is as whiny as before; most of the film is about Trish and her young son, Timmy, as he deals with the news that his father isn’t dead, as he was told, and was locked up for abusing boys Timmy’s age. All the roles are recast from Happiness, but some work better than others – Alison Janney as Trish is great, but Ciaran Hinds as Bill isn’t suitable at all, unless you tell yourself that prison has made him think of himself as a monster or something. The oddest one is definitely Philip Seymour Hoffman being replaced by Michael K. Williams (aka Omar in The Wire) as Allen. Solondz said in interviews the movie was more “politically overt” than his previous films, but that seems to simply consist of a few characters talking about Iraq occasionally, and doesn’t really add anything to the proceedings.

The truth is, Life During Wartime is a good movie, and it has a lot of effective scenes that fit with Solondz’s usual standard. Unfortunately, it also has quite a few shortcomings. Firstly, it’s something that no Solondz movie has ever been; predictable. I saw one character, thought “I bet he kills himself later”, and he did. It’s almost like he’s fulfilling what audiences expect of him. The second, and possibly the biggest, fault of the movie revolves around the fact that it’s pretty much all despair, all the time. What made a film like Happiness work wasn’t the shocking moments as much as it was the way they suddenly showed up and interrupted these characters idyllic existences; we, the audience, were almost anticipating the next thing. Life During Wartime is the opposite, and it almost feels as if Solondz was throwing everything he could at the wall and hoping something fits. There’s very little joy in this film, which makes the big scenes feel more like “oh, okay” than anything else.

Before I saw this film, I didn’t think Solondz was capable of making a less-than-great movie. I still don’t think he’s capable of making a bad one, but it’s possible he needs to look back and see what made his previous flicks so fantastic. This isn’t relatable like Welcome To The Dollhouse, isn’t quietly devastating like Happiness and Palindromes, and doesn’t make you think like Storytelling. It’s just there, being interesting, being funny, but not being much else.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

Said two elderly men behind us as Dom and I left the cinema, having just seen The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. While we were talking over the themes of the movie, female abuse being one of them (the original Swedish title is “Men Who Hate Women”), we walked past a bolted nightclub that had been abandoned for as long as I can remember. It’s usually on our path whenever we walk home from Film Society on Sundays. As we were a few metres away from it, we heard a girl yelling from inside. We stood rooted to the spot, put our heads against the bolted door and listened. There was a long pause which was broken by another scream. Both stunned by the coincidence, we walked out of earshot and rang the police. While we were letting our imaginations go crazy as to what was going on between those walls, a friendly asian man got out of a tour bus and walked up to us. He said “Hello, my friends” and asked us if we knew where “Newcastle Pot” was. After a few minutes we figured he wanted to get to a restaurant in Newcastle Port, Queen’s Wharf, directed him as best we could and said goodbye. He got back into the bus and drove off. In retrospect this was very comical, but at the time we were in a haze of disbelief and concern. Fifteen minutes later the police came around to tell us nothing was wrong, and that the noises were being made by some homeless men staying the wreckage of the club. We could’ve sworn the voice was female, but our imaginations were probably influenced by the movie we’d just seen. So we started walking home again through an empty car park. A single, wavering voice seranaded us through a PA system: Engelbert Humperdink singing “Please release me, let me go”.

It’s pretty awesome then that after these memorable events, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo lost none of its impact. It is intoxicating and compulsively watchable for its two and half hour runtime. I have a real penchant for movies that deal with unseen details and clues, like the blowing up of negatives to uncover secrets. It’s a source of endless intrigue for me, Michael Haneke’s Cache being another recent example. The frame by frame stills of Harriet looking across the road and making a face of recognition; the photos of the parade from different angles revealing new leads – it’s like Antonioni’s Blowup, that incredibly unsettling feeling of having accidentally photographed a murder or something in connection with murder. The repeated photo of Harriet and excerpts from her diary gave off a Laura Palmer vibe, too, which again is a point of interest for me.

But for this review I feel like I have to resurrect an age old argument, which I know won’t have any real effect but I do it in the hope that it will change at least one person’s attitude. If you’re forced out of your comfort zone by changes or cuts in an adaptation of your favourite book, you won’t like this movie. Cinema is a separate entity to literature and does not exist solely to visualise what you have read. That’s what the human imagination is for. Are there any fans of the Psycho novel who are disappointed with Hitchcock’s film? Coppola’s The Godfather? Tarkovsky’s Solaris? The two most inventive adaptations I can think of are 1) Adaptation, which you probably saw coming, for integrating Charlie Kaufman’s creative process and personal life into the book he was hired to adapt to screen, and 2) Naked Lunch, which only marginally adapts the novel while tying in William S Burroughs’ life story and past works. In doing this David Cronenberg evokes Burroughs’ style so well, somehow retaining the overall feeling of the novel. It is in this sense one of the most successful adaptations I have seen and goes to show that a director or a screenwriter’s interpretation should never be a 100% clean conversion. A more contemporary example is Alfonso Cuaron’s adaptation of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, which was a massive leap in quality from Chris Columbus’ previous two because Cuaron realised his own unique vision. Maybe the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy film wasn’t the greatest adaptation ever, but compare it to the television series where the screenwriters attempted to cram in every single gag and observation. If it’s going to be literally the book in visual form, just read the goddamn book.

Regardless of any feelings you have regarding the changes, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is a powerful movie and it smacks you about with force. Author Stieg Larsson was influenced by Val McDermid’s novels, and I have to wonder if this influence extends to director Niels Arden Oplev’s stylistic choices. One very pivotal scene has very similar lighting and photography to the first episode of the TV series Wire in the Blood, which is interesting because in the book, Mikael reads the Val McDermid novel “The Mermaids Singing” which the Wire in the Blood episode is based on. It shares a lot in common with the production of Wire in the Blood, employing similar techniques, though it never drops off into the schizophrenic, distracting editing of the later Wire in the Blood series. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is an impeccably made thriller that (to paraphrase Engelbert Humperdink again) holds onto you and doesn’t let you go.

The Vanger family history and the Swedish connections to Nazism are fascinating to learn of. It always seems strange, seeing these ultra right wing families in a nation that is arguably the most leftist nation in the world, but it’s easy to forget Sweden’s stance of the time, and other European countries, a time where a young Ingmar Bergman was enraptured by a Hitler speech, and as Roy Andersson hilariously reminds us in You, the Living, younger generations are so ashamed of their family’s Nazi heritage that they (literally) sweep it under the tablecloth. But after forty years of confusion, Mikael picks up from where the police left off and the secrets begin bubbling to the surface.

I hear there’s an American remake in the works. I’m not necessarily opposed to the idea, David Fincher is directing so we can guess that it’ll be a competently directed thriller, but things like the family’s allegience with the Nazis seems to make more sense within a Scandinavian context, or even just a European context. Let the Right One In, another recent Swedish hit had a similar thing going. The story is so appropriate for Sweden that you can’t really envision how an American version could function as well. Then again, I’m shooting myself in the foot after what I wrote regarding film adaptations, it’s not like Fincher should translate the book verbatim to screen. But if he did, not only would it fail to be interesting, it would not work. And even though Carey Mulligan’s acting has been impressive so far, I doubt that she’s chameleonic enough to pull off Lisbeth’s character, unlike Noomi Rapace who is utterly stunning and leaves a lasting impression. And Nyqvist is good. I like Nyqvist. Critics seem to think that he elicits nothing but phoniness but I got the right vibe from his performance. There’s a brilliant dynamic between their team.

It excites me greatly knowing that there are two more films coming, but until this morning I hadn’t realised that the trilogy has been shot, edited and screened overseas. We only have to wait a few months between each film in Australia, which is just fantastic.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

P.S. One of the biggest twists for us was discovering that Ewa Froling, notable for her role as Emilie Ekdahl in Fanny and Alexander played a character. We noticed the eyebrows first.

I was wondering, after seeing this – Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s latest, zany effort – whether this is “another Jeunet”; whether it’s a film you attend knowing that it’s the latest Jeunet film, instead of watching it with no prior knowledge of the director at all. Unlike Amelie, which was a surprisingly cheerful sideways turn in Jeunet’s career and a film that not only marked the “second phase” of his career and swept up potentially hundreds of thousands of casual filmgoers, Micmacs a tire-larigot is Jeunet speaking to his diehard, “film buff” audience, one already primed to react to his films in a particular way and to not expect anything revolutionary or even different. When Amelie smashed its way into the marketplace in its effortlessly charming way, it became almost everyone’s default “foreign film” that they see every five years. People went out of their way to see it. Will that happen with Micmacs? It’s possible, but highly unlikely.

Still, this isn’t a problem in the slightest. To expect a massive upheaval only two films after Amelie would be disingenuous. Further down the track, if Jeunet’s still mixing up the same ingredients over and over, his fans may get bored, but I’m not even sure that’s likely either. Whereas someone like Tim Burton routinely gets shtick for honing in on his personal habits and churning out gothic-dark film after gothic-dark film, Jeunet is unlikely to receive the same treatment, and there’s a few reasons for that. The first is that, despite his debut Delicatessan coming out nearly twenty years ago now, Jeunet still feels like a fresh young talent, chiefly because his career has spanned fewer films, and also because when most people think of Amelie they’d think “Ah, that movie with Audrey Tatou being cute” rather than “Ah, that excellent Jeunet film.” Burton’s name is entrenched in his films; he’s more well-known nowadays than the films he makes, which is a bizarre achievement. The second is that Jeunet’s more immediately likable a person – like Tatou in Amelie, he’s prone to winking at the camera in a deliberately eccentric but at least charming way. Whereas Burton is more likely to put on his snazzy blue glasses and pose as if he’s been cast in a waxwork factory, all brood and darkness. And thus, we have our final reason; Burton’s put-upon goth persona is so wearying because there’s no self-awareness to it whatsoever. But Jeunet… Jeunet is fun. Jeunet is charming. His films, and this is the most important point of all, are funny.

Sometimes too funny. I’m fully aware that Tatou’s winking at camera alone annoyed many who saw Amelie, and Jeunet’s films are always overladen with in-your-face whackiness. Were this an American indie film, this’d be a turn-off, but Jeunet gets away with it. In fact, to hell with it; the French always get away with it, which is odd in itself because the stereotypical Frenchman sits around intellectualising rather than being strange and kooky. They’re also portrayed as bloodthirsty, and to be fair, just listen to their national anthem. But “charm” is also part of France’s stereotypical mandate, as paradoxical as that may seem, and Jeunet loves nothing more than revelling in what “France” is.

The Cannes jury rejected Amelie in 2001, and probably still hold a huge grudge against it for excelling overseas instead of, say, The Piano Teacher, another excellent but morose and gritty film. For a group of French film enthusiasts, a film portraying their country in a cartoony, ridiculous way, again, was just too much to bear. But it’s always hard to enjoy the absurdities of one’s international perception. I don’t think anyone who sees a Jeunet film seriously believes that France is as he represents it; everyone just wishes it was as he represents it. It’s an idealistic, strange world, one that plays to the rules of a cartoon but is filmed in live action. That’s why, even when Micmacs occasionally feels like it’s hoarding too heavily every possible joke and sight gag it can, it doesn’t truly matter because it’s a cartoon-with-real people. Its effortless charm combats any irritating facets the jokes may have taken on in a different context.

The strangest thing about its humour, then, is the sheer darkness of the world presented to us. Those who have seen Delicatessan will know Jeunet can have a penchant for dark humour mixed amongst his overt zaniness, but for those who started with Amelie (which, at its basest, makes a hilarious orgasm joke) and continued with A Very Long Engagement (which never portrays its wartime scenes as being humorous) will probably be shocked at the opening of Micmacs, where Bazil’s father steps on a landmine, Bazil’s family grieves, and then Bazil’s charming interactive viewing of Bogart and Bacall in The Big Sleep is cut short when he’s shot in the head by accident. As the film continues, Bazil learns that the perpetrators were two weapons dealers, and he vows to destroy their operations. So to get this straight; there’s weapons manufacture, there’s distinct Iraq references, and there’s even a moment where one of the villains (who doesn’t even look particularly villainous, and instead is simply a spiff bloke in a suit) apologies to women raped in wartime. Can Jeunet really do this? Can he really construct a world as cartoonish as this, then intersperse real-life concerns, and very serious concerns at that, and play them for laughs as well?

I’d say he can, and the tone shifts worked for me, but I know others who were very nonplussed by this. And that in itself is interesting. Delicatessan is well-known to be the “darkest” of Jeunet’s films, but its themes of cannibalism and kidnap are shoved into a futuristic dystopia that doesn’t correspond to the world as we know it. Micmacs is the first time that Jeunet’s allowed such darkness to seep into the world that we recognise as ours – even if we recognise that it’s not ours anyway, since it’s set in cartoon-France. It’s a strange and daring balance to seek, but Jeunet makes it work. Liam and I used to joke about Jeunet’s France and Gaspar Noe’s France being the exact same France, but the former is scenes from the daytime and the latter scenes from the underground at night – but if Micmacs is anything to go by, we might one day see a Jeunet who could quite happily team up with Noe at some point. The thought excites and scares me.

Despite all this, though, Micmacs is business as usual. It’s outright funnier than his last two films, it’s subtly darker than his last two films, but it looks the same (you may be surprised to learn that Jeunet’s usual director of photography didn’t work on this film – could you tell?), it speaks the same, and at the end of the day it makes you feel the same. It is nothing more or less than another great film from this master of the oddball.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

20. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)

IMDB: 8.2
RT: 87%

The White Ribbon – a film that rightfully won the Palme d’Or this year – takes place in a pre-WWI German village where a series of crimes have occured. A doctor is injured while riding his horse; several children go missing and then are discovered, tortured and abused; there are acts of unexplained violence towards animals, and a whole other string of strange occurences. The children are brought up under strict discipline and religious dogma, and after one of the children confronts his father – a priest about a sin he has committed, he is forced to wear a white ribbon in public as a reminder to himself and to others of the concept of purity and innocence, and the importance of retaining this innocence for the good of the future. I can say that The White Ribbon has been the most emotionally distressing film I’ve seen since Lars von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, which I saw two years ago, a film that moved me so much I swear I cried out at least a quarter of my bodily fluids. In typical Haneke fashion, the film is a psychological headache. The characters never seem to have clear motives for their actions, the actions (and sometimes crimes) aren’t pre-meditated or even meditated, they just occur as naturally as cleaning your teeth or having a shower, purely run on an instinct twisted and torn from years of destructive, abusive discipline. Some of the characters seem unaware of her actions, as if hypnotised. Although in the past his characters have been highly and disturbingly realistic, especially the more psychologically unsound characters, Haneke achieves something very rare for him in this film: a real human connection with the characters. There’s a touching, heartfelt romance between two of them, the School Teacher and Eva. Now that’s something I never thought I’d see in a Haneke movie, humanity portrayed in a positive, hopeful light. There were fleeting moments of this in Time of the Wolf but nowhere near as prominently. The White Ribbon is by an indescribably long shot my favourite movie of 2009. Go out of your way to see this.

- Liam O’Brien

19. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)

IMDB: 8.5
RT: 93%

Charlie Kaufman is an anomaly – as a screenwriter, he is perhaps more of a household name than the directors who present his work. Certainly this may be due to Nicolas Cage’s animated (though somewhat unflattering) portrayal of him in “Adaptation”, but more likely it is his knack for grand, imaginative explorations of themes other 21st Century filmmakers might overlook as mundane.
In Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, beneath the façade of a quirky Vonnegut-esque quantum leap dramedy lies a dissection of a relationship that just isn’t working. Can Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet make it work? By the time the credits roll, I’m not entirely sure I’m convinced. And that’s the strange beauty of it, the human element. Nothing is certain but confusion, frustration and unrealised potential. The film sets up an argument it doesn’t necessarily resolve, and that is part of its drawing power. It appeals to our individual experiences to determine how we feel about the characters when we walk away from the film.
Layer on top of this director Michel Gondry’s knack for the irreverent – the film is visually delightful and brimming with quirks. These flourishes are restrained before they breach the divide into annoyances, though. When drama holds prevalence over fantasy, Gondry brings out the best in his actors rather than leaning on the showmanship that carries much of the film.
As with many of the films on the list, it’s a case of every aspect of production being utilised in full. Eternal Sunshine is hugely entertaining, both visually and narratively, and the performances by the leads are among the best in both of their respective careers. Kaufman and Gondry are a perfect team, both adept at balancing the human and the fantastic, the large and the small, the humourous and the maudlin. And doesn’t life outside the cinema offer us all of those things?

- Michael Sykes

18. This Is England (Shane Meadows)

IMDB: 7.9
RT: 93%

Being born in the early 90’s I didn’t get the chance to experience working class 1980s Britain. Quite frankly I’m glad of it too, as it seems like a terrifying place to be. With This Is England, Shane Meadows paints a vivid picture of a community filled with racial hate in a post-Falklands war England.
We are aligned with Shaun, a young boy played by Thomas Turgoose, as he is accidentally introduced to a world of hate and violence by his new friends. Shaun’s young mind is soon influenced by racist skin-head Combo, who is played excellently by Stephen Graham. We travel with Shaun as he sees the racist underbelly of his community, and we watch him transform into Combo’s apprentice, a skin-head in training.
As with most Shane Meadows films, there are tender and humorous moments scattered throughout, but they only mask the true shadows of the film and in many cases just cause more discomfort for the viewer.
This Is England is a strange film, as while it displays all the flaws and the scum of 1980’s England’s racist communities, it also displays a strange kind of patriotism and proudness of the country. Despite the negative, downbeat nature of his films, Shane Meadows is a man who loves his country and it really shows here. The title could not be more fitting, as Meadows is showing us the true nature of England how he sees it. Somehow this film left me with the message “This is England, flawed and all, and I will always love it”.

- Adam Bibilo

17. City of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)

IMDB: 8.8
RT: 92%

Fernando Meirelles, who recently brought John le Carré’s The Constant Gardener and José Saramago’s Blindness to the screen, first adapted Paulo Lins in City of God, an ugly crime saga set in one of Rio de Janeiro’s most corrupt slums (“favelas”, as they are known in Brazil). The film is almost didactic in nature – the existence of the characters, the settings and situations are completely foreign to a Western audience. As the film runs its course we learn not just about a young photographer and a drug dealer, but the aftermath of the Brazilian government’s failed City of God housing project of the 1960s.
The film is not without its charms, though. Despite the unpleasant and sometimes even shocking nature of the on-screen activities, there is a sleek visual style employed a la John Woo or Quentin Tarantino. The similarities don’t end there – the film is segmented in Pulp Fiction style, without so much chronological trickery, and indirectly documents the crime and gangs woven into the history of the favelas. There are distinct questions of morality, necessity and survival raised.
The numerous characters are interesting, well-rounded, and portrayed perfectly by the sizeable cast. This is especially a feat considering they are, for the most part, unknowns – even in their native Brazil. The film’s story is undercut with narration by photographer Rocket (Alexandre Rodrigues), a parallel some may draw to Ray Liotta’s character in Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas. These comparisons across the gangster genre are apt, but Brazil has its own unique story to tell – one rife with chaos and bloodshed, and Meirelles sees to it skilfully. The editing, the pacing, even sound design are all fantastic, aiding a stark depiction of growing up in the slums.
It’s not a pretty story, and it doesn’t reach its destination without leaving a trail of destruction. You may find, though, that the effects of the film stick with you for a while. After all, you need more than guts to be a good filmmaker, you need ideas. City of God is built on a foundation of them.

- Michael Sykes

16. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)

IMDB: 8.0
RT: 94%

It’s a stock-standard romantic setup: On a train to Vienna, cynical young Jesse strikes up a conversation with the bombastic Celine, and they spend the night discovering the city together. Where Before Sunrise differed, however, was the execution: Richard Linklater’s story is a simple one – relying on dialogue over action, setting over set pieces. The two leads waxed philosophical, debating and discussing both the trivial and the universal, before agreeing to meet a year later on the train platform they parted ways at.
Unless you include their non-canonical cameo in Waking Life it’s been nine years since we heard from Jesse and Celine, the star-crossed young lovers who spent that mild Austrian night together. This time they run into each other in Paris on Jesse’s book tour, and their situations and understandings have changed drastically. Unchanged, however, is their attraction to each other.
The sequel plays out in real time, showing us a smaller but perhaps more important piece of the story. The discourse involves pedestrian philosophy, the prior decade as experienced by each of the leads, and how their lives have been affected by that one night in Vienna. The ending is delightfully ambiguous, making amends for answering the question the first film posed. This time we wonder, even decide, if they get together – or if Jesse returns to his wife and child.
The most appealing aspect of the film, however, is the presentation of the characters. Despite their intellect and admirable curiosity about the universe they share, they are fairly unlikeable. Celine is neurotic, loudly liberal and almost obnoxiously free-spirited. Jesse is transparent, a little creepy, often leading the conversation to sex. Notably, Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are credited for their dialogue in the film. The conversation is believable and authentic, and the drama, while small in scale, is deftly handled. Most importantly, however, is the level of judgement afforded the viewer.

- Michael Sykes

15. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch)

IMDB: 8.0
RT: 81%

In a list of the most emotional film-makers in the world, David Lynch wouldn’t exactly rank high. To a lot of people, his movies are seen as surreal garbage, kinda scary, kinda violent, and stories of him laughing while filming the rape scene of Blue Velvet don’t do much to dispel the accusations that he’s some sort of, I don’t know, evil monster? Yet the Lynch we see in interviews is actually a friendly, homely guy, and every so often in his work we get the feeling he’s actually pretty sensitive. Mulholland Drive is a prime example of this. Who else but Lynch would take a television pilot, feeling the sting of rejection due to it not being picked up by ABC, and turn it into a tragic look at what Hollywood does to people, picking up awards at Cannes and launching Naomi Watts’ career along the way?
Mulholland Drive, as with many Lynch features, starts off with a mystery. On the road the movie is named after in Hollywood, a beautiful woman’s assassination is prevented by a car crash, and she wakes up with no memory of who she is. She makes her way to an apartment where a plucky young woman called Betty, played by Watts, is moving in, eager to make it in pictures and become a star. The TV show would have centred around the two trying to discover the woman’s identity (she names herself “Rita” after seeing a poster for Gilda in the bathroom) and Betty’s attempts to make it into the business. In fitting with its TV origins, these scenes just seem that little bit corny. However, this actually works in its favour as it contrasts spectacularly with the last 40 or so minutes where, in typical Lynchian style, everything goes topsy-turvy and all your preconceptions are totally messed with.
The film turned out to be Lynch’s most critically acclaimed feature in 15 years, getting him his third Oscar nomination and reminding the movie world that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Naomi Watts’ utterly fantastic performance propelled her to stardom, where she now enjoys the honour of being the actress with the highest budget to revenue ratio, or whatever it’s called. She deserves it – she proved amazing at showing the audience every aspect of her character, from the plucky determination to the heartbreaking failure.
Also, lesbians.

- Tom Bown

14. No Country for Old Men (Coen Brothers)

IMDB: 8.3
RT: 94%

I’ve never understood Coen Brothers comedies – ‘funny’ is a most subjective phenomena. Some things, however, are universal, and this is where their more sombre endeavours often prove fruitful: presentation of themes larger than the stories themselves, and how they are expounded upon over the duration. Here the Coen Brothers have deftly translated Cormac McCarthy’s acclaimed novel No Country For Old Men to the screen. Not only an apt dissection of fate, circumstance and the inevitable; the narrative provided heart-palpitating thrills and a charmingly desolate evocation of 1980 West Texas. The dialogue and soundtrack are as sparse as the landscape, with a strong majority of the tension derived from the spaces you expect the script or an orchestral movement to fill. In fact, the entire film employs only a quarter of an hour of music – most of which is naught more than the dissonant moans of singing bowls and standing metal bells. More attention is allocated to the individual senses, and to this effect an early scene in a gas station stands out as one of film’s most nerve-wracking moments.
A strong and vivid cast are the icing on the production’s proverbial cake – before 2007, both Josh Brolin and Javier Bardem, respectively the film’s protagonist and villain, were barely approaching the cusp of fame. Some of film’s greatest casting miracles were notable risks, and here the bravery pays off. Bardem as Anton Chigurh is one of the decade’s most memorable villains, and Brolin’s headstrong man-of-the-land act is played with tonal precision. Placing Tommy Lee Jones in one of the most relevant roles of his career, and the core of the film’s pseudo-frame story, serves to cement a note-perfect envisioning of the novel.
Joel and Ethan Coen have given us a rare delight: A film both thematically meaty and altogether thrilling. I had a dream that all of their films presented such a satisfying dichotomy of deep introspection and superficial excitement – and then I woke up.

- Michael Sykes

13. Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows)

IMDB: 7.9
RT: 55%

Dead Man’s Shoes is a scary film. At least for me it is anyway. Shane Meadows was raised in Uttoxetter, a town in the Midlands which is just a stone’s throw away from where I live. As such, this is a big influence on his films and therefore gives me more of a connection to Dead Man’s Shoes. For me, its unusual seeing a film set in the British countryside, away from any major cities, and while the events of Dead Man’s Shoes are disturbing to watch anyway, this added connection makes it that little bit weirder for me to watch. But hey, thats just me.
Dead Man’s Shoes is a Get Carter-esque tale of revenge with Richard (Paddy Considine) seeking revenge from the people who abused his mentally disabled and defenseless brother. Richard’s story is not just one of revenge but also of atonement as he looks to clear his conscience for having not been there for his brother when he needed him. Considine plays his part well, displaying a character who swings scarily from being warm and calm to cold and intimidating. There isn’t a great deal of complexity or depth to Richard, but I think anymore underlying issues with Richard would only have over-complicated him and detracted from the film.
The real highlight of the film however has got to be Toby Kebbell, who plays Richard’s brother Anthony. His performance is filled with subtlety and underplayed expressions which makes him an absolute tragic joy to watch.
Dead Man’s Shoes plays out like a more linear Pulp Fiction, with details emerging slowly and the backstory not unfolding completely until the final scenes, where all becomes clear. Its certainly not the smartest or most complex film around, but Dead Man’s Shoes is a near perfect example of simplicity working fantastically. Meadows doesn’t get too experimental or try anything new here, but what results is a relatively straight forward film which just reeks of gritty stylishness, English passion and perfect storytelling. Perhaps I only think this because of the connection I feel with it, but I know I will never tire of it.

- Adam Bibilo

12. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)

IMDB: 8.5
RT: 97%

In 1997, veteran Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki announced that after the final screening of Princess Mononoke, he would make an exit and retire from filmmaking. I haven’t seen Princess Mononoke, but I’ve been told that it was an excellent note for him to end on. However, some time later he was relaxing with a friend and saw their ten year old daughter playing in the yard, and he was suddenly hit with inspiration. The result of this inspiration was Spirited Away. The film really does feel like a retrospective upon his youth, even if the lead is female (although I think Miyazaki finds it easier to communicate through female characters). It is a film that leads the hero, Chihiro on a surreal adventure that marks the transition between childhood and adolescence, and it is so, so beautiful. He uses the most painstaking details to form incredibly diverse, immersive worlds. Every little moment of animation and scenery elicits emotion. It’s hard describing the magic of it, but the film is so visually inviting that I suppose we’re not meant to try and sum it up on paper. It’s beyond words. In an age of computerised animation, it’s a stunning achievement that Miyazaki and his team made the entire film by hand. He is a craftsman and an unparalleled visionary in the field of Japanese animation. The soundtrack is probably the most beautiful composition I’ve heard: Joe Hisashi managed to churn out an other-worldly thing of beauty that somehow fits Miyazaki’s images like a glove. It’s a Badalamenti and Lynch, Hermann and Hitchcock level of collaborative perfection. The film is a moving, life-affirming experience for people of all ages, and I think I’ll always regard it as a favourite.

- Liam O’Brien

11. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)

IMDB: 8.0
RT: 91%

After cult TV comedy Spaced, and before the entertaining-yet-uneven Hot Fuzz, Director Edgar Wright and Co-writer Simon Pegg did something previously unthinkable on many levels. They made a good British zombie film. Not just that, but a good British zombie film that skilfully balanced several genres (advertised as a romantic zombie comedy, a “romzomcom”) and arguably trumped the genre it existed in homage to.
The film is the first in Wright and Pegg’s “Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy” (which may strike film fans as humourously similar to Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colours Trilogy), comedy/gore hybrids featuring Nick Frost as a Hardy to Pegg’s Laurel. Shaun is inspired in its execution – zombie tropes are unearthed faster than a horror fan can think back to their source, and are more respectfully handled than the gritty, ADD-addled Snyder remake of Dawn of the Dead or the relentlessly despondent 28 Days Later. Trivialities in particular stand out to the discerning zombiephile – Shaun’s workplace Foree and the restaurant Fulci’s will sound familiar to fans of undead flicks of the 1970’s. In these small things, we see something that is rarely communicated in the medium: a genuine love of film.
It could be argued that Shaun was one of the main forces placing zombies squarely in vogue, along with the Dawn remake, and a whole six years later Ruben Fleischer’s zomcom Zombieland has landed the title of highest-grossing zombie film of all time. Trends can become self-destructive, and even visionary Romero shot himself in the foot with the lackadaisical Land of the Dead and the ill-executed Diary of the Dead, but the subgenre is still so rich and promising that it is worth resurrecting a few more times – plus, a horde of drooling critics and viewers have made their desires clear. The masses have spoken. And they want brains.

- Michael Sykes

10. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)

IMDB: 8.1
RT: 97%

Before 2008, when was the last really great vampire movie? Despite a slight resurgence in the early 90s with Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Interview With The Vampire and some of those lesbian vampire films Liam and Dom love so much, the most renowned on-screen vampire was still from the 1920s, in F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, as well as Werner Herzog’s 1979 remake. Then, in the closing months of 2008, two things happened. The debut movie of the disgusting, deplorable, hey-let’s-teach-kids-that-sparkly-stalkers-who-constantly-want-to-kill-you-are-perfect-boyfriends Twilight franchise opened and immediately became a hit among demented teenage girls with too small brain spans to realise that hey, this is actually sorta creepy and-but this isn’t about that, as much as I’d love to ramble on about that piece of shit series. The second thing that happened is that a little-known Swedish movie, which had received critical acclaim from various festivals, finally went on wide release. This movie was Let The Right One In, and it was… a love story where one of the couple is a vampire.
Yes, I just took time out of this review to complain about Twilight. But let me explain.
Let The Right One In is probably the best vampire movie at least since Nosferatu, if not (and I say this with all sincerity) the best vampire movie ever made. The supernatural elements are not quite at the forefront; instead, we’re given a coming-of-age tale focusing on Oskar, a slightly effeminate 12 year old boy who gets bullied at school. He finds friendship with a girl his age called Eli, who it turns out is a vampire responsible for a string of local murders.
The best thing about this film is that, unlike so many vampire movies, it doesn’t try to make them grandiose. The film is about two lonely children, one of whom happens to have a horrible thirst that’s never quenched. It’s not a big movie: there are no castles and cloaks, but instead small, intimate moments, against the eternal winter of the Scandinavian backdrop.

- Tom Bown

09. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 67%

Charlie Kaufman really is the best, isn’t he? The guy is straight-up bursting with creativity. I imagine being him for a day would be something (Yes, I am deliberately ignoring the BE INSIDE HIS HEAD FOR 15 MINUTES joke there). His ideas are crazy and unique. Who else could he hired to adapt a book about flowers and make it into a movie about him trying to write the screenplay, tackling issues of life, love, and creativity while trying to make a movie just about flowers? In a way, Synecdoche, New York is a natural progression from that movie (Adaptation., if anyone didn’t know). It may not be Kaufman’s most critically acclaimed movie, or the one he’s remembered for, but it’s his magnum opus, his most personal movie, his 8 ½. That last comparison is particularly apt, seeing how both are about a director trying to make a production while dealing with the woman in their lives. Kaufman takes it further than “SHIT SUCKS ALSO DREAMS”, though, with his main character, Caden Cotard, creating a replica of New York inside a giant warehouse for a play (as well as casting actors to play himself and people he knows, and then casting actors to play those actors) which seems to eventually envelop the world around it. Philip Seymour Hoffman stars, and proves why he’s the best actor in the business today. Every role he plays is completely believable, and as we follow Caden through decades of his life, trying to figure out what he wants his play to be, Hoffman consistently makes the audience believe the desperation of this man. He is joined by some of the greatest actresses currently working, such as Samantha Morton and Emily Watson, and every one of them contributes in some way to Kaufman’s epic story of life and death.
It’s Kaufman’s most surreal movie, with a lot of metaphors and such, but it’s also his cleverest. Each viewing unearths new rewards – there are as many things hidden in the background and callbacks as in a season of Arrested Development – and it shows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kaufman deserves to be known as an auteur. I don’t know where he can go from here – there haven’t been any whispers of a new project from him yet – but I eagerly await any news.

- Tom Bown

08. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)

IMDB: 8.5
RT: 88%

After a fun but shallow and tiresome romp with Kill Bill and the under-cooked dryness of Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino needed something extravagant to come back with a bang. If World War II, multiple scalpings, delicious milk and Hitler’s face being pummeled into watermelon pulp isn’t extravagant, I don’t know what is. Tarantino is back with a vengeance and his masterful skill for crafting tension shines through now more than ever.
Set in Nazi-occupied France, Inglourious Basterds is a series of stories and events that lead up to a fateful film premiere of which all the main figureheads of the Nazi party attend. Before reaching this climactic event though, Tarantino keeps us gripping our seats with several blistering long and painfully tense sequences filled with dread. He once again proves his talent for dialog and his ability to drag out a 30 second conversation into an intense five minute scene while still keeping it fantastically interesting. No-one but Tarantino could have made this film. As always, a lot of love has clearly gone into his camerawork, which results in some stunning sequences (e.g. Shosanna getting ready for the film premiere). This well thought-out usage of framing, composition and movement goes hand in hand with Tarantino’s eclectic, unusual but always fitting choice of music to reflect his big passion for style strengthening substance.
While Brad Pitt is obviously the face of the movie when it comes to marketing and advertising, the star of the show is easily Christoph Waltz who plays “The Jew Hunter” and all-round Nazi, Hans Landa. His performance as Landa is a joy to watch, creating an intimidating slimeball of a man who is also actually quite charming and funny, which is itself a little concerning.
Clearly I enjoyed this film to rank it so high on my decade list and while as a whole it is entertaining, interesting and intense, what I love most is the sense of uplifting empowerment I get from watching it. Leaving the theatre with the image of Hitler’s bullet-smashed face burned into my mind, all I could think was “Yeah, fuck you Hitler. You fucking dick”.

- Adam Bibilo

07. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 55%

Irreversible is a hypnotically nasty movie. As an audience we’re barraged by nausea-inducing frequencies and a camera that fibrillates and reacts to every beating. I watched Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amelie a day before Irreversible; two contemporary French directors presenting two completely different visions of France. It was fitting that I watched it before: Amelie summed up the France that we all knew based on its cultural stereotypes, Irreversible unveiled an underbelly of France that most of us never expected to exist. I’m also keen on seeing La Haine for this reason (coincidentally, Vincent Cassel is also in La Haine).
Irreversible is impeccably made, and also carries with it a strong moral message. Hard to believe? Think about it: A vengeance film typical of Hollywood would build up the relationship between the two characters, creating a familiarity with them, then brutally do away with one of them, sending the remaining character into an emotionally blind frenzy – thirsty for vengence. The film emotionally manipulates its audience to make us feel satisfied on the character’s behalf when he tracks down the victimiser and the revenge is taken out on them, basically justifying an “an eye for an eye” philosophy. However in Irreversible, the film is told in reverse-chronological order, hitting the audience in the face (literally) with the revenge almost as soon as the film starts. It’s unbelievably horrifying, but by showing you the revenge first it proves, objectively, that there is no moral justification for that level of violence. After an intense crescendo of strobe lighting we’re left with a final message: Le Temps Detruit Tout: Time Destroys All Things. It’s hard to be more pessimistic than that.

- Liam O’Brien

06. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)

IMDB: 7.6
RT: 79%

Along with Tarantino, Wes Anderson seems to be an easy target for those who consider themselves “proper” film fans. “His films are boring garbage”, they say, or they call him too quirky, critique his use of music, or hint at racism in his films. Whatever. The point is, Wes Anderson rules and those guys all suck.
I have no problem with decrying the kind of thing Anderson has influenced. Movies like Garden State, which treat quirks as more important than actual character development, and the soundtrack as the most essential part of the movie, have been poorly drawn from his template, and it certainly can be argued that the current trend of whimsical indie comedies is kind of an annoying one. But Anderson’s films are different from those he’s inspired; they’re moving and honest, and The Royal Tenenbaums is the best of them all.
The plot; Royal Tenenbaum married a woman and raised a family of child geniuses, but cos he was a dick they’re all dysfunctional. Then his wife left him and he was kinda absent for 20 years. Then he gets kicked out of his hotel room and he comes back saying he’s got cancer which coincides with all the kids and their families moving back in. The movie features a fairly large ensemble cast, all of whom play their parts to perfection and deliver some of the roles of their careers. Seriously, even Ben Stiller is excellent in this movie. As a tragic comedy, Tenenbaums pulls it off. There are many skilled directors who can make both elements work together and be totally in sync, but nobody does it quite like Anderson. Even the funniest lines have a depressing element to them, and the movie almost seems to be cheerful and dry at the same time.
Visually, the movie is stunning, with Anderson being an expert at framing his scenes. The symmetrical, centre-focused look of his films is one I envy; for the most part, he sticks to the rule of thirds, and it looks gorgeous when working with the wonderful vibrant colours.
And then there’s the soundtrack. Using many songs from the 1960s and 70s, it is in equal parts acclaimed and reviled. Detractors say that without the tracks, many parts of the film wouldn’t be as effective, to which my reply is that…that’s why they’re there? Anderson uses music to enhance the mood of the scene, without it being the only reason they’re good. Just like the majority of directors. Yet because it’s pop music it’s somehow bad. It’s a hypocritical, nonsensical argument that seems to suggest a soundtrack should be interchangeable. Different strokes, I guess (by which I mean you’re wrong if you think that).

- Tom Bown

05. Elephant (Gus van Sant)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 71%

There is no explanation. There is only violence. There is no reason, there is only action.
Like another film in this top 20 – Gaspar Noe’s Irreversible – Elephant is an exercise in delivering a tragedy onto the laps of its viewers, and unlike most films (particularly “revenge films”), makes us consider the tragic events rather than any intent behind them. However, unlike Irreversible, which is determined to push its “time destroys everything” message down your throat and cripple your subconscious with sickening frequencies and camerawork (and I should add that I really like that film, if like is the right word), Elephant has no agenda. Every scene is shot with a dispassionate view that observes rather than comments. Gus van Sant’s camerawork is shamelessly lifted wholesale from the films of Bela Tarr, but any criticism he could receive for this is nullified by his reasons for doing so – i.e., his desire to eliminate reason. The camera follows characters – no, not even characters, people – down the endless, winding hallways at school. It feels as real as it could possibly be. The camerawork gives us this feeling of space, of this truly being a 3D environment, of these people truly being real.
But even more than that, it systematically destroys the viewer’s constant desire to seek answers to what is happening onscreen. Take as an example the scene in Alex’s room, where the camera pans around in a circle, possibly searching for clues that would explain why he does what he’s about to do. It finds nothing. But wait – they’re playing violent games on the computer! Jack Thompson was right! Alas, no, this isn’t an answer at all. They aren’t even playing an actual computer game, simply a simulation that involves gunning down targets. They’re practising with the game, not learning violence from it. Similarly, we see Alex playing Beethoven on his piano. At one stage, his rendition suddenly stops and he slams the piano, destroying the harmony. There’s no anger in this action. He’s just giving up. He’s had enough. It’s not a feeling that can be articulated, it just is.
Earlier in the film we see someone throw a piece of paper at him. Could bullying be the answer? Possibly, but again, there’s no real evidence for it. Throwing a paper at someone doesn’t inarguably lead to horrific violence, nor does bullying for that matter. When Alex and Eric go on their shooting rampage, there’s no fury behind what they do – no emotion whatsoever – and more importantly, they don’t even simply target bullies. They kill everyone they come across, just because. Later Alex kills Eric, just because. It’s not a stab in the back, it’s the simple flick of a trigger.
Everything in this film just is, and that is what’s so essentially terrifying and shocking about it. Claims that Elephant is violence porn or anything similar are so, so wrong that I can’t possibly fathom someone interpreting it that way. Elephant dares to show us an event, as neutrally as it can, and then turns to us and asks… “What now?”

- Dom Kelly

The first time I saw Gus Van Sant’s Elephant was in my film class at College as part of a study of shocking cinema. I struggled to understand the shock factor throughout the first half of the film, as the world of Elephant flowed by with a calm, relaxed pace. The long, drawn-out shot durations did not bore me, but somehow kept me hooked into this slow, lethargic film. Van Sant’s smooth steady-cam usage kept the pace relaxed and only strengthened this effect. This would ultimately lead to a massive feeling of discomfort as the horrifyingly realistic third act of the film unfolded itself. The slick laid-back pace doesn’t let up even as the chaos unfolds all around and I remember how uncomfortable I felt as Gus Van Sant took me by the hand into this horrifying dream-paced reality.
While we only see a small window of time in their lives, the characters feel for the most part, solid and defined that I would be interested to know more about. Despite the limitations of not using exposition to detail the characters, we can easily get the grips with them and understand how they work. This combines nicely with how each story overlaps to create a believable film world. This is then strengthened by Van Sant’s usage of time to create an experience that is slow and uneventful but captivating nonetheless. For example, I could watch Eli develop film all day.
After the stunning final scene and the credits began to roll, I understood why I had been made to watch this film. What Gus Van Sant manages to do in this movie is combine his stellar talent for writing, pacing and camerawork to create a frightening and massively engrossing mirror of reality.

- Adam Bibilo

04. Hidden (Michael Haneke)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 88%

Mark Lawson of the Guardian proclaimed Michael Haneke’s Hidden as “one of the first great movies of the 21st century” and in recent weeks it has topped their “Top 100 films of the Decade” list. It seems it’s a film that most Haneke haters hate to admire. And after repeated viewings, I can safely say that Hidden has screwed me up to the point where any static shot that lasts for an unusually long time with little focus on the characters feels as if someone is behind the camera, spying. This has applied to virtually every film I’ve seen since that has been filmed in this way, especially his other films like The Seventh Continent and The Piano Teacher.
Hidden forces us to study the images, eventually leading us to discover details we wouldn’t have seen otherwise. A notable example in Hidden is its conclusion, which prompts you to rewatch the film with a newfound perspective. But in some cases, we are forced to study images that hold no secrets or hidden details, creating a feeling of desparation that we share with the characters. Who is sending the tapes? Why are they sending the tapes?
After a few minutes of a single, minimal shot of a Parisian house, the film begins with a distortion as time runs backwards. It is a video tape, sent to the owners of the house: Georges, a popular talk show host and his wife Anne. The tape contains hours of footage – a single shot of the house’s exterior. Despite their attempts they never seem to catch a glimpse of the cameraman; at one stage we see footage of Georges walking straight past the camera, unaware of its presence. As the tapes keep arriving and their paranoia grows, it becomes clear to them that there are secrets between them that haven’t been shared. A later tape shows Georges’ birthplace, and afterwards the door of a small apartment. They study the tapes obsessively and set out on the path laid out by the voyeur. If you are drawn into Hidden, you will become obsessed with it for months on end like I have and will probably have a similar viewing experience. The first time I saw it I was confused, but excited as I knew that I’d seen something great. The second time round I realised the incredible subtlety of Hidden, the sheer depth of it, and the range of universally relevant issues it tackles. There are so many layers to be peeled back.
Like Georges and Anna, we find ourselves combing the footage for clues. The couple unknowingly do exactly what the sender intends them to, and we as the audience do the same. It’s an electrifying, chilling experience, but one you will never forget.

- Liam O’Brien

03. Hunger (Steven McQueen)

IMDB: 7.7
RT: 90%

When I found out Hunger was in fact Steven McQueen’s debut film, I was flabbergasted. I still am, actually. There’s such a confidence to it, a flawlessness, that it’s difficult to process this being his first effort. However, it isn’t his first actual work. Before directing this film, McQueen – whose bizarre name, incidentally, I’ve found no explanation for – was an established visual artist, and this makes perfect sense. Hunger is a film that – like all of the films in this top 5, oddly – doesn’t convey much of its meaning through dialogue. Mostly it’s a barrage of horrifying events, of shit smeared on walls, of riot officers who enjoy their job a bit too much and some that don’t enjoy it enough, of frail bodies gasping in pain.
The year is 1981, and after a continuous protest against Britain’s removal of the Special Category Service for Irish political prisoners, everything comes to a head with spokesman Bobby Sands’ hunger strike directly targeted against Margaret Thatcher. Hunger strikes had been implemented earlier that century in similar circumstances, and their effectiveness is simple; it’s a form of protest that involves the protestors self-harming, which is not something that their captors can combat. If none of that makes sense to you, just know that Thatcher sucks and we’ll move on.
Hunger gives us scant details of this historical background, but McQueen is a lot less concerned with that as he is the event itself. As I said before, his coverage is mostly visual, and the disgustingness is conveyed through simple shots; waves of piss being mopped towards the screen, for example. There is, however, one scene which is nothing but dialogue, and it’s the centrepiece of the film; a twenty minute single take of an argument between Bobby Sands and a priest that’s come to visit him over the strike they’re about to embark on. The scene is gripping and frustrating, because ultimately both sides make excellent points and it’s impossible to decide whether the pain and death the men will put themselves through is worth the political point. We can do nothing, in the end, but watch, as these men wither away into nothingness.

- Dom Kelly

02. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)

IMDB: 8.1
RT: 96%

Early in the year, when the Projectorheads first began brainstorming what films they should watch for this decade list, I suspected very quickly that Werckmeister Harmonies would top my list. As soon as I got my hands on it, it did just that, and has consistently remained my favourite film of this decade, by a long shot.
It’s the only film from this decade I’ve seen that profoundly depressed me. Many others have saddened me, possibly brought tears to my eyes or made me, question-my-manhood-now, cry – but Bela Tarr has a special knack, one which wormed its way into me through his earlier film Satantango as well as this; he knows how to create existential angst. The only comparable experience I’ve had from any narrative medium is the books of Dostoevsky (chiefly The Brothers Karamazov), and that’s incredibly high praise. Bela Tarr has said that he doesn’t like thinking of his films as allegories, and nor does he think about “art or God” when he makes them, but the existence of God is a theme that nonetheless permeates Werckmeister. Fairly-early in the film, the main character, Valuska, enters a newly-arrived circus’ truck and circles around the massive corpse of a dead whale. As well as being a quietly arresting image, beautiful in its simplistic destructiveness, we’re also being shown God as he is in the world of Werckmeister (and perhaps the real world); deceased, rotting, paraded around by a circus.
Later in the film, we’re shown the metaphorical opposite; the Devil. Whilst I take probing questions about God seriously, I rarely find that thinking about the Devil has any point, since he is a laughably stupid character that is a lame excuse for the beast within man. As it happens, though, that’s what he incites in Werckmeister. Shown off-screen, he tempts and teases his cohorts, which eventually leads to mass rioting and random, senseless violence and carnage.
Standing alongside that, we have the story of Valuska’s uncle, a musician devoted to tearing apart the musical rules as dictated by the Western/European maestros of old. He wishes to find the natural sound, unhindered by man’s involvement, driven by pure mathematics. But it’s a dream that is not only futile and impossible, but one that rejects the order mankind has had to place on him/herself just so that society can function. In the end, his embracing of chaos mimics the villagers’.
Perhaps Tarr is telling the truth when he says he isn’t interested in these allegories per se. After all, Werckmeister is not his story – it is an adaptation of The Melancholy of Resistance by Laszlo Krasznahorkai, just as Satantango is of, erm, Satantango. Perhaps Tarr is merely concerned with capturing the feel of the book, of conveying the angst and soul-searching nature of the story through camerawork alone. He goddamn succeeds. Werckmeister is 145mins long, but only has 39 shots in it, because it is constructed almost entirely out of very, very long takes. Apart from being astounding on a technical level, it also gives the film an ethereal, incredibly hypnotic quality that is unparalleled. Certainly as a style it has its roots in Tarkovsky (and possibly Jancso), but, dare I say it, Tarr perfects it to an inexplicable degree. He shows us, purely and simply, time.

- Dom Kelly

01. Inland Empire (David Lynch)

IMDB: 7.1
RT: 71%

David Lynch elusively promoted Inland Empire with the tagline, “A Woman in Trouble”; typically vague for a Lynch film, but appropriate – it is one of the few things in the film we can be certain of. Nikki Grace wishes to resurrect her career by auditioning for the Hollywood production On High in Blue Tomorrows. A disheveled, eccentric European lady who claims to be her neighbour seems to know more about this role than Nikki does, informing her that the role is guaranteed for her, that the film concerns holy matrimony and a murder, and that her husband is somehow involved in its production. The former proves to be correct; she does indeed score the main role. During a rehearsal they are interrupted by an uninvited guest, assumed to be paparazzi who manages to escape “where it’s real hard to escape”. Unnerved by this, the director decides to come clean and reveal some details about the history of the production that he preferred to keep secret. Over a period of time Nikki loses herself in the character, resulting in many splintered personalities and delusions. The film then takes place in the main character’s subconscious. Or at least we think that’s what happens.
Inland Empire was a real progressive step for Lynch, being shot entirely on a digital, consumer brand Sony PD150, when in the past digital video was only used as a plot device in his films (Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, Lost Highway), never the actual shooting format. This wasn’t his first experiment with digital video; for davidlynch.com he shot Rabbits, Darkened Room and Absurda, all of which tie into the film’s plot. The grainy, low-res digital format works in Inland Empire’s favour, the images are gritty and malleable and in the darker scenes the textures naturally melt into each other. He then blew up the digital images to 35mm film, and the result is unusually beautiful.
Inland Empire is more than an audio/visual head-trip, it elicits emotion. I was actually curled up with fear in the scene where Nikki stumbles – screwdriver in stomach – along the brightly-lit streets of Los Angeles. She collapses on the side of the road among a group of homeless people and lies there, dying. The scene hits you unexpectedly, but within five minutes it manages to establish a whole new world unexplored by his previous work. You feel for these characters based on their actions, gestures and emotions, even if you ignore what they’re saying. Like being sympathetic towards someone crying on your shoulder, upset over something unfathomable. And to top it off it is revealed that this warm, humanistic moment is a scene from Nikki’s film, as we see cameras pan eerily around the set. My gut was ripped from my body.
It’s a summary of Lynch’s career; self-referential while also being an extension of previous ideas (the parallels between Inland Empire and Mulholland Drive are obvious). And it was one of the best film-viewing experiences I’ve had.

- Liam O’Brien

Inland Empire is, despite being at the top of this list, a difficult movie to recommend. It’s not a movie that’s easy to get into. I feel kind of rude saying it, but you really do have to get David Lynch beforehand; to see many of his films and to understand exactly what it is he tries to get across to his audience. And then you throw most of that out of the window anyway.
Critics and audiences alike have often accused Lynch’s work of being incomprehensible. They feel cheated by his films, feeling they were just a collection of odd scenes with no meaning behind it. This is, for the most part, completely untrue. Whether it’s his fear of becoming a new parent shown in Eraserhead, the guilt-induced hallucination of Lost Highway, or the desperate attempt to cling onto a dream world in Mulholland Drive, Lynch’s films have always had a point hidden behind the madness. Inland Empire may be the same – the Lynch biography Beautiful Dark has a neat interpretation – but it seems much more so than with anything else Lynch has made that it’s just entirely surrealism, and nothing more. But you know what? That’s why I love it.
No doubt there are people who have poured over every scene of the movie, trying to figure out the plot. No doubt that at least for some of them it’s been incredibly frustrating. Inland Empire stands atop this list not because of any narrative structure, it’s because it is a rollercoaster ride. Reuniting Lynch with actress Laura Dern (whose performance is one of the best I’ve seen from a movie this decade, and should have earned her an Oscar), we are taken on a journey lasting almost three hours, which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lynch can convey mood more effectively than almost anyone in motion picture history. Detractors complained about the use of digital video to shoot the movie, but I feel it adds a lot to its gritty nature.
So yeah! Inland Empire is Projectorheads’ favourite movie of the past ten years. Possibly a controversial choice, but it’s more than deserving of the place. Almost 30 years after he first realised success with Eraserhead, David Lynch goes all-out, makes one of the most wonderful pieces of chaos since Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, and invites everyone to go exploring down the same rabbit holes she did.

- Tom Bown

The Projectorheads’ individual lists:

Liam O’Brien

01. Hidden (Michael Haneke)
02. Yi Yi (Edward Yang)
03. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
04. 4 Months, 3 Weeks & 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu)
05. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
06. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
07. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)
08. Together (Lukas Moodysson)
09. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
10. Hunger (Steven McQueen)
11. In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar Wai)
12. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
13. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)
14. Amelie (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)
15. Samson and Delilah (Warwick Thornton)
16. The Class (Laurent Cantet)
17. Persepolis (Vincent Paronnaud & Marjane Satrapi)
18. The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck)
19. Storytelling (Todd Solondz)
20. You, the Living (Roy Andersson)

Dom Kelly

01. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
02. Dancer in the Dark (Lars von Trier)
03. Amelie (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)
04. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
05. Hunger (Steven McQueen)
06. Bubble (Steven Soderbergh)
07. You, the Living (Roy Andersson)
08. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)
09. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
10. In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar Wai)
11. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
12. The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck)
13. Samson and Delilah (Warwick Thornton)
14. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Julian Schnabel)
15. The New World (Terrence Malick)
16. Persepolis (Vincent Paronnaud & Marjane Satrapi)
17. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
18. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)
19. Casino Royale (Martin Campbell)
20. A Very Long Engagement (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)

Tom Bown

01. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)
02. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch)
03. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)
04. Storytelling (Todd Solondz)
05. Kill Bill (Quentin Tarantino)
06. Hidden (Michael Haneke)
07. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)
08. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)
09. (500) Days of Summer (Marc Webb)
10. An Education (Lone Scherfig)
11. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)
12. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
13. Italian for Beginners (Lone Scherfig)
14. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
15. Dancer in the Dark (Lars von Trier)
16. Palindromes (Todd Solondz)
17. The Piano Teacher (Michael Haneke)
18. Hunger (Steve McQueen)
19. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
20. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)

Adam Bibilo

01. Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows)
02. The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky)
03. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch)
04. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
05. The Darjeeling Limited (Wes Anderson)
06. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)
07. American Psycho (Mary Harron)
08. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)
09. Waking Life (Richard Linklater)
10. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)
11. Little Miss Sunshine (Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris)
12. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
13. This Is England (Shane Meadows)
14. The Machinist (Brad Anderson)
15. The Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan)
16. Wall-E (Andrew Stanton)
17. Slumdog Millionaire (Danny Boyle)
18. Paris, je t’aime (Various)
19. Battle Royale (Kinji Fukasaku)
20. City of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)

Michael Sykes

01. Memento (Christopher Nolan)
02. Adaptation (Spike Jonze)
03. No Country For Old Men (Coen Brothers)
04. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
05. Zodiac (David Fincher)
06. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)
07. Pan’s Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro)
08. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)
09. Hidden (Michael Haneke)
10. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)
11. The Departed (Martin Scorsese)
12. City of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)
13. Return of the King (Peter Jackson)
14. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
15. Unbreakable (M. Night Shyamalan)
16. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
17. The American Astronaut (Cory McAbee)
18. My Winnipeg (Guy Maddin)
19. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)
20. There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson)

James Humphreys

01. Watchmen (Zack Snyder)
02. Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows)
03. No Country For Old Men (Coen brothers)
04. There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson)
05. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
06. This Is England (Shane Meadows)
07. The Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan)
08. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)
09. Shaun Of The Dead (Edgar Wright)
10. City Of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)
11. Chopper (Andrew Dominik)
12. Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance (Park Chan-wook)
13. Hunger (Steven McQueen)
14. The Departed (Martin Scorsese)
15. Oldboy (Park Chan-wook)
16. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
17. Out Of The Blue (Robert Sarkies)
18. Zodiac (David Fincher)
19. A Scanner Darkly (Richard Linklater)
20. Funny Games U.S. (Michael Haneke)

As one of the potentially-millions of children that read Where the Wild Things Are as a youth, learning of the upcoming release of this film – and of Spike Jonze’s attachment to the project – certainly piqued my interest. Where the Wild Things Are was, to me, one of the forgotten books of my childhood; I only remembered it when it was mentioned. All I remembered, when I thought about the plot, was a child becoming a king over some wild things. Searching on the net, I realised that, lo and behold, that was the entire plot. How on earth could this be fleshed out for a feature length?

I think what’s really admirable about this adaptation is its refusal to massively complicate the plot in the slightest. Instead of constructing an all-new backstory to the world of the wild things or anything similar, Jonze’s only complication is to make most of the wild things represent someone in Max’s real world; G.W. as his sister, Judith as his mother (she even looks like Catherine Keener), Ira as his mother’s boyfriend, and Carol as, well, him. This is effectively an extrapolation from the book, where the wild things represented Max’s wild side. The wild things are completely and utterly childish, charming but mindlessly destructive. They construct a fort to keep outsiders away (even though there aren’t really any outsiders) with secret entrances and then sabotage it, they throw dirt clods at each other, etc. It’s startling how easily Jonze recreates childhood here. I remember people complaining and saying “I QUIT” during war games, and being deliberately pelted for this. I remember enjoying tackling people, but being terrified when group tackled and suffering from minor claustrophobia. Admittedly, I don’t remember being terrified of the sun dying, but I’m sure Woody Allen does.

So what we have here is a film without any real plot. Good. Plot’s overrated, in my opinion. I’ve said before (see; my Transformers editorial) that I think summer blockbusters should probably attempt to communicate visuals and feelings and effectively eradicate plot as much as possible. As Carol would say, “Hey, this film gets it”. Earlier this year, I reviewed Up, and noted that the last half of the film wasn’t as strong as the first; it was, in fact, when the plot kicked in that things went a little awry. Where the Wild Things Are is a film about relationships, where all of its drama comes from the kind of spats children usually throw, where all of its excitement comes from pointless games that the wild things play.

The intriguing thing is that we know from the start the lesson that Max is going to learn (as the wild things also do). What sustains the film isn’t the lesson itself necessarily, but how they get there. It’s arguably a film that may be too dark for children, and certainly it can be terrifying (especially, as a fellow moviegoer pointed out, how Carol’s verbal spats are even more frightening when you realise he’s John damned Soprano), but it’s possibly an experience that would still benefit a child. I mean, Time Bandits ends with

*SPOILER*SPOILER*SPOILER*SPOILER*thehouseexplodingandhisparentsdying*SPOILER*SPOILER*

so I’m not sure how damaging this kind of film could be.

Either way, it’s a very cleverly constructed movie.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

(I managed to work the title of previous Spike Jonze films into this review. I am ever so cool)

One of my problems is that I’m prone to listening to hype and letting it build and multiply in my head. I blow all this hype up to proportions so massive that virtually nothing lives up to it. When a trailer emerges, I literally watch it hundreds of times, mulling over the details like a deep meditation. I avoid reviews like the plague for fear of spoilers, but out of a craving for information I have to fight the urge to go on Rotten Tomatoes and read every single critical review. Q&A sessions, IMDB user reviews… it just escalates until the point where the film is destined to disappoint. Considering my recent Haneke-fest I thought I’d be overhyping The White Ribbon, desperately seeking an untouchable, unquestionable masterpiece, but to be perfectly honest it was exactly as I imagined it’d be: freakin’ phenomenal.

I got into Michael Haneke’s work this year. Around the time I saw The White Ribbon I’d just completed his filmography (not including the Funny Games remake and his two television films) and Hidden had become one of my favourite films. So you can perhaps understand what I was going through when I say I convulsed during the opening credits. It might seem a bit strange, as the film’s credits consist of a black screen, no accompanying music and a small, white set of credits (not to mention that he’s used these same credits before in Code Unknown, Time of the Wolf and possibly The Piano Teacher, my memory fails me), but goddamnit, there was something indescribably epic about those silent, minimalistic credits. Then, with bated breath, the film began.

The White Ribbon takes place in a pre-WWI German village where a series of crimes occur. A doctor is injured while riding his horse; several children go missing and then are discovered, tortured and abused; there are acts of unexplained violence towards animals, and a whole other string of strange occurences. The children are brought up under strict discipline and religious dogma, and after one of the children confronts his father – a priest about a sin he has committed, he is forced to wear a white ribbon in public as a reminder to himself and to others of the concept of purity and innocence, and the importance of retaining this innocence for the good of the future.

I can say that The White Ribbon has been the most emotionally distressing film I’ve seen since Lars von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, which I saw two years ago, a film that moved me so much I swear I cried out at least a quarter of my bodily fluids. It is especially sad, bearing in mind what Haneke said about the children being destined to become the seeds of Nazism. In typical Haneke fashion, the film is a psychological headache; the characters never seem to have clear motives for their actions, whether it be killing a little boy’s recovering parrot or suicidily balancing on a bridge’s rungs, the actions (and sometimes crimes) aren’t pre-meditated or even meditated, they just occur as naturally as cleaning your teeth or having a shower; purely run on an instinct twisted and torn from years of destructive, abusive discipline. The scene with the girl and the parrot is particularly perplexing as she doesn’t even seem consciously aware of her actions. It’s as if she’s hypnotised.

Although in the past his characters have been highly and disturbingly realistic, especially the more psychologically unsound characters, Haneke achieves something very rare for him in this film: a real human connection with the characters. There’s a touching, heartfelt romance between two of them, the School Teacher and Eva. Now that’s something I never thought I’d see in a Haneke movie, humanity portrayed in a positive, hopeful light. There were fleeting moments of this in Time of the Wolf but nowhere near as prominently.

The cinematography in this is just too beautiful for words. Shot originally in colour and in a HD digital format, it has been colour graded to black and white to fit in with the time period. The low-key, almost pitch black interior shots are incredibly haunting and constantly filled me with a sense of unease and fear. And speaking of digitally altered images… does anyone else find it strange that Haneke used a CGI horse instead of a real one, considering his track record? Fish flailing to death in The Seventh Continent, a tazered pig in Benny’s Video, a dog beaten with golf clubs in Funny Games, a horse shot dead in Time of the Wolf, a beheaded chicken in Hidden; it all seems very weird that Haneke would have a moral crisis going as far as replacing his flesh and blood animals with some delicately rendered ones. Perhaps that’s just the direction he’s heading in, making films for a new audience. Apart from the recent Funny Games remake, this is probably Haneke’s most accessible film.

The White Ribbon is by an indescribably long shot my favourite movie of 2009, and will certainly make my decade list. Go out of your way to see this.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

The White Ribbon has won the Palme d’Or at this year’s Cannes Film Festival.

You can find more Haneke Haneke-nisms here:

http://www.projectorheads.com/2009/10/haneke-haneke-haneke-and-more-haneke/

One of the common criticisms of Pixar’s 2008 offering, Wall-E, was that it began wonderfully and originally, and then turned into slightly more conventional fare. Arguably, this is the case with Up, too; the opening twenty-or-so minutes are perfection, and it’s probably one of the best openings to an animated film I’ve seen. Unfortunately this level of quality isn’t exactly reached, and you could indeed say that the film goes downward.

That’s not to say Up is ever bad. But it ends up with an action-packed finale that feels at odds with what the film originally set out to do.

The story of Carl, an old man desperate for adventure after his wife’s death, is fantastical enough once he propels his house by balloons into the sky. Incredibly, this isn’t in the slightest the weirdest part of the film. As the film continues, we are introduced to an improbably large bird, and dogs intelligent enough to talk through voice devices in their collars. Pixar loves anthropomorphising animals – and they’re really quite good at it – but never before have we been introduced to normal humans first and then shown talking animals. The dogs are very, very funny – particularly the stereotypically villainous one, whose key gimmicky joke never outstays its welcome – but it somehow seems to undercut the human drama of the story.

This may be intentional. When Carl finally lets go of the house and his departed wife, he becomes an action man in a bizarre scene atop a zeppelin. This is symbolic of him throwing away his past and dreams and living in the present instead. But it still jars considerably. Even the villain is quite stock, which is a shame considering that his motivations make perfect sense. He even represents an anti-Carl, another old man desperate to live out his dreams. Yet still, he is conventional. He’s got nothing on Syndrome, the spurned kid who got too big for his shoes (literally and metaphorically).

It’s a shame, too, that Carl is put through so much physical exercise, because it again threatens to destroy the logic of the world Pixar has created, even though it’s animated and artificial. At the beginning of the film, Carl is barely able to walk across his front porch even with his cane. Later he drags an entire house with his body, and, as I already said, becomes an action hero. There’s perseverance, and then there’s impossibility. It’s lucky this is animated, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to suspend my disbelief at all.

The really good bits, though, are indeed really good. I’ve already mentioned the opening, but I want to dwell on this further. It’s an incredibly bittersweet montage that genuinely convinces you that these characters have lived out an entire life, rather than it feeling purely like a montage. As well as that, there’s death. Many children were first introduced to death via Disney’s own Bambi, but this is, despite being quieter about it, even more educational (I struggled to think of another word but couldn’t. I apologise). We not only see death as the end to a life not lived as perhaps it was supposed to have been lived, but we also see death as the end to a life that has barely begun. It’s an incredible depth for Pixar to reach, and so subtly too.

And, for all that he may become a prototype hero towards the end, Carl is genuinely an excellent main character. Apart from immediately disproving that stupid notion that children only like watching children on screen, the character of Carl allows Pixar to examine what old age would be like. And this is what Pixar says it’s like: you spend your days doing very little, save for hanging on desperately to everything you once had, be it your house, a dream you had, or a picture hanging on the wall. Your death doesn’t concern you so much as the thought of losing everything that meant something to you while you were alive. I can imagine a child sitting and watching this, and suddenly feeling what it means to be alive, how precious life truly is. Or, they could be laughing at the funny doggies.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Despite being a bit uneven, the good by far outweighs the bad, and it is, simply, excellent to see Pixar still willing to push envelopes and do things their own way.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars