A Year in Film: 2010

2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | Essays/Reviews

What follows are my OCD attempts to list and rate every movie I watch in any given year. (I've done the same for my year's reading in the book log.) Given that I watch some obscure films, I've attempted to make the film title link to the IMDb page for the film.

Starting in 2009, I began assigning out star ratings (out of five stars) to films I've watched. Five stars is equivalent to an A, 4½ to an A-/B+, four to a B, and so on.

A gripping and intriguing police procedural, Kurosawa's Stray Dog is the story of a rookie cop whose pistol is stolen from his pocket, forcing him to do everything in his power to track it down. With Kurosawa regulars Mifune and Shimura playing the two main leads, you know you'll be entertained, and Stray Dog more than delivers, immersing itself in post-war Japan's underworld while allowing the characters plenty of room to breathe. There's plenty in Stray Dog that you've seen, down to the mentor-rookie relationship between Shimura and Mifune, but it hardly matters when its done with such style and in such a rich environment, and Kurosawa packs the story with surprising depth, from Mifune's struggles with his own complicity in crimes to the war-related backstory of the antagonist. Add to that some rich humor and Kurosawa's usual beautiful filming and you have a really great piece of work that deserves to be more highly regarded among Kurosawa's work.

Unfunny, contrived, irritating, dull, implausible, over-rated...what else can I say about Tootsie? I am completely at a loss as to why this is so well-regarded and beloved by so many. Tootsie is essentially a one-joke movie, and it's not even a funny joke at that, thanks to Hoffman's irritating performance. The plot is labored, the gags thuddingly obvious and heavy-handed, the characterization weak, the message muddled, and the jokes unfunny. The only enjoyable part of the movie to me is Murray, who's the only cast member who brings any sense of comedic timing or fun to it all. I just don't get it at all.

I was a little reluctant to watch Yankee Doodle Dandy for a long time, but I needn't have worried - this is exactly the kind of classic musical that made the genre essential. Yankee Doodle Dandy is the story of George M. Cohan, a song-and-dance man who became a Broadway icon and an American musicwriting legend for songs like "Grand Old Flag" and "Over There". As performed by James Cagney, Cohan is a ball of cocky, charismatic, constant energy, made all the more enjoyable for the fact that Cagney's dancing style is so completely atypical. You could find things to complain about here - sure, the supporting cast is a little underutilized, and there's little here that's inventive or out of the ordinary. No, Yankee Doodle Dandy is biopic by the numbers, but it's executed with such energy and fun by Cagney that it's all elevated to classic levels.

Patton Oswalt has a famous routine about Robert Evans in which he mentions that listening to Evans read the audiobook of his memoirs - an audiobook used for much of the movie's narration - is "like listening to the devil dictate his memoirs," and it's hard to disagree with that after watching this compelling, fascinating documentary. There's no denying that The Kid Stays in the Picture is less about the realities of Evans's life and more about the way he's constructed his own myth, and the film's kinetic, unique style plays into that perfectly. I've read people who complain that the movie is shallow and egomaniacal, but isn't that the point? This is Evans's story, told by Evans, and it's as informative for what it reveals about the man as the threads of his tales. Look, for instance, at how he becomes the hero of one of his own movies as he checks himself out of the hospital, or how his "humility" as an actor seems to come out when it's most needed to win people over. No, this isn't a place for fact; this is a place for storytelling, and it turns out Evans has a remarkable gift for it, mixing equal parts self-aggrandizement, larger-than-life caricatures, a voice that betrays its years, and an insider's sense of Hollywood. When you finish the movie, you may not know the truth behind any of the stories, but you won't have any questions as to how Evans made it big in the business at all.

Much like The Host, Bong Joon-Ho's previous film, Mother's plot may not be packed full of surprises, but it's a masterfully done and engrossing piece of film that constantly surprises with character development over revelations. The plot is simple enough: an elderly Korean woman whose mentally handicapped son has been charged with murder becomes obsessed with finding the reality behind the crime. But in Joon-Ho's hands, even the smallest characters become complex and nuanced, and everyone's story is more complicated than we think. When I first finished Mother, I was a little let down by the plotting, but the more I think about the movie, the more I'm fascinated with it - its blend of humor and horror, its keen eye for tension and staging, its perfect sense of pacing, its undercurrent of dread and unease, and the complex, bizarre ending which makes perfect sense in the context of the film. And even if I didn't like it - not the case - it's automatically worth seeing for the lead performance by Kim Hye-Ja, who is absolutely incredible in every scene. Once you realize that it's all about the mood and the journey, it's easy to embrace Mother as a fantastic piece of moviemaking.

For the first hour to hour-and-a-half of its running time, Un Prophète is an absolute masterpiece of tension, attention to detail, and character, detailing the life of a young Arab who enters a French prison and finds himself drawn into a Corsican gang against his wishes, only to find that it offers him chances he never would have dreamed of. During this first half, Un Prophète creates a vibrant, rich world, with attention to the minor details of life in prison, from the searches to the routine, from the psychological effects to the physical ones. Moreover, the film is incredibly intense and gripping; there is a murder sequence early on that ranks among the most unnerving and horrific scenes I've seen, all thanks to the approach and ability of everyone involved. It's a shame, then, when the film opens up beyond the prison walls and starts to lose its way, as the plotting becomes more complex and less understandable, the reaches for "deeper" meaning more frequent and less clear, and the story ultimately less gripping. It's still far from a bad film, but the film's second and third acts can't compare to the perfection of the first, and the film's originality slowly gives way to something all too clearly inspired by The Godfather and Scarface. It's still a strong film, and had it been trimmed down a bit, it would be a great film; as it is, it's a brilliant first half that slowly loses its way.

There's a lot to like about The Hurt Locker, which manages to be a good war film and a good character study, but could have been great had it focused on only one of them. There's no denying the incredible tension the film creates, firmly placing the viewer in the tense, violent world of bomb disposal units in Iraq, and watching the way Bigelow and company toy with the audience makes you appreciate how hard they worked to put you into the dangerous world of Iraq. By contrast, there's Jeremy Renner, the main focus of the film, whose need for adrenalin/heroism pushes him to take risks and increasingly stray from the military's prescribed techniques and methods. I don't come to the movies looking for realism, but I can't help but feel frustrated by the conflict here; while Renner is clearly not intended to be totally realistic, instead creating a complex character and using him to explore ideas about warfare and human nature, there's no denying that his actions (specifically a couple of off-base excursions) feel jarring and implausible, especially when contrasted to the gritty, brutal realities of the rest of the film. Had the film focused on one or the other - either entirely focused on bomb disposal or let the film be a more subjective, less "realistic" take on the war that followed Renner - it could have been a masterpiece. As it is, it's a solidly good film with two conflicting ideas that don't quite mesh together as well as hoped.

In which the world of Don Draper and Sterling Cooper continues to grow in complexity, depth, and impact. Season two of Mad Men picks up a little over a year after the end of season one, and Weiner and company use the gap to their advantage, introducing some ambiguity about what exactly happened during that time and how it's affected the characters, most notably Don (whose marriage seems more stable, if dull) and Peggy (whose reaction to the end of season one is never entirely clear until the very end of the season). But what's more compelling is the way the show weaves in and out of all of its characters, creating a world that feels incredible alive, with all the joy and pain that that brings. There's not a character/actor who doesn't bring their all here, from the main players to supporting roles, from Don's flirtation with a manager to Paul's pretentious desire to get involved with the civil rights movement. The show is pure 60s, but rather than going for the cheap irony, Weiner uses the limitations and realities of the period to frustrate and thwart his characters, allowing modern viewers to feel the full dramatic irony of knowing how differently these lives might have played out just a few decades later. It's hard to discuss the show, given how little plot there really is; what happens is all in degrees and intonations, as the show leaves much to the viewer to interpret and fill in the blanks, and to the actors to convey. In other words, it's incredibly smart television that takes on major ideas - from faith to responsibility to guilt to identity - and does so with incredible skill and power. Easily the best pure drama on television right now, and I can't wait to get into season 3 soon.

More inspired dark comedy from Ealing studios, the same people responsible for the outstanding Kind Hearts and Coronets. It would be easy to point out that Ladykillers doesn't work as well as Coronets, but is that really a fair comparison? It would definitely be minimizing all the things that Ladykillers does right, from the hilarious discussion over the best way to kill an old woman to the wonderful use of a train's smokestack to obscure body disposing. And while Ladykillers may only have one Alec Guinness instead of eight, it's still a hilarious turn and fun to watch. Ladykillers also keeps Coronets' cynical humor; in telling its story of a gang of criminals who plan the perfect heist and find themselves somehow at odds with a little elderly woman, the movie mixes gleefully morbid humor with a sad, knowing look at human greed and tendencies. It's a lot of fun, really, and if it doesn't compare to Coronets, well, there's an awful lot of movies you could say that about, too.

For whatever reason, horror seems to be the genre that most benefits from the direct-to-DVD dumping grounds. Ginger Snaps is a perfect example of this - in a just world, its smart, playful, complex take on werewolves as a metaphor for puberty and female sexuality would have gotten a wide release and stomped neutered garbage like New Moon. Sadly, that didn't happen, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't check this out. Much like Victorian literature used vampirism as a metaphor for sexuality, Ginger Snaps uses lycanthropy as a running commentary on/metaphor for everything from the onset of menstrual cramps and periods to the spouting of pubic hair. What's fascinating is how natural and smart the movie feels; it makes you wonder why this hasn't been run with this far in the past. Of course, an interesting idea only gets you so far; luckily, Ginger Snaps has so much more going for it, from its Cronenberg-like approach to body horror to a solid cast to a great sense of pacing. Does it stumble in the climax? Yeah...but name me a recent horror movie that hasn't at least a little. But it doesn't hurt this that much, and I can't tell any serious horror fan enough times to check it out.

I have to confess, I wasn't really looking that forward to watching Great Expectations. I'm not sure why - it just always struck me as a classic that I would be watching more out of obligation than enjoyment. And yet, I really liked this a lot. Having David Lean (pre-epic) at the direction doesn't hurt; he brings the same masterful handling of actors that he brought to Brief Encounter, but adds to that some absolutely outstanding visual work (courtesy of the Oscar-winning cinematographer) that creates some haunting scenes. What's more, Lean smartly pares down the story to the core essentials, but keeps all the depth and complexity of the characters present, trusting his actors to do some of the lifting. Somehow, miraculously, it all works beautifully. The story is absolutely engaging, beginning to end, and the characters unforgettably portrayed by everyone involved. Any residual gripes I have probably reside more in the source material (seriously, in what way is Estella lovable?). It's another classic that I now fully understand the reputation of, and I'm a little embarrassed that I was so reluctant.

There's absolutely no denying the remarkable visual style of Renaissance, an animated picture entirely created in literal black and white - there are no shades of gray here. (You can see the trailer here to get a sense of it.) But spectacle can only get you so far; ultimately, there has to be something else to get the viewer involved. So it's almost depressing how badly Renaissance fails on every imaginable level. If there's a cliche to be used, Renaissance drops it in. Stock characters? How about the loner cop who constantly defies his superiors but gets results? Stock plot? How about an evil corporation after the secret that could change the world? Hell, even the twists are about as boring and predictable as they come. And none of that even touches on the godawful writing or the phoned-in voice acting. The style of Renaissance really does look great, but the movie itself is an absolute chore to sit through, and I found myself constantly scoffing or rolling my eyes by the end, sometimes even calling lines before they were said. A waste of time on every level; watch the trailer, enjoy the style, and move on.

I really enjoyed Guy Ritchie's first two movies, which were nothing but big elaborate British crime capers, but done with such style and fun that it was hard not to have a blast watching them. Ever since then, Ritchie seems to have struggled, a decline that finally seemed to reverse itself with Sherlock Holmes. RocknRolla was Holmes's predecessor, and it marked a return to Ritchie's roots with its story of stolen real estate, malevolent Russian mobsters, a pair of colorful thugs, and a complex story involving double-crosses, a lot of money, and one very well-liked painting. Add to that a great cast, including Idris Elba from The Wire, Tom Wilkinson, Tom Hardy, Thandie Newton, and more, and you should have an unqualified success. And yet, while RocknRolla is entertaining enough, there's a distinct feeling that everyone is just going through the paces a little bit here. Ritchie's direction, once fresh and vibrant, feels like it's trying too hard, and no one apart from Wilkinson seems to play the part up enough. In the end, RocknRolla felt overlong, leaving me a little glad when it ended with its whimper. It wasn't bad, but it definitely feels like a retread, and it's nice to know that Ritchie found a new passion after this.

Up until the justly famous "Is it safe?" scene, Marathon Man is an absolutely outstanding example of 70s paranoia thrillers. The characters are richly drawn, the plot intriguing and moving like a rocket, the tension thick...it's a complete blast. Sadly, there's almost another hour of movie after that scene...and no one quite knew what to do with it. I don't remember much about the book, but I do remember it making a lot more sense than the movie, which ultimately degenerates into a bunch of great moments that don't add up to anything at all. Take, for example, the scene with Szell walking through the Jewish neighborhood. It's a great scene, and builds some nice tension, but there's no payoff and absolutely no connection to the rest of the film. Unfortunately, that's the story with most of the second half of the film. All those interesting character details from the first half? No payoff. The plot? Still muddled and confusing. It's all nicely shot and works as a collection of some great scenes, but it really falls apart in the second half.

Watching Rear Window for a second time doesn't dull any of its impact or greatness; if anything, it only allows you to explore all the themes and ideas in even greater detail. On a new watch, I was struck by how active and strong-willed the female roles were; so often, Hitchcock gets accused of using women as eye candy, and while there's obviously some of that in play here, it's fascinating how the roles are reversed. Of course, that could lead you into the whole sexual aspect of the story - how Stewart's photographer could be said to be impotent (which will give a whole new slant to the massive zoom lens he uses - overcompensation, anyone?) and can only watch others, living through their actions (again, look how often he brushes off Grace Kelly - and given how stunning she is here, there's gotta be something going on there). And that doesn't even get into the film's exploration of voyeurism or the way it indicts the audience as much as Jeff. All of that wouldn't matter if the film wasn't so brilliant, but luckily for us, it is. Watching it with my film club was a treat - they were a little unsure at the beginning, but by the last twenty minutes, they were about to lose their minds with tension. It was a complete blast, and getting to explore Hitchcock's complex, fully realized world was a welcome reminder of how great this one really is. One of the master's best films.

Widely regarded as one of the greatest films of all time, as well as the best film on directing, all I really knew about 8½ was its reputation and the general premise - that a famous director is struggling with his latest film as well as the meaning of his life. What I didn't know, and was overjoyed to find, was just how purely fun the whole thing is. 8½ is as much character study of Guido (the director) as portrait of filmmaking, but more than that, it's an exploration of the way we approach the world and the way we use fantasy both to escape the world and attempt to understand it. Blurring the lines between fantasy, memory, and reality, Fellini creates a world where the boundaries between those divisions are not only unnoticeable, but pointless - we're viewing the world through Guido's eyes, and even the distortions give us insight into his character (I loved Ebert's notice of the size of the portrait in the Catholic school and its significance). All of this wouldn't work if it took itself too seriously or overdramatized the pain of the artist (an idea that Barton Fink, whose inspiration from this film is massively evident, took and ran with), but Fellini does no such thing. He brings a joyful sense of nostalgia to the past, a wry sense of humor to the fantasy, and best of all, a truly winking smile to the audience about the film itself. It's an absolute joy from beginning to end, and while I don't know that it was what I expected, it was more fun than I ever dreamed. An absolute masterpiece whose reputation scared me off for too long.