A blog currently wondering which of the One Direction boys will take him home. Other obsessions: hot boys, Britney Spears, the Disney pop princesses, French New Wave cinema.
The first real dud of this project. This widely acclaimed French suspense thriller is neither suspenseful or thrilling as it tells the Hitchcockian story of an innocent mailman who winds up with a tape implicating the leader of a suspected sex trafficking organization. There are a couple of other subplots, including one about a bootleg recording the main character makes of his favorite opera diva's concert, and that's precisely the problem with Diva. When the film should be as sleek and to-the-point as possible, director Jean-Jacques Beineix drastically drags the film out 20-30 minutes longer than it needs to be. How are we supposed to be involved in this film when the main character is in no real danger until more than halfway into the runtime? Even when the "suspense" does amp up, it's neither exciting nor particularly clever; it's everything we have seen done better a million times before. It's particularly telling when the opera diva the title is referring to is referenced as being disagreeable having a volatile temper and we see neither during her entire, almost unnecessary, subplot. What's the point in having an exciting, electric diva and then forcing her to remain entirely calm and collected nearly the entire time? Just one of this misfire's many mistakes. D+
Best Known For: His performance in Christophe Honoré's Les Chansons d'Amour [Love Songs] (outside of France, anyways).
Welcome to my first post in this exciting countdown! Joining me today is mon ami Dave, famous for his world-class blog and Tumblr and we will be discussing up-and-coming French actor Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet.
Dame James: When did you first encounter Grégoire and, if it wasn't love at first sight, when did you fall in love with him?
Dave: I think it's probably standard for any Grégoire admirer that the first encounter was through Les chansons d'amour. Let's be honest, would he even touch this list without it? I mean, I DID see his arse in La princesse de Montpensier, but he really got the duff part there - sure, Gaspard Ulliel is hot too, but that princess really didn't seem to see what she was missing in her bed chambers, and the film agreed with her. Which is a large part of why it was so rubbish, I'd wager.
But back to those chansons. It was pretty much inevitable that I was going to fall over head over heels for the plucky, encouraging, adorably fluffy-haired gay boy whose pursuit of Louis Garrel might be creepy and perverted in someone else's hands, but who WOULDN'T want Grégoire pulling you by the hand into the sack? The scenes between Garrel and Grégoire are pretty much my ideal of love, and that's probably not very good for me since no one as beautiful exists, but it's nice to lose myself in the fantasy.
Dame James: No, I'd wager that Grégoire wouldn't have snuck in this list without the help of Les Chanson d'Amour but what a way to make a splash! I'm pretty sure I mentioned in my review of the film that he was, indeed, kinda creepy and stalker-ish but I'll be damned if he didn't make that desirable. And Grégoire, for once, made Garrel seem like a normal guy and not the sexed-up horn dog he is in nearly ever film I've ever seen him in.
I think a good portion of Grégoire's charm is, like you said, he (along with Garrel) represents an ideal love in Les Chansons d'Amour. He's not a walking sex god like Garrel, Ulliel or countless other French actors we've been accustomed to over the years. Grégoire has the "Léaud Factor"; he's adorable and charming precisely because of how "normal" he is and how much he appears to be a regular, everyday guy. His good looks are just the best bonus ever.
I am so glad that you brought up La Princesses de Montpensier because I was seriously going to bring it up for the "arse" factor. But since we've both seen it, I have to say I completely agree about your assessment of Grégoire's role in it. Neither the princess nor the film seem to realize that Grégoire was not exactly a terrible catch. Red Riding Hood is another recent example of this and I was just as dumbfounded at its insistence that Amanda Seyfried would not be the slightest bit attracted to Max Irons. I am grateful that we got to see his rear in Princesse but it was a terrible casting choice (and it was not the ONLY problem with that movie).
Silly question time! Since Grégoire starred in Les Chansons d'Amour, which translates to Love Songs, what love song would you like him to sing to you with his lovely voice? Oh, and I suppose we should talk about his singing voice being another reason why he's amazing.
Dave: I'll start with the final question. I was musing over this earlier, sure I'd never come up with a nice answer - but then, for whatever reason, Marilyn Monroe singing "I wanna be loved by you, just you, nobody else but you" came into my head. And I think it would be perfect. It totally fits the kind of breathy non-singing they do in Les chansons d'amour and it's the kind of thing Erwann (his character - I admit, I only know that because I have the film playing as I write this) would sing. Grégoire, naturally, has a lovely voice - kind of rich and tremulous - but I think it's the earnestness and sweetness he sings with that really makes their duets in particular so perfect.
Absolutely with you on how his normality is what makes him so charming. Garrel mocks Grégoire's Breton jumper and looks like his usual stylishly offbeat tousled-haired sex god self, but Grégoire just has overgrown hair and an oversized puffa jacket. He's the normal guy seeing sadness in the usually untouchable Garrel, and reaching out to him. So his obsessiveness never seems lecherous, because it seems full of such genuine concern. Their romantic scenes are so beautiful because they mix a teenage horniness with what is clearly genuine affection and caring instincts on Erwann's part. He's enthralled by Garrel, but never stops being concerned for his potential sadness.
Oh, and he does have a very nice arse.
Dame James: Oooh, I'm liking your love song answer! It's both a good song and perfect for Grégoire's voice. I'd go with "Stickwitu" by The Pussycat Dolls. I will concede that it's not nearly as brilliant a choice as yours, but I really dig that song and I think I'd die from happiness listening to him try to wrap his French tongue around such an Americanized expression like "stickwitu".
I feel terrible that we keep going on and on about Les Chansons d'Amour--and I do agree with your assessment of his and Garrel's relationship and why it's so fascinating--but not a bunch of his work has been made available in the US (or UK in your case, Dave), as far as I know. I have seen La Belle Personne but that was a horrendous waste of Grégoire's talent. Then again, aside from "Les Chansons d'Amour", Christophe Honoré really has reduced some quite amazing actors to being mind-blowingly godawful. Montpensier was also another waste of his talent, although, if you get the chance, fast forward about a half hour in and just watch Grégoire's arse. You won't be disappointed.
Then again, I think it's quite remarkable that we've both latched onto this actor just because of this one role. It's not every actor who can so firmly plant himself in the mind of many with just one performance, especially when they're acting with one of the five sexiest living French actors. For that alone, I will be a firm devotee of his. Any final thoughts, Dave? Also, have you seen any other work of his that you could recommend? I just added something called Black Heaven to my Netflix queue that sounded interesting.
Dave: I've not seen him in anything other than the two aforementioned, sadly. He seems to be in a lot of war films, they're the only other available features over here! Black Heaven sounds intriguing if almost sure to be terrible because it concerns video games.
But surely his moment is yet to come (well, his second moment). Personally I'd enjoy seeing him make his way around all five of the sexiest living French actors - maybe some sort of quadrilogy? As long as America doesn't get its hands on him, he needs to stay adorably, naively, beautifully French.
Because Americans tend to ruin everything that was once good, I totally agree he should stay in France. And what do you all think? Are you as smitten with Grégoire as Dave and I are or he is just another young French actor (quelle horror!)
Last Year at Marienbad was exactly the sort of pretentious, "high intellect" art film I expected Alain Resnais' earlier Hiroshima, Mon Amour to be but was not. The film has some gorgeous photography, a bombastic organ score that almost makes Inception's look puny in comparison and at least one thrilling sequence that makes its 90 minute runtime much easier to sit through. All that aside, Marienbad is basically a film about nothing, even moreso than Seinfeld was a show about nothing: a man meets a woman at a hotel, tells her they met last year in Marienbad (or Frederiksbad, although it doesn't really matter) and that they had made plans to run off together a year later. The woman spends the next 90 minutes deciding whether or not she had, in fact, met this man, as he tells her about scattered memories of the two of them from their time together. By the end of the film, it doesn't even matter whether or not they had met as the woman must now decide whether or not she will leave her husband and run off with this man. This renders the entire film before it pointless, although many high-and-mighty critics may argue that it was never really the point of the film. A good point, as there are a high number of excellent films that reveal much more than a threadbare plot suggests. But, as critic Pauline Kael suggests in her amazing essay "The Come-Dressed-As-The-Sick-Soul-of-Europe Parties," "It is one thing to cut out the unnecessary mechanical transitions of film (as Godard did in Breathless), but Resnais cuts away something that is basic to drama--our caring about the characters and what they do." Who ultimately cares if these people had met in Marienbad or Frederiksbad or wherever else? And who ultimately cares if they do run off together? The man and the woman are meant to be universal characters, but that doesn't mean they have to be so universally one-note and dull. This is the fate Resnais worked so diligently to escape with Hiroshima simply because you cared what happened to Emmanuelle Riva's character over the course of the film. In the end, Marienbad, with its haunting score and searing camera movements, ultimately becomes an experiment in film technique. Or a failed attempt at representing free-flowing memories in film form. Perhaps. Either way, it doesn't really matter. C
This seems like such an arbitrary distinction, particularly for someone like me who watches a lot of movies. With that being said, I have to go with Masculin féminin, my favorite Godard film. I know that calling a Godard film "adorable" and "cuddly" seems like an incredibly wild stretch, but with Jean-Pierre Léaud in the lead role, how could it be anything else?
French New Wave icon Jean-Pierre Léaud has been my favorite actor for a couple years now and this is his greatest work. The film is sadly unavailable (legally) but it is well worth seeking out (illegally). The Mother and the Whore reveals a newfound depth from an actor we thought we all knew.
I consider a "rental" any movie I have seen in 2010 that wasn't actually released in 2010 (or, in the case of a few films, some films released in 2009). Although there weren't as many gems as there were last year, the quality of these films is very nearly equal to those. Here's what I thought was the best, in order from top to bottom:
A The Mother and the Whore (Jean Eustache, 1973) The grand finale to the French New Wave movement. Eustache and star Jean-Pierre Léaud evoke both the talkiness of Godard and the romance of Truffaut in this evocative, emotive drama of love. Léaud's shining moment as an actor; some of his monologues would put more "traditional" actors to shame.
The Trial (Orson Welles, 1962) A two-hour nightmare: perfectly captures the increasing confusion and insanity while never forgetting the sense of dread and doomed fate that hangs over Anthony Perkins' Josef K.
Twist and Shout (Bille August, 1984) Two Danish best friends--one emotionally damaged, the other in love--deal with racing hormones while balancing adult-sized burdens, not limited to pregnancy, a mental mother and an abusive father. Twist and Shout sounds unremarkable, even slightly rote, but sensitive direction from August makes you care deeply about these damaged people. (More on Twist and Shout)
Applause (Rouben Mamoulian, 1929) The first proof that these new-fangled "talking" pictures may prove to be just as fruitful artistically speaking as their silent predecessors. (More on Applause)
Z (Costas-Gavras, 1969) Costas-Gavras' breakthrough film is the rare political thriller that manages to be both an intelligent, indicting commentary on the then and now political climate and compulsively watchable entertainment. The Raoul Coutard cinematography, with his usual palette of severe reds and blues, and Jean-Louis Trintignant, who manages to make his blue sunglasses an extension of his character, make this high-charged film cool.
A- Le Samouraï (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1967) Speaking of cool, Alain Delon is the very definition with his perfectly positioned hat and icy cold demeanor in this stripped down, both dialogue-wise and visually, gangster film.
Another Woman (Woody Allen, 1988) Gena Rowlands plays Woody Allen with surprisingly fantastic results in this sober, introspective drama more in line with Interiors than Hannah and Her Sisters.
Claudine (John Berry, 1974) Diahann Carroll and James Earl Jones tackle "the race problem" in 1970's New York with the kind of head-on confrontation of the issues and stylized delivery more associated with sketch comedy (the Bunifa sketches on MadTV, for one) than the usual race film we think of then and now.
Tout Va Bien (Jean-Luc Godard and Jean-Pierre Gorin, 1972) Godard and Gorin's call to arms in a post-'68 France is one of the most reactionary films I've ever seen. After watching the film, I wanted to riot in the streets and protest everything that's wrong with this country. Such is the power of Godard when he's in the right mood.
No End in Sight (Charles Ferguson, 2007) Nothing in No End in Sight is exactly a breaking news headline when viewed in 2010, but considering the film came out in 2007, it's almost downright prophetic.
They Won't Forget (Mervyn LeRoy, 1937) A white Northerner is accused of murdering one of his Southern students. The prosecutor has very little in the way of tangible evidence so he turns the town violently against the accused, eventually turning the case into a nationwide battle between the good ole boys of the south and the uppity Northerners. This Warner Brothers (surprise, surprise) flick is one of the most damning and truly progressive films of the entire Studio Era.
The Sundowners (Fred Zinnemann, 1960) The rare family drama that works as both a 60's-era big budget crowdpleaser and an introspective look at the inner-workings of an atypical family. The characters are just as full of disappointments as they are triumphs.
Edvard Munch (Peter Watkins, 1974) A biopic of the now famous painter who battled a hostile art community who refused to see his work as legitimate "art." Told in a highly unusual way, Watkins' intense stylization often walks the fine line of discomfort as Geir Westby's Munch often stares right into the camera as if he's staring right into the audience's soul.
The Collector (William Wyler, 1965) Terence Stamp falls in love with Samantha Eggar so he does what any other normal male would do in such a predicament: he kidnaps her, giving her anything she wants while keeping her locked up in his basement. Stamp is a great addition to the oeuvre of Emotionally Damaged Boys and the film's complicated and often shocking intertwining of sex and slavery is shocking and fascinating at the same time.
The Happy Ending (Richard Brooks, 1969) I feel like my love for this film has died slightly in the months since seeing it, but I can still appreciate Brooks and star Jean Simmons baring their souls and real-life marriage for everyone to see.
Best of B+ Shut Up and Sing (Barbara Kopple and Cecilia Peck, 2006) The fall and rebirth of the Dixie Chicks. Uncomfortable, often times provocative, this documentary gets into nitty gritty of dealing with a PR nightmare and how to retool a once lucrative career because of one infamous sentence.
The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (Tony Richardson, 1962) I hate the British New Wave, but Richardson's film is an anomaly for the time period: it's more The 400 Blows than Tom Jones. Tom Courtenay, playing the Antoine Doinel of this film, is slowly becoming a favorite actor of mine.
A Hatful of Rain (Fred Zinnemann, 1957) Zinnemann again, this time with a Broadway adaptation depicting the life of a heroin junkie, his wife, his brother and the horrible circle of co-dependency they live in day after day. Tony Franciosa got the Oscar nom back in '57, but Don Murray and Eva Marie Saint, as the husband and wife, respectively, are the real knockouts.
The Cell (Tarsem Singh, 2000) I never thought this would be my kind of movie in a million years, but Tarsem's heavy, lush visuals are jaw-droppingly good. And it contains the best performance from J. Lo we're ever likely to see; her facial expression the moment she awakes from the killer's psyche still gives me chills.
King Rat (Bryan Forbes, 1965) Bryan Forbes, director of such underseen "women's films" like The L-Shaped Room and The Whisperers, tackles men in a POW camp and achieves the same results he did with the women. The film chronicles how these men slowly start to lose their humanity in an artificial world where anything goes and you have to do anything it takes to stay alive. Tom Courtenay, as the uptight British officer trying his damnedest to be an honorable soldier but slowly realizing it may not be worth it, is once again a treat in this film, but George Segal and James Fox as amoral officers who seek control of the camp (and may or may not have a homoerotic vibe around them) are just as great.
Jurassic Park (Steven Spielberg, 1993) Somehow, I've managed to either to go 15 or so years since seeing this film or never seeing at all. Even more surprising was the film itself, with Spielberg at the top of his Movies as Entertainment game.
Last night, I caught the French film import du jour, Mia Hansen-Love's The Father of My Children, and I was far from impressed. The film is one of those movies where if it was made in English, no one would give a shit about it, but since it's spoken in a foreign tongue everyone immediately respects it. The story concerns a film producer whose production company is in massive debt with no way out. He tries to hide his concerns from his wife and three daughters, but, eventually, he can't anymore and spills everything to his wife. She tries to comfort him to no avail. The next morning, in an act of madness, he shoots himself in the head. The last hour of the film chronicles the rest of the family's attempts to overcome this tragedy. Tears are shed, shouting matches are had and dark family secrets are uncovered. If all of this sounds familiar, it all is and that's precisely where the problem lies. Everything about The Father of My Children is nicely done but there is a complete lack of ambition to push outside the boundaries of what you would expect from a film of this nature. The family is all lovey-dovey in the way families only in the movies are. And, even when their world is crumbling, there is no backlash, no sense that even for a second this might cripple them even for a brief period of time. You know the family is going to recover and that's that. Critics, like the one who wrote the blurb featured at the top of this poster on the left, praised The Father of My Children for its lack of sentimentality, as if being sentimental is the death knell for the movies. Sure, the film didn't need to be as sentimental as something like The Blind Side (few movies do), but a tad more dramatic tension, which could manifest itself as "sentimental," between the characters and their situation would have made for a better film. Instead, especially during that last hour, The Father of My Children flits around between various plot points, including the daughter finding out about her father's love child from before he married his mother, without ever coming to any sort of catharsis or reason of interest. When the daughter eventually meets the mother of her father's son and they talk for a bit where the mother reveals that her son and his father never really got along. As soon as that tidbit is thrown out there, this subplot is thrown out as quickly as it was brought up. Wouldn't the daughter be curious why the son doesn't get along with the father she loved so well? Is she at all curious about seeing another side to him? Apparently not, even though I assumed that was the whole point of bringing this whole illegitimate child up in the first place. I guess Hansen-Love wasn't interested in exploring that and that's her prerogative; what she was going for, however, totally escapes me. C+
All throughout the movie, I kept thinking about what a Hollywood remake of this film would look like. Sure, I mentioned that The Father of My Children is, essentially, a Hollywood film already, but there are moments that are far too subtle and un-histrionic for a major Hollywood tearjerker that would need to be amplified so us dumb Americans would get it. Actually, with just a couple of changes, I could see this as an Oscar contender for one of Hollywood's A-list actresses. Sure, the original French film is more about the father, but men aren't allowed to be emotional in Hollywood films so the actress will have to do all the heavy lifting. I ran through a score of capable actresses for my imaginary remake, but the one who made the most sense was good ole Sandy Bullock. With this film we'd get a Best of Both Worlds from her. In the first half we would get the fun, lovable, eternally charming Sandy that makes her so appealing in her romantic comedies. Then, in the second half, after her husband dies, Sandy the Strong Mama will come out and blow us all away. When she's upset, she's really going to be upset. When she has to put on a brave face for her girls, she make it the best damn brave face you've ever seen. When she faces the prospect of losing her husband's company, she's going to save that company even if it takes every last bit of her already waning strength left. When her daughter finds out about her husband's son, Sandy is going to bring everyone together and convince her daughter (and, therefore, the son, too) what a great man her dad was and the scene will end with a big emotional group hug that will bond them permanently. Okay, so maybe I'm being a little glib here, but the point still remains: if Sandy Bullock wants Oscar #2, she needs to get on an English-language remake of this movie and change a couple of minor details to suit both her persona and Oscar's taste. I think it can happen so let's make it work, people!
I'm all for critics having a differing opinion from my own; in fact, I relish it. Our differences are what makes the world go 'round, etc. But when you have an opinion and either can't defend it or your defense makes no bloody sense, that's when we have a problem. I recently read this article at the Guardian about the French New Wave that got my blood boiling. Look, I'm a self-admitted New Wave fanboy who has seen more of Godard and Truffaut's filmographies than any sane person double my age should, but I realize that the films aren't for everyone. However, when I'm reading a dissenting opinion, especially on a site as well known as the Guardian, I'd expect the author to offer a more substantial defense of their opinion instead of a hacky piece you would expect from a fifth-rate, attention-seeking blogger. Let's take a look at some passages from the article and dissect them, shall we?
"There are few images more enduringly cool than that of Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg strolling nonchalantly down the Champs-Élysées in Jean-Luc Godard's À Bout de Souffle. Never mind that the scene did not actually appear in the film itself..."
...Except that it does. When the author was allegedly watching Breathless, were they actually paying attention or were they so distracted by how "awful" the whole experience was they had momentary amnesia?
"But here's the thing: I don't actually like the New Wave. There, I've said it. All that indecision and self-reflection – a sort of Twilight for grown-ups, only with paler stars and better fashion sense."
Now this is the point of no return for me. It's one thing to not like something, but it's another to compare the French New Wave movement with a vampire series aimed at teenagers for the dual purpose of appearing to be hip culturally speaking and gaining notoriety for making outlandish statements. If she could possibly defend this statement, I wouldn't have a problem with it. But the fact that the author says it, in the middle of a single paragraph for emphasis, without adding any support makes her lose credibility. If the indecision she is referring to is the Jean Seberg character's inability to decide whether or not to turn in her hoodlum boyfriend in Breathless, there is no logical way you can compare that to Bella trying to decide between Jacob and Edward in Twilight. Seberg's indecisiveness lasts 10 minutes, if that, of a 90 minute movie; Bella's is stretched out over two 2+ hour films. Yeah, real comparable. As for self-reflection, I won't deny that Truffaut and Godard, in particular, had an affinity towards characters who liked to talk a lot and mostly about themselves. I can see how this would be dull to non-fans, but these moments of reflection are rarely on the level of stupidity that Bella and Edward's endless prattling about their love for each other and their vampire problems are.
"I don't deny that Cahiers du Cinéma directors were geniuses of a sort, film critics who saw an overblown and worn-out Hollywood machine and decided to do something about it. When it came out in 1960, À Bout de Souffle stuck two fingers up to the studios still trying to pump money into soulless epics such as Cleopatra."
Wrong again. Unlike a lot of critics, the Cahiers critics were huge supporters of the American film industry and of certain directors like Hitchcock, Hawks and Ray that many important American critics completely ignored. No doubt they would have had problems with something as bloated as Cleopatra, but they saw mainstream French cinema as the big problem that needed fixing.
"The problem is the characters: Michel, with his obsession with Humphrey Bogart, Patricia with her pseudo-intellectualism. They always felt fatally underdeveloped, pastiches of their predecessors and less exciting than successors such as Bonnie and Clyde."
To complain that the characters of the New Wave films were underdeveloped is to completely miss the point of the movement. In Breathless, Godard wasn't particularly interested in exploring these characters; they were mere figures to not only hang his ideas about love, life and the movies on but also as a way to experiment with the stylization that eventually changed filmmaking. If the characters had been "developed," there would have been no room for Godard's manic jump cuts or to explore his obsession with the movies. He would have spent the entire time trying to get to the bottom of these characters. Also, did it ever occur to the author that maybe what we see in Breathless is the extent of the depth of these characters? Both Michel and Patricia are soulless creatures, children of Marx and Coca-Cola who have no depth beyond their silly lives. I'm not sure what the author was expecting, but I doubt Godard would have cared to show it in his movie. The author then goes on to cite the schoolteacher in The 400 Blows as another example of "underdeveloped" characters in New Wave movies. Wow, way to pick on a tertiary character and use it as a main point in your thesis. How about picking on one of the main characters in that film? Oops, wait, you can't, because, between Truffaut and the actors themselves, Antonie, his mother and father are all well-rounded and fully shaped characters.
"Both Godard and Truffaut were at one point on board to direct Bonnie and Clyde, a film that undeniably owes their influence a great deal. But had they done so, would Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway have spent time debating their lovelife instead of shooting up Middle America? Arthur Penn...understood that American audiences could only take so much soul-searching. They were ready for action!"
Has the author seen Bonnie and Clyde recently? I actually watched it again for the first time in years the other day and I was actually surprised at how little of the film revolves around guns and bank robberies. Sure, the shootouts are probably the most famous sections of the film, but a good portion of the film is devoted to exploring Bonnie and Clyde as romantic folk heroes. They do spend a lot of time "debating their lovelife," whether it's in the form of Clyde's impotence or Bonnie's unhappiness being surrounded by Buck, Blanche and C.W. 24/7. It may not be as hardcore as in any French New Wave film, but it exists and I resent the fact that the author suggests that Bonnie and Clyde is nothing more than a shoot 'em up action film. Those last two lines in particular, ripe with irony and smugness, really annoy me.
"Truffaut is the master of self-indulgent film-making. In Les 400 Coups, Antoine, the neglected child, is undeniably cute. But how can his audience ever forget that this is Truffaut they are watching, that it is Truffaut again in Jules et Jim, that it is always Truffaut. Like Tim Burton today, Truffaut needed a good editor to tell him when his labour of love had become dull for everyone else." Again, this is another matter of personal preference. Where one person sees "self-indulgent filmmaking," another (such as moi) sees Truffaut as a filmmaker with the self-awareness to find a little bit of himself in every single project and the ability to make these projects an extension of himself as a human. There's no doubt that Truffaut had an overriding theme that pervades nearly every single film of his. I call this thesis "Love at all costs," but he never explored this the same way twice. The Antoine Doinel films, The Story of Adèle H., Mississippi Mermaid, The Bride Wore Black and Day for Night all revolve around this theme yet you'd be hard-pressed to find another commonality between them. And that last dig, comparing Truffaut to Tim Burton, was unnecessary and another example of the author making comparisons just to be controversial. Even Jules et Jim, which I'm admittedly not a big fan of, has a lot more merit as art than Burton's silly but empty versions of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Sweeney Todd.
I could probably go on and on ranting about this dumbass article, but I suppose I've made my point clear enough. Like I said in the beginning, I'm all for people have differing opinions from my own and I truly believe that not every film "classic" is for everyone. But when you're trying to write a thought piece on an entire film movement, it's best to use more than a couple examples to prove your point. Based on this article, my guess is the author has only seen Breathless, The 400 Blows and Jules et Jim and decided that that was enough to make an all-encompassing opinion about the movement. This would be the same as me writing something, positive or negative, about the German New Wave of the 70's having only seen a couple Fassbinder movies. Not everyone has to be in love with the French New Wave, but your negative opinions at least need be, I don't know, intelligent and supported.
Hoosiers (David Anspaugh, 1986): Charisma. Some actors have it, some don't. Will Smith is often cited as one of those who has "it," but I find that he doesn't have a hundredth of the personality and screen presence that someone like Gene Hackman regularly has. In a film like Hoosiers, the classic tale of a small town high school basketball team making it all the way to the state finals, no acting in the general sense of the word is really required. The passionate, inspirational coach archetype relies mostly on an actor with a strong personality, and Hackman has that in spades. Feisty and headstrong, he makes Hoosiers a pleasure to watch, fighting against the townspeople who don't think he's an adequate coach in the same way his team fights all the way to the finals. Everything about Hoosiers is simple, which works to the film's advantage as it doesn't have to worry about over-the-top dramatics and wayward plots distracting from the central David and Goliath story. Director David Anspaugh works wonders at creating tension and excitement in the basketball games, even when we already knew the outcome. My only major complaint with the film is how it doesn't incorporate the team and their individual personalities into the narrative. This is especially problematic when it comes to the character of Jimmy, the star athlete who eventually saves Hackman's position at the school by deciding to rejoin the team if they will keep him as the coach. When he does rejoin the team, the team starts winning and rallying toward their eventual championship. By presenting him as the team's saving grace, however, Hoosiers seems to undermine its main point that Hackman is the one who brings this team together. We never really understand Jimmy's motivation nor what he brings to the team that Hackman couldn't. Jimmy's selfishness in the final moments, wanting to make the winning shot after Hackman suggests that they pass the ball to someone else to fake out the other team, goes against everything Hackman has taught them during the course of the film. By going along with it, Hackman and Hoosiers make a fundamental mistake that they were both too wise to make in the first place. B-
Un Prophète (Jacques Audiard, 2010): By the end of Un Prophète, I was convinced that we had already found the most overrated film of the year. Not that there was anything bad about Un Prophète specifically, rather, I couldn't figure out why this simple prison drama with traces of a top-notch Scorsesian gangster film was so universally acclaimed. The film isn't a social commentary on the inhumanity of prisons or the sociological reasons why people become prisoners. Actually, on the surface, Un Prophète's closest descendant is the 1950 prison drama Caged in which Eleanor Parker comes into prison a good girl and methodically works her way out a morally dubious woman. With this odd list of influences, none of which the film does better than average with, I was ready to write Un Prophète off. Then, Jose patiently explained to me the films many influences (Albert Camus, for one) and symbolism (a lot of Muslim imagery and idolatry)--many of which are outlined in his stellar review here--and all the adoration and praise started to make sense. But this is precisely where Un Prophète's problem lies: what good is all of the symbolism and referencing if you can't make heads or tails of them while watching? I respect Audiard's balls in making a film which doesn't even attempt to catch you up and explain what his images mean, but I shouldn't be expected to be a scholar in Camus or the Qur'an to get the deeper meaning. Although I now understand and respect why all of Un Prophète's admirers are so passionate about the film, I simply can't stand back and admit that this one wowed me. B
The Vanishing American (George B. Seitz, 1925): If you think African Americans and gays have it rough in Hollywood, try looking at the history of Native Americans in the movies. Back during the Golden Age, they were nothing more than wild savages ready to get shot down by the hero in a Western. Once the era of political correctness came in, aside from Sacheen Littlefeather, Native Americans were pretty much non-existent except for the occasional indie film. Knowing this history, it is surprising that The Vanishing American, a film that not only shows the hardships of the "modern" Native American but has the balls to blame white Europeans for these hardships, was made and well-received in 1925. The film begins with a bit of visual history about where the Native Americans came from and how they came to be in the situation they are today. It's a bold move, but the time spent here shows the audience how these first people in America were here for generations upon generations before any white people showed up to steal their land. We then move to the modern day story, which takes place on an Indian reservation out West. Nophaie (Richard Dix), one of the most respected Native Americans on the reservation, begins a will-they-or-won't-they relationship with a white schoolteacher, but this is hardly the strength of the film. The Vanishing American's assets lie in the fact it presents such a progressive view of history and contemporary issues to the point that even in 2010 it's hard to find any faults in logic or ideology. Everything feels as fresh as if it were made today and that's not easy to say from a period of film history which also brought us The Birth of a Nation. B+
The French New Wave was a film movement in early 1960’s France that broke all of the conventions of traditional movie making. Sick of prestigious studio films whose sole aim was to make money rather than present a distinct point of view, the New Wave filmmakers created films they wanted to see. Influenced by the Italian neo-realism movement, these directors worked outside the confines of a studio set, shooting right on the streets of Paris with natural lighting and handheld cameras. And Jean-Pierre Léaud was there right from the start: he was 14 when he played Antoine Doinel, the troubled and misguided youth in François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows, easily the greatest film about childhood ever made. The image of the New Wave, at least to the established guard, was that of a “youth gone wild”--both Truffaut and Godard, the movement’s two iconoclasts, were in their late 20’s/early 30’s when they began making films--and Léaud became a child of this New Wave. Not theatrically trained, he possessed a certain type of naturalism that worked magically with the sort of world the French New Wave sought to create. With no prior experience, he learned as he went, completely at the will of the director. And was he ever popular: between 1959 and 1973, he worked with cinematic giants such as Truffaut, Godard, Jacques Rivette, Jean Eustache, Pier Paolo Pasolini and Bernardo Bertolucci. Who besides Nicole Kidman can boast that wide of a variety of auteurs in such a short period?
One of the reasons Léaud was so popular with all of these directors was the fact that he was basically a blank canvas to be used in any way the director wanted. That’s not necessarily a slight against him; actually, it’s one of the things I find most fascinating about him as an actor. Armed with an array of mannerisms, both vocal (a tendency to shout at the camera like an impassioned politician) and physical (Kristen Stewart of Twilight fame obviously took notes on the way he runs his fingers through his hair in most of his films), that would limit most actors, Léaud was able to use them to his advantage. These mannerisms are present in nearly all of his films, yet he creates radically different characters that work in their respective film. With the director providing a strong enough context for Léaud and his characteristics, he was able to play both the happy-go-lucky youth in Stolen Kisses and the radical, blindingly head-strong Communist in La Chinoise without anyone questioning his acting ability.
His lack of pretense made him the perfect actor for an auterial-driven movement like the French New Wave (and the period of European filmmaking that followed). Films like Godard's experimental Le Gai Savoir and Pasolini's Porcile are not actor-driven pieces and only require a presence like Léaud's to deliver the director's true message. With Le Gai Savoir, he is literally nothing more than a figurehead as Godard's infamous "return to zero" abandons all notions of not only plot but sets, props and normal sound cues. The film is fascinating in parts, frustrating in others, but, outside of maybe a single one-liner, Léaud's performance is hardly the first thing you think of in hindsight. Porcile is a bit kinder to Léaud in terms of giving him a plot to work around, however, Pasolini's desire to shock is the real star of the film; the idea of a fresh-faced young kid like Léaud being a sexual deviant is explored far more than Léaud's character itself. How many actors of Léaud's generation, both American and European, can you imagine regularly allowing themselves to be reduced to mere decoration for a director's often times uncompromising and controversial vision? Very few, that's how many. Even Léaud's compatriots from the early days of the New Wave, like Belmondo, Karina and Seberg, had moved on to more mainstream pictures by this time.
The dichotomy between the Truffaut Léaud and the Godard Léaud is perhaps one of the most speculated about portions of his filmography. I once read somewhere that Léaud saw Truffaut as his father and Godard as his uncle and, judging by his appearances in each of their films, that analogy makes sense in more ways than one. Truffaut often cast him as an extension of himself, a hopeless romantic searching for the perfect love in an imperfect world. You can almost see his role for Léaud as a way of “teaching” him life lessons that a father should. In Antoine et Colette, Truffaut is teaching Léaud about the pain of unrequited love. The rejection may hurt, he seems to be saying, but there are plenty of fish in the sea. Bed and Board, the fourth installment of the Antoine Doinel series, seems to be showing him that relationships are never easy and comfortable grooves are never permanent. Godard, on the other hand, was the cool uncle showing Léaud things that his father wouldn’t find appropriate. Masculin féminin seems to be a fun, almost light springboard to the radical politics that invaded both their later collaborations and personal lives. Week End finds Léaud dressed up in Napoleonic garb reciting endless political nonsense in a field where no one can hear him, something Truffaut, no doubt, would have found too preposterous for him to do in one of his films.
Over the years, Léaud found ways to subtly portray each of these men who were so instrumental in shaping his career. As a child of the New Wave, he was often called upon in his later career to portray a figurehead, a relic even, of that era. His identity was so tied up with the New Wave, Léaud's presence alone could immediately bring the viewer into the era. In Bertolucci's 1972 film Last Tango in Paris, Léaud portrayed the boyfriend of Maria Schneider before she hooked up with Marlon Brando, a New Wave filmmaker embarking on a new project. If anything, his performance here seems to be a riff on the Godard persona. Léaud's character is completely pre-occupied with his film and everything in his life comes second to capturing his footage his precise way. Many of his conversations with Schneider end with Léaud launching into a long, rambling monologue about the nature of cinema and its connection to love and life, which sounds exactly like something Godard, using Léaud as his stand in, would have made him recite in one of their films together. In short, the character is a bit of a jerk who holds film and intellectualism above everything in his life--even personal relationships. The reason for this blunt characterization may lie in the fact that, as Truffaut hinted in his correspondence from the time, there might have a riff between the two over some personal matter.
When Léaud took on Truffaut in Olivier Assayas' Irma Vep, he was considerably kinder in his portrayal. The two of them always had a complicated, complex, indescribable relationship, one that extends beyond the typical director/muse relationship. After The 400 Blows, Truffaut, for all intents and purposes, became Léaud's father and they became mutually dependent on each other--both financially and emotionally. The two became so intertwined (at least in my mind) that, looking at pictures of them over the years, they almost seem to have merged into one indiscernible being, Persona style. When Truffaut died in 1983, Léaud was a complete wreck. Irma Vep seems to be his way of both working through his feelings about Truffaut's death while also honoring his memory in an interesting way. The director he plays here is a New Wave filmmaker who hasn't been successful, either financially or artistically, in a number of years. His new project is a remake of the 1915 silent serial Irma Vep and, as he has decided to shoot the film without sound, he is quite excited about the project's possibilities. As the film is shooting, however, people around him are not enthused about what has been shot; it looks like this project will add to his list of recent disappointments. The parallels to Truffaut's later career are unmistakable: after redefining cinema in the early 60's, he spent the rest of his career defending his work when he moved beyond that style of filmmaking. But the relationship between Léaud and Maggie Cheung, the actress chosen to portray Irma, is perhaps the most touching aspect of this homage to Truffaut. The two of them have only known each other for a short period of time, yet an almost unspeakable bond develops between them. There is no outpouring of emotion but, rather, a silent trust that can only come about between a director and his actor. When Léaud is carted off to a rest home after a mental breakdown, Cheung is genuinely saddened at the loss of this mentor.
What is remarkable about Léaud and his career is that even after fifty years in the business, we know relatively nothing about his personal life. There are no major biographies on him and even minor glimpses into his life have been prevented from going public (all of his correspondence with Truffaut was noticeably absent in a publication from a few years ago). This makes him all the more fascinating because the only way we can glean anything from him is through his performances. As a director’s lump of clay, however, to mold into whatever he needs for the film, we do not really get a sense of who Léaud is on screen either. Therefore, Jean-Pierre Léaud is one of the few movie stars who is completely impenetrable. Some may find this lack of connection off-putting, but I find this rarity to be something that deserves praise and contemplation. And in today’s digital age, will we ever find a star completely guarded as Jean-Pierre Léaud again?
20. Bamboozled (2000) Director: Spike Lee Starring: Damon Wayans, Jada Pinkett Smith, Mos Def
Some people are put off by Spike Lee going off the rails (especially during the ending) with this dead-on satire of race and American television. I can see where those people are coming from, but I have to say Bamboozled's tendency to veer towards the erratic is more interesting than something technically perfect like 25th Hour which lacks a certain something special. Lee's ballsiness to tackle the painful history of blackface and minstrel shows and then turn it into a modern day critique on the connection between racism and social fads is something we should cherish and celebrate.
19. City of God (2003) Director: Fernando Meirelles Starring: Alexandre Rodrigues, Leandro Firmino
A fascination with all things Meirelles was quickly born the day I saw City of God for the first time. His mix of realism, documentary-style aesthetics and a preference for rich, complex narratives are the perfect match for my usual taste in movies.
18. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007) Director: Andrew Dominik Starring: Casey Affleck, Brad Pitt, Sam Rockwell, Mary Louise Parker
A visually stunning, nearly three hour Western about the final years of outlaw Jesse James and his relationship with eventual murderer Robert Ford doesn't sound like something I would usually enjoy. But, lo and behold, this movie cast a spell over me, entrancing me from the opening image to the final frame. Brad Pitt is, if nothing, solid and steady as a Jesse James struggling with getting older and keeping his place in the world. Casey Affleck, however, is the one who really makes the film, using his in-bred awkwardness and uneasy speaking voice as the vital starting off point for his characterization of Robert Ford as a love struck young man hoping to get in good with Jesse and eventually become him. Without a doubt, it's the best performance of the entire decade.
17. Dogville (2004) Director: Lars von Trier Starring: Nicole Kidman, Patricia Clarkson, Paul Bettany, Lauren Bacall
Lars von Trier's uncompromising and scathing attack against everything American, complete with no sets and a bare minimum amount of props, really shouldn't be as interesting or captivating as it ultimately is. Seeing Nicole Kidman's (in what is far and away her best performance) eventual fall from charity case to town slave is a harrowing experience. Only good ole Lars, the sadistic bastard he is, would be ballsy enough to make a movie about it.
16. Hairspray (2007) Director: Adam Shankman Starring: Nikki Blonsky, John Travolta, Michelle Pfeiffer, James Marsden
"Again, again!" my friend and I shouted at the projectionist during the ending credits of Adam Shankman's adaptation of the Broadway phenomenon both times we saw it in theatres together. I don't know how Shankman does it, but he has somehow crafted a film so infectious, so bubbly, so bright that you can't help but want to watch it over and over again. I still think screenwriter Leslie Dixon is the uncredited hero of the film, perfectly adapting the tricky Broadway staging to suit the needs of the film medium. With so many other musicals this decade slavishly devoted to original Broadway casts, staging and directing, Hairspray is refreshing in the respect that it has fun reveling in the fact that it's a movie rather than stuck on the stage. Bonus points for Nikki Blonsky, one of the best acting finds of the decade, and for providing me the perfect vehicle to start my lusting for both James Marsden (I could use a stiff one, Corny!) and Zac Efron (you are also the fella's choice).
Sexual abuse affects the lives of two Midwest teens in two drastically different yet equally destructive ways: one (Gordon-Levitt) becomes a gay hustler Gus Van Sant would lust over while the other (Corbett) becomes obsessed with UFOs. Raw and uncompromising, Araki's film makes the sexual abuse of children never less than horrifying, yet never comes close to the point of exploitation. Completely shocking and disgusting but never distasteful: now there's a combo you don't see every day.
14. Notes on a Scandal (2006) Director: Richard Eyre Starring: Dame Judi Dench, Cate Blanchett, Bill Nighy
One of the most intelligently made camp films ever made. Screenwriter Patrick Marber crafts an unique thriller out of the story of one lonely spinster becoming obsessed with her female co-worker. Dame Judi Dench, always a treat even in movies as middling as Chocolat and Mrs. Henderson Presents, really challenges herself here, focusing on the damaged, lonely woman underneath the twisted villain.
13. Ocean's 11 (2001) Director: Steven Soderbergh Starring: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Julia Roberts
Ocean's 11, with its slick production, all-star cast and obvious intentions of being a big popcorn hit, is not normally something I would particularly enjoy. Soderbergh, however, captures something very rare in the movies: coolness. Clooney and Pitt, decked out in stylish Italian suits and radiating old-school movie star charisma, lead their rag tag collection of criminals to pull the perfect casino heist with just the right amount of wit, sexiness and suspense.
12. Rachel Getting Married (2008) Director: Jonathan Demme Starring: Anne Hathaway, Rosemarie DeWitt, Bill Irwin, Debra Winger
A recovering addict returns home to her dysfunctional family for her sister's upcoming wedding. Sounds familiar, right? In Rachel Getting Married, all notions of familiarity are thrown out the window. Channeling Robert Altman rather than your typical familial drama, Demme spends almost uncomfortable amounts of time on scenes like the rehearsal dinner, getting to core what makes this family tick. The acting is top notch all-around, but the revelation is truly Anne Hathaway, proving that after steadily working her way up through Havoc, and Brokeback Mountain and The Devil Wears Prada, her moment as an actor has truly arrived.
11. Atonement (2007) Director: Joe Wright Starring: James McAvoy, Keira Knightley, Romola Garai, Saoirse Ronan
If I hadn't cried like a little girl during Up, Atonement would have taken the title as the film that left me the biggest emotional wreck. My friends and I literally sat in the theatre for a couple minutes after the movie ended, not saying anything, trying to compose ourselves enough to talk about the movie. I still get a little upset thinking about the horrible situation James and Keira's characters had to endure for the sake of love. And it's surprising how random shots like Keira staring off in the distance after emerging in her green dress or the shot of her spread eagle in the library getting fucked by McAvoy stick in my head a couple of years after last seeing it.
10. Mean Girls (2004) Director: Mark Waters Starring: Lindsay Lohan, Rachel McAdams, Tina Fey, Amanda Seyfried
The most quotable movie of the decade. Don't believe me? "Oh my God Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white!" "I'm sorry I called you a gap-toothed bitch. It's not your fault you're so gap-toothed." "Oh my God! Danny DeVito, I love your work!" And those are just the ones off the top of my head. Tina Fey is the auteur at work here, crafting a teen film that, instead of avoiding clichés altogether, incorporates them and openly mocks their ridiculousness. It may sound ridiculous to the non-believers, but I think that Fey's screenplay is so perfect it belongs in a Holy Trinity with All About Eve and Network as the best screenplays ever written.
9. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) Director: Michel Gondry Starring: Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet, Tom Wilkinson, Kirsten Dunst
The fact that Eternal Sunshine has become one of those movies that hipsters claim as their favorite to try and prove they like edgy cinema should not distract from how amazingly original this film truly is. I can truly say I've never seen another film that discusses the journey of a relationship in such a heartbreaking yet funny and honest way. This is the one Kate Winslet performance I can get behind whole-heartedly and without any hesitation. And whenever I see Jim Carrey re-hashing his same tired schitck movie after movie, it makes me sad that he's practically given up, given how incredible he is here.
8. Children of Men (2006) Director: Alfonso Cuarón Starring: Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, Michael Caine
I first saw Children of Men with my parents and brother. My mother was offended by all the swearing (Yeah, I don't know either. I seriously should start writing down my mother's opinions on movies) and tuned out early on. My brother was ambivalent, not really saying much either way. When I said that I really liked it, my father looked at me like I had just told him I voted for George Bush. Like most folks, the massive, intricately choreographed long takes were what sucked me in. Never before (or after) had I seen a film use a long take quite as skillfully as Cuarón and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki do here. They're the sick, twisted heart that makes this apocalyptic thriller all the more chilling and grave.
7. A Christmas Tale (2008) Director: Arnaud Desplechin Starring: Catherine Deneuve, Anne Consigny, Mathieu Almaric, Chiara Mastroianni
Another familial drama, this time done by Arnaud Desplechin, the French master of complicated, complex emotions and relationships. I remember watching this movie, not expecting much and then totally being gobsmacked by A Christmas Tale. The family is so intricate, and Desplechin overstuffs the film with so much, the film feels more like a 500 page novel. But A Christmas Tale is smart because, like a good novel, it leaves you wanting more, never fully answering any question it brings up. This film was over two and a half hours long, and I felt like I could have watched them for five (and then hope and pray for a sequel of some sorts). And that cast! What a fantastic collection of the best French actors around (and what a perfect role for living legend Catherine Deneuve).
6. The Departed (2006) Director: Martin Scorsese Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson, Mark Wahlberg
One word, and one word only, defines The Departed: badass. Everything about this movie--from the acting, the characters, the story and the filmmaking--can be summed up using that word. I was on such an adrenaline high after watching this movie on Valentine's Day 2007 (see what a romantic I am?) I wanted to gun some motherfuckers down like Leo and Mark.
5. Chicago (2002) Director: Rob Marshall Starring: Renee Zellweger, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Richard Gere, Queen Latifah
The musical is back! Moulin Rouge! may have kickstarted the film musical trend that punctuated the decade but it was Chicago, for me anyways, the one that defined it. Rob Marshall's recent failures may have somewhat diminished the fierce originality of this adaptation of the Kander & Ebb Broadway classic. The frantic editing may have given some people a headache, but it perfectly suited Marshall's overall vision of completely divorcing the film from any previous memories of the stage show. Catherine Zeta-Jones, aided by a sharp comedic timing and general fierceness sorely missing from any performance of hers before or since, completely stole the show in what is perhaps the best Oscar win of the decade.
4. Erin Brockovich (2000) Director: Steven Soderbergh Starring: Julia Roberts, Albert Finney, Aaron Eckhart
Every time this movie comes on, whether a friend is watching on DVD or it's on TV, no matter if I had just seen it five hours beforehand, I have to sit down and watch it again and again. Julia Roberts, in a perfect synthesis of her movie star persona and a newfound emotional depth and maturity, has never been as radiant and mesmerizing on-screen as she is here. Erin Brockovich mines new depth and even comedy from the tired "one woman fighting the system" clichés that many directors and writers would have pounded into the ground.
3. Kill Bill Volume 1 (2003) Director: Quentin Tarantino Starring: Uma Thurman, Lucy Liu, Vivica A. Fox
I watched this movie with my family and, of course, they all hated it. I, on the other hand, positively adored everything about it. My mother didn't understand, asking me something to the effect of, "How could you, of all people, like this? You hate violent, bloody movies!" And she was right. Up until that point, I was a big girl who cringed whenever blood came on the screen. With Kill Bill Volume 1 and its cartoonish, fake fountains of blood, I silently cheered to myself every time The Bride sliced off the arm or torso of one of the Crazy 88's. In a strange way, Kill Bill Volume 1 became a sort of milestone in my film watching, a separator between my old sensibilities about what qualified as "good" filmmaking and my newfound appreciation for films that fascinated me beyond a great story and acting. Quentin, Uma, Lucy (even Go-Go!) opened my eyes to whole new possibilities of great filmmaking and for that I'm eternally grateful.
2. Brokeback Mountain (2005) Director: Ang Lee Starring: Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, Michelle Williams, Anne Hathaway
When Milk came out last year amid all of the Prop 8 controversy, I was happy to see many of the younger gays cheer on and become so attached to the film's ideas about equality and good ole fashioned gayness. I liked that film well enough, but I couldn't really get into it because I already had my defining movie: Brokeback Mountain. Yes, as odd as it may sound, a film about two emotionally distant cowboys in love with each other, kept apart by an oppressive society and their own repressed emotions somehow made me more accepting and confident with my own budding homosexuality. The film's incredible pop culture power--both in this country and within my group of friends ("That's so Brokeback!" became our expression of choice for gay-related moments and subjects and my friend had a cowboy looking outfit that I affectionately called her "Brokeback outfit)--was unlike anything I had ever seen and made it possible for me to experience this movie with friends and family who never would have cared in a million years if it had been stuck in the "gay ghetto." For better or worse, Ennis & Jack, their forbidden love, the shirts in the closet, Alma's crying face and Lureen's breasts have all become a part of me.
1. Bowling for Columbine (2002) Director: Michael Moore
Any political mindedness (which, admittedly, isn't very much) I gained during the 2000's can be attributed solely to Michael Moore and the impact Bowling for Columbine had on my burgeoning 14 year old mind. I had never seen anything like it: a documentary that manages to be both hilariously entertaining and cleverly insightful, a film that connects our insanely violent culture to lax attitudes about gun control and a history of using force to get what we want, a filmmaker who takes the auteur theory to drastic lengths, inserting himself and his one-sided attack quite literally into the documentary. After the film ended, I was pissed; not at the film, but, rather, at how fucked up this country was. At 14, I had never stopped to consider any of what Bowling for Columbine was telling me to think about and take action against. When I finally did, I was shocked at what I discovered. By golly, 95% of the people in my high school were ignorant hicks who worshiped Bush like he was a fucking prophet or something. I had no idea and, at that moment, realized that the small rinky-dink town I lived in was not some place I wanted to stay in. Also, for a brief time, my adoration of Michael Moore and this film led to me seriously considering taking up film in college so I could make documentaries like him. Obviously, that didn't work out, but I still admire Moore in ways I don't with many other modern directors. He may come across as smug, overbearing and obnoxious to some, but I love the fact that he's so passionate about what he's saying in his films, he'll go to any length to get his point across in the way that makes the biggest impact. If that means pushing the very definition of a documentary to the breaking point by mixing in traditional narrative devices, then so be it. Bowling for Columbine does not apologize for the hybrid that it is. Funny, thought-provoking, rebellious, bull-headed, style-bending: this film, my favorite of the entire decade, brought that and more.
