hustlers, virgins, cowboys, and one big-ass gorilla: 2005 in review.
Mar 06 '06
The Bottom Line Re-tooled, updated, and re-posted in the right place: my wrap-up of '05.
Dilemma: movies that I want to see are more often missed than albums I want to listen to. As primarily, a music reviewer, this doesn't pose that big of a problem in my usual day-to-day; still, when it comes time for me to recap any given year (clearly 2005 in this case, unless my calendar is waaay off) to the best of my ability, I'm always worried that I'm missing, like, the potential best film of the year, because either its release was too limited or because it was too esoteric to convince the vacuous-blonde-of-the-week to accompany me (and i can't go to movies alone, dammit, i get a complex). Fortunately, in 2005, I took note of a cheapoid theater down the street ($2.50 for second-run movies, joy of joys! now I sees 'em late, but I still sees 'em) and switched to brunettes, which I think I always liked better anyway.
One thing that I've noticed about the year that was is this: movies are getting better! At the risk of getting spanked, I'm gonna go ahead and stand by that statement, because I think it's true. For all the unmitigated shit that made its way to theaters-- a given in any year-- there was a certain concentration of big-budget blockbuster films that were actually quite good. This year saw the return of the blockbuster en force; for a while, it's been the indie folks making good, quiet but compelling films that slipped under box-office radar but toke home accolades and awards en masse. But for the first time in a while, our loud, histrionic, slam-bang summer movies gave us something to chew on other than our ticket stubs and Jujubes, and our movie stars are really doing good by their art. As much love as I have for a good indie film, this is exciting; it means Hollywood isn't taking us for a bunch of dumbshits, and good for them.
Still, for all the highs, there are always lows, and here's a brief rundown of films with the dubious honor of bottom ten, also known as
"Derailed didn't even suck this bad!!"
10. Monster-in-Law. Ancient-ass Jane Fonda triumphantly returned to the screen this year to star opposite Jennifer Lopez in War of the Shrilly Bitches; as fun as watching Fonda's enormous ego go cheek-to-cheek with J.Lo's enormous ass sounds, it winds up being a joyless, demonically-possessed barrage of hatred, woe, and medieval torture, not to mention a complete lack of anything that could possibly make a film good. Thought 1: This is the script that coaxed Jane Fonda out of retirement? Thought 2: I wish I could travel to the alternate movie dimension where these situations take place and carpet-bomb all the principles into oblivion.
9. Boogeyman. It's a poor film on all levels, but mostly Boogeyman takes this spot because it is deeply and profoundly retarded.
8. The Longest Yard. And in one fell swoop, the ounce of respect I gained for Adam Sandler following Punch-Drunk Love and Eight Crazy Nights (and Anger Management and Spanglish, neither of which was particularly good, but neither was disastrous) is flushed down the toilet. Consider this: Adam Sandler belongs in movies where he can be bothered to actually try, Nelly belongs in the recording studio, Chris Rock belongs on a stand-up stage, Burt Reynolds belongs in the 70s. By my math, there are no circumstances under which The Longest Yard should exist, but it does, and I think the world is a little less funny for it.
7. Sahara. A film that doesn't so much strive for Indiana Jones-esque levels of adventure entertainment, but rather predicates itself on the idea that we're all too stupid to know the difference, Sahara is joyless, stupid, and exists in some black hole dimension where things like charisma and intelligence are, apparently, nonheroic conceits. A dimension, where, might I add, bullets don't even hurt; and you know a film's lack of realism is profound and distracting when I, notoriously and adamantly opposed to too-high levels of realism in my entertainments, am complaining.
6. Transporter 2 // Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous. It's not that I'm a glutton for punishment, really, it's just that there's some cinematic form of ocd lurking deep within my psyche that forces me to compulsively see sequels to films that I've already seen. It's what has led me to watch all those damnable direct-to-video permutations of Wild Things and Cruel Intentions; except, as bad as those sequels are, there's a sort of charming ham-fistedness to their badness, and therein lies the entertainment value. Transporter 2 is talky and offensive when it's not just offensively dumb, and besides it doesn't have shit to do with transporting at all; meanwhile, Miss Congeniality 2 is the sort of cinematic abortion brought upon us when tanking careers converge and, finally, sink, with all of us watching. It's not that I expected either of these films to be good, but I don't understand why sequels have to be _this_ bad, and they may have reached a nadir in 2005.
5. xXx: State of the Union. Okay, so the first XXX sucked, but this sequel replaced Vin Diesel (lame) with Ice Cube (cool), so that's a step up, right? Apparently, not only is it a step down for a franchise that was awful to begin with, but a step down for the collective intelligence of a nation, for moreso than alcohol or marijuana, XXX kills brain cells and is damaging to judgement and functionability. The only difference is that it's not remotely addictive. Consider the word "shit" redefined.
4. The Ring Two. I could have lumped The Ring Two in with all the other sequels, but there's a deep nothingness at work in this particular film; this is not just a cinematic turd, no, this is a film that bloats its presumed artistry and importance with the same eerie tone of the first The Ring - which was spectacular in all regards except for clearing the way for this one - and lots of portentious, bullshit images. This is a film that does nothing and goes nowhere, and manages to suck so much in the process that its negative influence almost makes the first Ring worse. The only reason that this is not the worst film I've ever seen is because Naomi Watts is superhumanly gorgeous. I wish I could stretch my imagination far enough to consider The Ring Two a sharp-edged satire of the lofty aspirations of self-important filmmakers .. maybe I can .. nope, I still hate it.
3. Flightplan. For most of Flightplan, I just thought it was lame: you know, unsuspenseful, clunkily written, largely uninteresting. I didn't think it was actually going to be offensive until it asked us to identify wholly with Jodie Foster's character, who, it turns out, is just a glorified terrorist, wreaking havoc on a big ole jet airliner, causing trouble for a whole lot of innocent people, and hysterically enforcing offensive racial stereotypes. Halfway through the film, if I weren't weak-kneed from the jumbo jet of stupidity that had plowed into my brain, I felt like rising to my feet and yelling "lock that bitch up!" If I thought they would've listened, I might have.
2. The Devil's Rejects. You know, for as bad as Devil's Rejects is, it is a marked improvement over Rob Zombie's first film, House of 1000 Corpses, which may or may not be the worst, most shrill, annoying, and ugly film ever made. But it probably is. Anyway, The Devil's Rejects is more of the same old shit, except with better production values and a mildly cool climax this time 'round. I've no opposition to moral ambiguity and excessive grue, but The Devil's Rejects is so dastardly and ugly (and the characters SO DAMN ANNOYING, just like the first time) that I find no redemption in its oppressive negativity and stifling hostility and nihilism. Disturbing, gross movies that have some sort of point, some theme, some center - those are fine by me. Devil's Rejects is blood and guts in exchange for box-office returns (however mild they may have been) and prurient shock value, just like all of the others: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, House of 1000 Corpses, Passion of the Christ, the whole lot of 'em, they're all the same, wet dreams for sadists and psychotics everywhere, pornography for the violently maladjusted and disillusioned. Ick.
1. The Brown Bunny. Both literally and metaphorically, the Brown Bunny amounts to nothing more than a cock-wagging display. Although the film is most notorious for having director/writer/producer/star Vincent Gallo's sizeable schlong in the frame (or in Chloe Sevigny) in an infamous, unstimulated sex scene, the rest of the film is Gallo's big swinging dick in cinematic form, a big celebration of himself disguised as art. That's what gets me more than anything: Gallo's delusions of grandeur, of artistry, of auteurism. Vincent Gallo, the big, misunderstood filmmaker. Vincent Gallo, the martyr who thinks his mug - and, eventually, his tallywacker - can save a film that is, essentially, a big gaping black hole of nothing. A celebration of self. A delusional masterstroke of crap, destined for fame because of, whoop-di-do, a blowjob. Fine. If I film it next time I get one, am I an artiste too? Vincent Gallo, you were right when you apologized for this; I'm just pissed that you took it back. The only thing you should have taken back was this film. Do whatever you want with it. Put it back from whence it came: probably your ass, Gallo. We'll keep Buffalo '66, which was entertaining and offbeat and touching; the Brown Bunny can go. To hell. Directly to cinematic hell with the Life of David Gale and Passion and every other cinematic abortion made under the guise of high art.
Ahem. Fortunately, there is a respite! There were good movies in 2005, some real, real good movies. And they were
20. In Her Shoes. I doubted In Her Shoes, but of course I shouldn't have: it's made, after all, by the guy responsible for L.A. Confidential and 8 Mile (Curtis Hanson, now officially unpredictable in his choices of directorial projects), and the material (based on a friggin' Jennifer Weiner book!) is sold by two strong leads in Toni Collette and Cameron Diaz. (And I really mean that - we all know Collette's a strong actress, of course, but I'm entirely serious about Cameron Diaz. I was so charmed by her after Something About Mary that I was even willing to forgive her for the Sweetest Thing, and I consider this film my justification.) A chick-flick to the bone, there's a genuine heart to this film, and it's put together so lovingly, from the opening scenes of familial discord to the closing curtain call, that I don't see how you could deny it.
19. Match Point. It took a while for Woody Allen's latest project to grab me - it didn't even really grasp me until long after I left the theater vaguely disappointed. First of all, it's extremely flawed: Jonathan Rhys-Meyers isn't extremely impressive, and Scarlett Johansson's character is beautiful (well, duh), but not written interestingly enough to make us believe that Rhys-Meyers would consider cheating on Emily Mortimer (so, so cute!) with her. (Or maybe that was just me and the fact that sometime during these two hours I feel deeply and profoundly in love with Emily Mortimer.) And, really, it's not enough of a "Woody Allen movie" to make up for his latest work (he's sucked for some time now), at least not for those of us that loved Annie Hall and Play It Again Sam, or even Hannah and Her Sisters and Bullets Over Broadway. But no matter: what I saw here was a practical, atmospheric, and extremely thoughtful little interior drama. It reminded me of Six Degrees of Separation mixed with a dash of the obvious suspects like Closer and Fatal Attraction, and there was something haunting about this film that lingered. And the tennis metaphors and British accents hooked me too. Good job, Woody - ya done good.
18. Wedding Crashers. It's not as good as the season's other R-rated comedy, of course - some people have implied that it is, but we refer to those people as "wrong" - and, again, it has its flaws. For one, it has the audacity to underuse Christopher Walken, and has a last-minute wedding interruption that flirts with cliche (oh, hell, it doesn't flirt with it, it seduces it, mates with it, and leaves cab fare on the dresser), and the villain is too mean for this kind of movie, and it becomes snoozy for a stretch in its final third. For a good while, though, Wedding Crashers is funny on the level of Old School, and Vince and Owen's big college-boy shtick doesn't get old as quickly as it could have if anyone else was cast, and the entire principal cast of youngin's is utterly charming and likeable (i thought even the psycho girl was a sweetie). So, good - it means these guys have won me over again.
17. The Matador. Pierce. Freakin'. Brosnan.
16. Serenity. The same brand of nerd that brought "Family Guy" back has done right by me again, this time bemoaning the premature death of Joss Whedon's tv show "Firefly" enough that Serenity, essentially a long episode of the series translated to film, was brought in to satisfy the masses. I gave in to seeing this as the behest of a friend, and I'm still pretty shocked by its awesomeness. Serenity brings to the table a sense of rogueish, old-west mystique (and dialogue) and a crackling good brand of banter that makes it too exciting, too fun to deny. I felt like I was a kid watching Star Wars for the first time.
15. Four Brothers. And speaking of westerns, Four Brothers transplants the idea of the rogueish western to roughneck Detroit. John Singleton has never truly delivered on the promise of Boyz N the Hood - Higher Learning was close - but Four Brothers makes me like him again, like his cavalier style of entertaining and emotionally manipulating, and like this male fantasy of a revenge epic.
14. Hitch. As much as I'll defend the charming Much Love Dogs to the death, Hitch is, for my money, the romantic comedy supreme of 2005. For once, someone has hung a movie on Will Smith's natural, actor-ly charm, paired him with a romantic interest worth a damn (a fiesty, on-point, and naturally beautiful Eva Mendes), and an hangdog sweetheart in Kevin James (startlingly funny) that we can truly root for; and it pays off, too, in a film of endless charm, replay value, and good nature.
13. Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Nick Park's claymation charmsters finally made it to a full-length flick in 2005; after three Oscar-winning shorts, the question, of course, remained: how would Curse of the Were-Rabbit stack up? As demonstrated by its place on this list (and the Oscar it won last night was icing on the cake), it's fantastic. I haven't seen Corpse Bride, but until I do (and quite possibly after I do), the lovable W&G remains the best family film of the year for me.
12. Red Eye. Almost supernaturally Hitchcockian in the way tension permeates every frame of this tight-knit little thrill ride, Red Eye gambles on its two stars and Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams deliver, the former sinister, slimy, and utterly magnetic, the latter a strong and resourceful female screen presence, something most female characters in thrillers wholly lack. Not that Red Eye is a cheesy girl-power advert; no, it amounts to something more than that, something more than a mere entertainment (although taken at face value as a mere entertainment, it's still damn good). There's real significance here, first in playing with gender roles, and then in much subtler thematic allusions to the varying aftereffects of sexual violence. Much like McAdams's character, Red Eye is slender, but it hits with force and purpose.
11. Batman Begins. Leave it to Christopher Nolan to take things to a new level. Esteemed directors Sam Raimi and Bryan Singer had, with their Spider-man and X-Men franchises, respectively, reinvigorated their chosen form, the comic-book movie, making a medium plagued by increasingly bad Bat-flicks and outdated Superman romps respectable ag-- well, for the first time, I suppose. And fine entertainments those films are: but Batman Begins is something new and different. It's a dramatically and artistically viable film with roots in comic-book mythology, performed and assembled to perfection. Christian Bale now is Batman, as far as i'm concerned, and I think we're in for a trilogy for the history books if, as has been hinted at, the principals have signed on for two more.
10. War of the Worlds. It's a banner year for Mr. Steven Spielberg: he's cracked the top ten with his big-deal remake of War of the Worlds, and it's not even the best movie he made this year. It's still one of the best, most difficult, and scariest movies of the year: I won't dare see it on the small screen, so this is going on what I thought the two times I saw it theatrically, but this was one of the most tense, disturbing, and thought-provoking pieces of the year. And yet, Spielberg succeeds in both universalizing and localizing the horror of War of the Worlds, and does so with a seasoned vet's eye for atmosphere. The atmosphere of War of the Worlds is suffocating - once the aliens land, the film is shrouded in oppressive, paranoid, chaotic dread, and it's one of the scariest movies of the year, barring its lamentably saccharine post-script.
9. Munich. One trend found in cinematic think-tanks 'cross the country in 2005 was an obsession with the political and/or paranoia thriller, which hit an apex in 1974 with Coppolla's landmark The Conversation (quite possibly, no hyperbole, the best film ever made) and was reintroduced into the public eye with this year's the Constant Gardner, Lord of War, and the Interpreter, most of which were pretty and spottily interesting but mostly just boring. Bless his heart, Steven Spielberg - big time director of big time movies - took it upon himself to hit one out of the park with Munich. Spielberg can't help but take too much on at once, of course, and Munich could easily have collapsed under its own weight - but for all its flaws in pacing and soapboxing, Munich has a lot to say, and does it through an exceptionally-performed, tightly-wound, combustible, disturbing, grand picture. That Spielberg can be responsible for films like this (that follow the grand tradition of, say, the Conversation) and big-budget films like War of the Worlds - and do them both well - says a lot, I think.
8. Brokeback Mountain. The cinematic enemy of proud red-staters everywhere, I'm not going to bother addressing subtexts and themes in Brokeback Mountain; reducing it to a "gay movie" or "that movie about the gay cowboys" or "the movie that shows that homosexuals are people, too!" would seem redundant and terribly reducive, considering the classic cinematic romance that Brokeback is. Because Brokeback _is_ a cinematic romance of the classic variety; in fact, strange as this is, I see Jack and Ennis as a modern-day Rick and Ilsa, and as a staunch and unapologetic Casablanca devotee, I see this as a very positive thing. Its rocky, it's heartbreaking, and the audiences identifies with it so closely that it can be painful to watch. And to see a host of young actors in such profound, mature roles - not just Ledger and Gyllenhaal, who are both fantastic, but Michelle Williams, Anne Hathaway, and Linda Cardellini, too - it gives me such hope for the future of this medium. (And to hell with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, who awarded the reductive and sophomoric Crash with a Best Picture statuette, when it was up against both Brokeback and Munich.)
7. Rent. Disses of Rent have, of course, been mostly predicated on the fact that it's nothing like experiencing the stage version; and I'm not going to even attempt to diffuse this grounding, mostly because I'm guilty of a similar school of though. For example, while I didn't hate the current version of The Producers, much of it was lost on a guy like me, who's loved Mel Brooks's original since adolescence. Yes, familiarity with source material changes things; but, that said, I never saw Rent on stage, and damn if this movie didn't move me all over the place. It is flamboyant, shameless, and manipulative, and to that I say: "good!" Films are meant to be manipulative; if you're going to movies to avoid being manipulated, you're going for all the wrong reasons. Rent burrowed its way into my hard little heart, warmed the hell out of it, and left it transmitting to all the other body parts songs that I'll never live down humming in public. If that's the price of such fine entertainment, so be it.
6. A History of Violence. Realistically, I should have opted for Just Like Heaven or something like that; but my brunette of choice - who I was ecstatic to have as company for the evening - said that History of Violence looked good, so who was I to argue? A History of Violence's outbursts of graphic, unsettling violence had this fragile beauty cringing, staring at the screen, her fawn-in-headlights eyes widening to the size of wayward UFOs; she hated the movie, and, by extension, I was knocked down a few pegs for sitting through it, fascinated. I probably could have reached over and engaged her in some hearty PDA to take her mind off the thing and she wouldn't have objected; but finishing A History of Violence was much more rewarding. This film is a punch to the gut, a deeply unsettling - and, somehow, oddly poetic - rumination on the effects of violence, layered to the hilt and bolstered by a series of performances that border on virtuosic. See it for yourself.
5. Sin City. This was just a stunning experiment of a film, a wonder, not only of modern moviemaking technology, but of plot, of theme, of experience. It was like seeing Pulp Fiction for the first time, and if you think that's hyperbole, see it yourself and tell me otherwise. Bold, subversive, and thick with atmosphere.
4. Hustle & Flow. I thought MTV's marketing push was a death knell for this film, but damned if I wasn't proved entirely wrong. This is a superb movie, one that bristles with grit and authenticity, yes, but also with a certain level of roughnecked pathos. It brims with equal amounts of hope and despair, and is lent gravity by a rip-roaring, career-making performance by Terrence Howard, who, like his iconic character DJay, is finding his footing late in life. Get this man another lead role, STAT. Oh, and take Nelly out of the movies and leave Ludacris in, while you're at it.
3. The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Judd Apatow's 40-Year-Old Virgin reads more like a stage play than a film: physical comedy is milked to a certain degree, yes, but this is a film that flows through its words, through comic dialogue both written and improvised. It doesn't hurt, of course, that Apatow has assembled for his first feature film such a perfect cast; not just Steve Carell as the titular virgin (a career-making performance if there's any justice in this world), but the Greek chorus of buddies offering up hard-won but sometimes misguided advice and the magnificent Catherine Keener as the woman with whom he finally embarks on a real, grown-up relationship. This film is, first and foremost, a comedy, and hot damn is it ever a funny one; but it's more than funny, too, it's real filmmaking, character-driven, poignant, pointed, and perceptive, and it came so close to being my movie of the year you have no idea. Still, this is a cast that in an ideal world would receive an ensemble acting award of some sort for their exemplary work in this, an instant classic. It won't happen, but I can dream. Oscars all around!
2. Elizabethtown. Aim and fire now: I loved Cameron Crowe's latest film. I wasn't sure what to expect: a previous fan of Crowe's work, I was disappointed to hear that he was being raked over the coals for his latest, but still retained some semblance of hope. Fortunately, I was rewarded, and in spades: come to find out, Elizabethtown is one of those heartfelt, good-natured, extremely entertaining surprises that you invariably come across every year. Disappointed? Shit, I was elated at this movie, in love with every frame and character and character quirk and quirky scene, in love with the love story, in love with love, in love with music, in love with everything. I hate long movies, and Elizabethtown wasn't unnaturally long, but it eclipsed the two-hour mark, which is usually when I start snoozin'. Not this time, buddy. Elizabethtown hooked me; you could have stretched this thing to three hours and I would've been happier than a pig in shit. If that says that I'm a pig and Elizabethtown is shit, fine then, both of those things have been implied before, after all. But I don't care who hated Elizabethtown, I loved it, and as far as I was concerned, nothing this year was topping it. Well, nothing until...
1. King Kong. I'm flabbergasted, I must say, absolutely flabbergasted; I thought King Kong looked, eh, kinda cool, kinda doofy. I weighed the pros and cons. Pros: it looks fun, and Jack Black and Naomi Watts are in it. Cons: it's three freakin' hours long and I hate long movies, and I am far from worshipping at the altar of Peter Jackson. But what a spectacle! What childish, exuberant glee! From frame one I was into this movie, invested in it wholly, and not once was I bored, or even less than thrilled. Those three hours just flew by, and I mean that entirely; I could have watched the damn thing for another three hours. This is a love letter to everyone who's ever loved the magic of film, a resurrection of the feeling of watching a movie, helplessly entranced in wide-eyed glee. I have so much to say about this movie, but I want to review it, so I'll save some; let it just be said that this is not only the most exciting movie of the year, but also the most emotionally affecting, and the most visionary, and .. oh, there aren't enough superlatives. Let's leave it at this: it's the best movie of the year, instant vintage at its finest, and a fine, fine way to cap off the surprising appeal of 2005.
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
Stairway2Drew
|
 - Top 500 |
|
Member: Andrew Ratliff
Location: Nowhere, NJ
Reviews written: 378
Trusted by: 235 members
About Me:
Smelt just like baloney for some reason.
|
|
|
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.