Movies of the Year - 2010

In what is becoming a traditionally annual annual tradition, my look back at the art of the films of the cinema reflects not the contemporary year, but rather my most interesting journeys through the past. Is my interest in new movies waning? Perhaps. But everybody knows that old is good and new is bad, right? So, here are the....

TOP 10 OLDER MOVIES I SAW IN 2010 IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER EXCEPT FOR #1 WHICH IS #1.

The Last Picture Show (Peter Bogdanovich, 1971)

What a great film this is. I can’t believe I waited so long to see it, and I’d see it again in a heartbeat. Bogdanovich has had such a weird career, brought into greater relief now considering the incredible, un-self-conscious work here. The great cast here is the rock-solid foundation, and they are deftly handled, and the film is emotionally wrenching without being the slightest bit melodramatic. The rare film that just seems to unfold naturally without showing the slightest evidence of construction, yet is so obviously, methodically poured over and beautifully crafted. Also totally fun to watch, despite its often gloomy subject matter. A masterpiece.

The ‘Up’ Series (Michael Apted, et al, 1964, 1971, 1977, 1985, 1991, 1998)

Watched in rapid succession of one another, this series gets completely psyched-out as you see these socially stratified Brits age before your very eyes. Apted’s crazy pet project is at once fascinating and depressing, as dreams die and self-fulfilling prophesies become manifest. How tough is it to watch these 7 year-olds become exactly what they were destined to be, resigned to their shell-shocked lives? Yet as the series evolves it becomes less of a social experiment of more of a study of memory. ‘Up’ is not about these people’s lives, but rather the event of reflecting on their lives, and how the use of media changes this act. It’s a shame that Charles and Peter, two of the most interesting subjects, dropped out, but of course the heart and soul of this whole thing is Neil, whose totally unpredictable experiences throw a huge spanner in the socio-cultural works.

Shall We Dance (Mark Sandrich, 1937)

Until this, no classical Hollywood musical really gave me that warm-n-fuzzy feeling while at the same time wowing me with its artistic audacity. Singin’ in the Rain is cool and all, but it’s just so gosh darn squeaky clean, y’know? Top Hat, the most well-regarded of the Astaire-Rogers depression-era RKO musicals is a technical marvel and totally fun, and admittedly, if I hadn’t seen it I might not have enjoyed Shall We Dance as much, but I like SWD better, if only because it’s so self-aware. Fred and Ginger were mega-stars by 1937, and ergo, had a bit of creative-wiggle room. Essentially playing themselves (Fred is a gentlemanly goofball, Ginger is sweet but takes no guff), the stars subtly let the audience in on the meta fun, not only piss-taking the 1930s notions of celebrity, but also fooling around with the musical form. Each dance sequence here seems like an audacious gambit, particularly the eye-popping roller-skate in the park set to “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off.” Shall We Dance was considered a relative disappointment when it was released, and has yet to be critically rehabilitated (I guess since movies only started being self-referential in the ‘50s, right?) Regardless, this is an incredible, blissfully romantic, wall-to-wall fun time.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle (Peter Yates, 1973)

Oh man, the early ‘70s. This piece, from journeyman director Peter Yates, fits in seamlessly with all the gritty and grim urban crime flicks of the era. This is one of those films that weaves its suture magic so that it seems like real events are unfolding as the frames click by. The mundane details are here, regarding the daily life of being a career criminal, but this thing is anything but mundane. It’s a full-blown tragedy. Robert Mitchum, who I thought could never top The Night of the Hunter, does so here.

The Naked Prey (Cornel Wilde, 1966)

The Naked Prey was described to me with the simple promo cliché, “non-stop action.” There is no greater, more essential description of this totally nuts movie. Cult matinee idol Cornel Wilde shepherded this vanity project turned wild ethnography turned brutal nail-biter that’s basically a 90 minute chase scene. You will not believe what the fuck you just saw every five seconds.

Kiss Me Deadly (Robert Aldrich, 1955)

A wild, weird noir that seems to have been made on the sly, exclusively to satisfy the perverted whims of millionaire studio execs and H’wood power brokers. With the sex and violence amped up, and atomic hysteria running at a fever pitch, this is all the repression of the ‘50s materialized as an iron-jawed detective story. This one is a fucking jaw-dropper.

Love and Death, Stardust Memories, Alice (Woody Allen, 1975, 1980, 1990)

This year I started on a (now on hiatus) project of filling all my gaps in Woody’s filmography in chronological order. Of the six films I caught up with, these were my three favourites. It is of course an auteurist boner to look at how a director evolves and seek out those little narrative threads that reveal their oh-so subconscious intentions. This guy’s a pretty singular director, like a one-man first-year liberal arts seminar, pastiching literature, psychoanalysis, existentialism, and slapstick. Love and Death is one of his best, bridging the gap between his “early, funny” movies and his more introspective realistic work of the late ‘70s. Diane Keaton makes for a perfect foil, and if you dug what she was up to in Annie Hall (who didn’t), this is where is begins. Stardust Memories, Woody’s 8 ½, was initially off-putting, triggering my allergy to rich people complaining about their lives, but the extraordinary melding of the real and the imaginary, and our hero’s remarkable – I can only describe it as “British” - ability to criticize his audience while seeming ultimately vulnerable won me over. Alice is just a sweet little film from his nostalgia period, before his life imploded.

Dirty Harry (Don Siegel, 1971)

Another grim n’ gritty early ‘70s actioner, directed by one of the greatest genre specialists of all time. Some seem afraid to embrace this one because of its supposed politics, which is bunk because a) it opens up a dialogue of disconent in the post-hippie era, and b) Harry Callahan is obviously fucking nuts! What more is this than a representation of the darkest impulses of our collective unconscious shooting it out at each other?

Scarface (Howard Hawks, 1932)

Okay, I realize this is a pretty testosterone-heavy list (I swear I will punch the next person who brings that up), but indulge me for one more. I guess I’m still viscerally impacted by unique depictions of violence, be they uncharacteristically out of context or shockingly real. Scarface, a go-for-broke motion picture in every possible way, is both strikingly realistic and ridiculously over-the-top. Bullets fly every which-way, as anti-hero Tony Camonte ascends through the underworld like a classic 20^th century robber-baron. Hawks’s lightning-fast touch is complimented by his usual deft ensemble casting, crafting instantly memorable larger-than-life types that transcend caricature. Miles better than Brian DePalma’s bloated remake, this fantastical critique of killer capitalism traversing the layers of hell is as good as gangster gets.

The T.A.M.I Show (Steve Binder, 1964)

I had already seen the truncated VHS version of this, presented in typically crass ‘80s style by a bored-looking Chuck Berry, but this year’s complete re-issued version is a different animal. The line-up is of course a who’s-who of pop music in ’64, save the Beatles, and it’s a simple testament to how much (and how seemingly effortlessly) these people owned the world. Berry kicks off the show guns-a-blazin’ as the official representative of the history of rock & roll (a mere nine years after his first single), which just goes to show how quickly things were moving at the time, and just about everyone tries to keep up, except for the Motowners, who got their own thing going. Conventional wisdom suggests that the Rolling Stones look foolish after James Brown, but I think James Brown (although great) was at a bit of a creative lull at this point and the Stones something to behold, setting the template for dangerous rock & roll for the next thousand years. This film made me giddy from the sweet innocence of the performers, as well as a little melancholy for a moment in pop music that I didn’t live through and can never be replicated. Recommended if you like fun.

Also great: Amadeus (Milos Forman, 1984), The Boss of it All (Lars von Trier, 2006), La dolce vita (Federico Fellini, 1960), The Fog of War (Errol Morris, 2003), Forty Guns (Sam Fuller, 1957), Hard Core Logo (Bruce McDonald, 1996), The Incredibles (Brad Bird, 2004), Martin (George A. Romero, 1977), The Son (Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, 2002), The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973), You Can’t Take it With You (Frank Capra, 1938)