Top 10 Films of the 2010s

The 2010s were a good decade for film, and in thinking them over, I am reminded that I have specific likes and dislikes just like anyone. Despite this, I’m struck by how diverse my picks wound up. In the 2010s, there wasn’t really much danger for repeating myself, despite a penchant toward specific filmmakers.

When I review my yearly best of lists, I see a clear affinity for directors like Quentin Tarantino (Django Unchained, The Hateful Eight, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood), Denis Villeneuve (Prisoners, Arrival, Blade Runner 2049), Steven Soderbergh (Magic Mike, Side Effects), David O. Russell (The Fighter, Silver Linings Playbook, American Hustle) Martin Scorcese (Shutter Island, Hugo, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Irishman), Wes Anderson (Moonrise Kingdom, The Grand Budapest Hotel) Richard Linklater (Before Midnight, Boyhood) and The Coen Brothers (The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Inside Llewyn Davis).

But this list? This list has none of those guys. And that’s kind of cool.

My next 10 would likely include some combination of Coco, Wind River, Stories We Tell, Calvary, Creed, Moana, Life of Pi, Skyfall, Before Midnight, and the three Mission Impossible films. But here’s my top 10.

10. Blindspotting

It’s been almost exactly two years since I wrote a fresh review on here, but I have been keeping tabs offline when I can. I recently posted a few reviews I had banked from a 2018 excel sheet, including one for this ambitious film, which tackles most of the major social issues of our time, including police brutality, gentrification, white privilege, cultural bias, our broken probation system, institutional racism, the gig economy, and appropriation. 

9. Moonlight

The first thing many people think of when they think of Moonlight is the whole controversy that played out when Warren Beatty said the wrong name on Oscar night. And that’s a shame, because this gorgeously shot and poetically realized film is the most deserving Best Picture winner of the decade. Writer/director Barry Jenkins and co-writer Tarell Alvin McCraney expertly adapt McCraney's play in this evocative look at three stages in the life of a black gay man struggling with his identity.

8. Ex Machina

My review says it all, but the film plays even better in the wake of #MeToo and #TimesUp. 

7. Moneyball

I get that some people take issue with the fact that Moneyball takes significant liberties with the truth, entirely ignoring that the 2002 Oakland A's had three aces and the best left side of the infield in baseball in favor of slamming home the underdog made good aspect of their story. But as with The Social Network and many other great films, adherence to facts isn’t as important as emotional truth that gets at the heart of a particular issue.  

Although at times this film seems to erroneously imply Moneyball is just some mindless adherence to OBP, the overall takeaway is about going against the grain to get an edge. The idea of exploiting market inefficiencies wherever you can find them, has come to define not just baseball, but sports (and many outside businesses) entirely. And the fact that this film finds a way to dive into all of that in a way that is both revealing and entertaining is a miracle. It’s over simplistic at parts, but there’s no better intro to convincing an agnostic about the value of advanced statistics than the simple explainer above this post. 

I’ll say it one more time: the fact that this movie mainstreamed sabermetrics in an entertaining way is just bananas, but even more interesting is how the film’s version of Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) still can’t help romanticizing the game at times, despite his beliefs.

Ultimately this film is tailor-made for me. It’s about behind-the-scenes baseball maneuvering and a strong focus on the father-daughter bond at its heart. This is a great character movie, like something from the 70’s or, more recently, Michael Clayton. Pitt has never been better, and he was just flat out robbed of an Oscar. Jonah Hill is a great sparring partner for him, but so is the rest of the cast, which is highlighted by a murderer’s row of acting talent (Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Chris Pratt, Robin Wright Penn) for Pitt to bounce off of. There are just so many scenes in this film I constantly go back to – the “adapt or die” sequence, the ending with the daughter’s song on the car’s cd player, etc. etc. It’s a perfect film.

6. Get Out

I'm not the biggest fan of horror, but Jordan Peele's clever and chilling account of a black man dealing with a nightmare “guess who’s coming to diner” scenario is everything you could want from the genre, including pulse-pounding scares, livewire performances, searing wit, and keen allegory (in this case, an exploration of the claustrophobia of liberal racism and cultural appropriation in post-racial America).  

5. Edge of Tomorrow

For the longest time, I loved how often Tom Cruise would take challenging material with ace level filmmakers and willingly play a schmuck. He’s doing less and less of that now in favor of making big action films, and that’s regrettable, but it’s also hard to complain. In a decade that featured a slew of great marvel films, a great Planet of the Apes trilogy, and probably the best Bond film of all time, Cruise managed to log 4 of the 5 best action films. None of this decade’s Mission Impossible movies made this top 10, but my love for them has been documented on this blog previously. And then there is Edge of Tomorrow. More detailed thoughts can be found in my review, but (excluding kids movies) I don’t think I’ve watched any film from the 2010s as much as this movie. I just love it.  

4. Toy Story 3

This is pinnacle Pixar for me even if it's not at the cutting edge as just another entry in long franchise. It somehow improves upon the first two films, deepening the emotional power of the franchise, while simultaneously trading in the kind of perfect caper plotting that makes stuff like Ocean's 11 so fun.

This series (including 2019’s fourth entry) is just great, energetic fun, and it’s also always seriously engaging with some existential issue around weighty issues like abandonment, grief, and most poignantly, the psychology of parenthood. Woody the cowboy is an all-time great protagonist, and it’s amazing how they keep finding new ways to peel back layers on the character. It’s hard to imagine three won’t be the zenith of the series, and four ends things pretty definitively for Woody, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t sign up for a 5^th entry in another 8-10 years. No film franchise has anywhere near as high a batting average as Toy Story, and this is very best of the series. 

3. The Social Network

The Social Network was well received when it came out, and has only become more resonant with time. This is simultaneously a thrilling procedural about the growth of Facebook, a human tragedy and, most notably, a prescient indictment on what life in the social media age would eventually become. Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher have never been better than this, and, given everything that’s happened since with Facebook’s complicit relationship to fake news, I’d love to see them and Jesse Eisenberg find a way to crack a sequel.  

2. Short Term 12

Like The Rider’s Chloe Zhao, director Destin Daniel Cretton is following in the footsteps of Ryan Coogler and Taika Waititi by moving on from indie acclaim into the Marvel machine with Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. His first feature was this lovely little gem that focuses on a few days at a group home for wayward kids. 

Watching it now, the film plays like a who’s who of actors that would go on to utterly blow up later in the decade. Brie Larson (Room, Captain Marvel) and Rami Malik (Bohemian Rhapsody) are Oscar winners, of course, but Lakeith Stanfield (Sorry to Bother You, Get Out, Atlanta) and Kaitlyn Dever (Booksmart, Justified) continue to rise, and Stephanie Beatriz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine) and John Gallagher Jr. (10 Cloverfield Lane, The Newsroom) haven’t exactly been slouches.

Getting back to Short Term 12 – despite its small scope, I constantly find myself thinking back on it for its beating heart and powerful displays of humanity. What Junebug was for my 2000s list, this is for my 2010’s list. I just want to watch scenes from this film over and over, which is easy enough to do give its wide availability of streaming services. More on the film can be found in my original review.

1. Frances Ha

I rewatched Frances Ha recently just to make sure my opinion would still track with the high esteem in my head, and I’d say I think the film is even better than when I first saw it. Sometimes, I’ll read a review I wrote years ago and realize I was off base on this or that element. Not so here. My thoughts in 2019 echo what I wrote six years ago, although I’d clearly up my grade from an A to an A+.

Bonus points for being the best film from Noah Baumbach and Greta Gerwig, an off screen couple who managed to create much of the best stuff from the 2010s, both separately (Ladybird for her, Marriage Story and The Meyerowitz Stories for him) and together (this, Mistress America).

Sorry to Bother You

I'm Sorry to Bother You starts as a hip indie, something like if you crossed Dope with Thank You for Smoking, but then becomes something else entirely in the third act.

Initially we follow Cassius Green or Cash (the invaluable Lakeith Stanfield) rising up the ranks at a telemarketing firm called RegalView by using his white voice (David Cross) to sell junk to people.

This all occurs in a weird alternate version of Oakland where the most popular TV show focuses on kicking the shit out of people, while an increasing number of people sign on to work for a company called WorryFree, signing over lifetime rights as a worker for free food, lodging and a life free or bills.

The reason people are willing to do this is due mostly to rigged system that makes it a perferable life choice. In acknolwedgement of this, Cash's fellow telemarketers (organized by Walking Dead's Steven Yeun, who is really putting together an interesting career in his post Glen career) mount a workers strike, but Cash gets promoted and winds up crossing the picket lines a scab.

In his new role, Cash basically sells slave labor, contracting out the WorryFree work force to other companies. He initially balks at the idea but then submits to when he sees dollar signs, something that eventually fractures his relationship with his girlfriend Detroit (Tessa Thompson), who is secretly involved in a radical group of protesters known as "The Left Eye."

The film takes a turn for the weirder with the arrival of a corporate baddie played by Armie Hammer (showing increasing shades as an actor). It's a big swing from writer/director Boots Riley that you have to see to believe. To say more would be ruin the experience, but this is a vital takedown of of the status quo that investigates class warfare, white gaze, racial hierarchy, and media failings in fresh and challenging ways.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Although all of their films are identifiably Coen-esque, the Coen brothers have a large number of lanes they can work in -- they run the gamut from wacky, to serious, to comtemplative, to you get the idea. With it's omnibus approach, the Ballad of Buster Scruggs services all of their various proclivites.

In each of the six vignettes in this anthology, the brothers take time-honored archetypes and twist them around to drive home a cental thesis -- the universe is relentlessly cruel and we are hapless participants in a rigged game. It's simultaneously a homage and a critque of Westerns.

Some of the stories aren't as good as the others, but they are all distinct, masterfully realized and have an O. Henry vibe to them. My favorite is the first, which stars a never better Tim Blake Nelson as Buster Scruggs, an inverted Roy Rogers type that's secretly a nihilistic Bugs Bunny. He deserved a Supporting Oscar nomination, and maybe even a win. He's a force of nature. Of course, he got no recognition.

It's also just a flat out beautiful film, marking the first (and probably only) experience the duo have on digital. It's grown in my estimation since I watched it, and it's nature as an anthology means it'll be super easy to revist. Any one of these stories could be a major contender for best short Oscar, but, at its current length, the film was shut out. Nevertheless, this is uppertier Coens, and that's saying something.

Paddington 2

This is a sneaky good franchise. The first Paddington was an utter delight filled with great visual pinache reminscenct of Wes Anderson, a sense of madcap fun reminsicent of silent era stars, and, best of all, a large dose of heart. The casting was great and Paddington himself is an eminently winning creation, brought to life beautifully with crack VFX work.

The sequel matches the first in almost all categories -- it equals the impressively designed doll house introduction to the Brown family with the magical use of a pop-up book to highlight the attactions of London, while surpassing it in others (Nicole Kidman was fun in the first, but didn't have as much to play with as Hugh Grant does here).

Writer/director Paul King is doing something really great with this franchise. The Bafta's showed this movie some love last year, but there was no Oscar nominations, despite worthy work on set design, score, VFX and costuming. No matter. It's one of the best films of 2018.

Avengers: Infinity War

I've been colder on Avengers movies than most. I've found them enjoyable, but rate them as mid-tier entries in the MCU. That changed with this film, which is the movie Avengers was always supposed to be. The mix-and-match character pairings all work like gangbusters, and the emotional stuff -- especially Iron Man/Spiderman and Thanos/Gamorra, really lands. It's incredibly impressive they pulled all of this together so well and in such a casually subversive way.

I am especially delighted the filmmakers and Josh Brolin made Thanos such a vivid and well-realized protagonist -- a crazy thing to write since he's the big villain. He's not as affective in the sequel, but here he's a near perfect movie villain, which marks a refreshing change of pace. Obviously, the characters who disappeared were always going to come back, but this one left me legit excited to see the payoffs in the follow-up anyway.

Mission Impossible: Fallout

I know it's the sixth film in an action franchise staring a grade-A jerk, but these movies are awesome generally, and this one is specifically top tier.

Mission Impossible: Fallout is the first film in the series to repeat with a director and it also serves as a direct sequel (the love interest and villian from Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation return) as well. I was initially hesitant to much of thar, but the film is all the better for it given how great Tom Cruise's chemistry is with Rebecca Ferguson's Illsa Faust and uow insync Cruise is with Christopher McQuarrie.

I love how this one distinguishes itself by leaning into the neurosis of Ethan Hunt -- so much of what has become fun about watching Cruise in these is in his daring, physicality and reaction shots, but here they really build out the character as an anxiety timebomb, and I love that.

The helicopter chase scene is bananas, the Paris car chase scene is even better, and the bathroom fight scene is worthy of all the memes, but my favorite moment is how Cruise plays the realization that his ex (Michelle Monaghan) is in the same location as an armed nuclear bomb (the start of which is shown below). The way he says Julia crushes me every time. Cruise pulled a similar trick in showing vulerability in a key moment of Edge of Tomorrow, and these scenes encapsulate so well why Cruise is the best action movie star out there. Not only can he do his own stunts, but he can absolutely bring the acting chops.

My one critique is that the opening scene (and thus much of the plot) necessitates a level of stupidity on the part of these very smart operatives, but it's not enough to dim the wattage here. This is a great entry in a phenominal franchise.

You Were Never Really Here

It's crazy how this Hollywood system consistently limits the access of female filmmakers, resulting in great female directors having massive gaps in their filmographies.

Private Life writer/director Tamara Jenkins has three films to her credit, and went 9 and then 11 years between them. Lynne Ramsay is another great example of this. She's had multiple movies taken away from her due to creative differences, and as a result she's only made 4 feature length films since her first 20 years ago.

You Were Never Really Here is typical of her work -- uncompromising, sparse dialouge, vivid imagery. It's an extremely lean (85 minutes) and lyrical film about Joe (Joaquin Pheonix), a hired gun who rescues traffiked girls via brutal methods. He is haunted by a traumatic past that clearly includes sexual abuse from his father, and more opaquely includes emotionally exhausting work in the FBI and the military (we literally only see short snapshot flashbacks with little to no explanation).

Joe spends most of his free time doting on his elderly mother, but when he gets involved with a conspiracy that goes all the way up to the Governor, his life is turned upsidedown. Plot is beside the point here, in a film that got none of the accolades of Joker, another Pheonix vehicle that mines similar territory.

Pheonix is front and center and he uses every ounce of his skill to fully inhabit Joe far beyond the limits of the minimal script. Ramsay shows off a bit with some choices, but my favorite aspect is her atypical approach. In one scene, Joe infiltrates a baddie compound, and we see static shot after static shot of the place, but each shot includes the aftermath of his actions (you can tell by the bodies on the ground).

In another, Joe lies on the ground next to a mortally wounded would be assassin and then the two begin to sing a song together. When the baddie reaches out to hold Joe's hand whole he dies, Joe allows him the kindness. The vulnerability of the scene (shown below) is overpowering. So to is this hypnotic gem of a film.

Private Life

Kathryn Hahn and Paul Giamatti star as a couple trying to have a kid by any means (adoption, artificial insemination, etc) necessary. They decide to pursue an egg donor, and ultimately ask their step niece Sadie (Kayli Carter) to thr chagrin of her parents (the always welcome Molly Shannon and John Caroll Lynch).

The film feels raw and real, and Giamatti and Hahn have a great lived in tenderness with eachother. Hahn is the star here, but my favorite scene in the movie involves Giamatti discussing how he's almost relieved when the egg donation fails and they seemingly are out of options. He's just exhausted, and ready for the ride to end.

Still, the movie ends on a hopeful note; the couple gets a call about a potential adoption (we see flashbacks on a failed experience in this regard) and flies out to meet the mom for a meal. The credits roll and we never get the answer about what happens. But they're together, holding hands, and looking to the future. That's something.

Neither actor got awards traction, but they should have. Same goes writer/director Tamara Jenkins (The Savages), a true gift to film fans who does not work nearly enough.

Blindspotting

Every once in a while, I'll watch a movie that just flat out floors me. Blindspotting is that type of movie. 

This is basically an Oakland-set bromance between lifelong friends, Collin (Daveed Diggs) and Miles (Rafael Casal). Collin and Miles are black and white respectively, something that doesn't effect their relationship with eachother, except that it totally does. Collin struggles with the way people automatically decide to view a big black guy in Oakland, especially now that he has a rap sheet. He's serving out the final days of a year-long probation for assault, but that's really just one moment from his life, and he feels the pressure of being judged for it. 

Meanwhile, the white Miles feels a constant need to prove he is not some street poser, because of the way he looks (like an outsider, not the old Oakland guard). This is ""blindspotting,"" a kind of bias that the film literally defines for us. When something can be interpreted in two ways, but you can only see one of the interpretations, because you have a blindspot.

Miles is a good guy, and a good friend, but he's a loose cannon, something that isn't great for him personally, but certainly isn't great for Collin, since, as a black man, he isn't likely to be given an inch by police, or by society. Somehow, this film insightfully critiques police brutality, gentrification, white priviledge, cultural bias, our broken probation system, institutional racism, the gig ecnonomy, and appropriation, while also being highly entertaining. 

The film is sharply funny while always keeping a sense of impending dread. It's unique in it's approach, because the two leads constantly fall into spitting free-style rap verse, something that is introduced as something fun they do when passing the time or working for a moving company, but ultimately works as a soliloquoy of sorts. This tactic is used beautifully in the climax, in which Collin inexplicably ends up, gun in hand, in the house of a cop he saw shoot an unarmed black man. It is incredibly emotional and potent and perfect (see video below).

Diggs came to prominence for his award-winning work in Hamilton, and he brings all his rapping skills to this role, not to mention a plethora of heart and pathos. He's electric. But really everything about this movie is just a slam dunk, from the song choices to the editing, it's all just right. In most movies, one would expect Miles it be a constant irritant, but the script (cowritten by Diggs and Casal, long-time friends who also produce) makes him entirely three dimensional. I'm not doing the movie justice by writing about it. It needs to be seen.

Thoughts on a Slight Year in Movie Watching Allows "The Lobster" and "Moana" To Somehow Be Reviewed Together

The Lobster will frustrate some and titillate others.

In years past, I'd usually be putting together a top 10 list for last year around this time. That was something that seemed worthwhile back when I saw north of 125-150 titles a year, but now, it doesn't make much sense. I’ve only seen about 30 movies released in 2016 – what kind of credibility could a top 10 list possibly have?

That being said, I'm simply conditioned to do a year in review in my head around this time. And what's amazing is how consistent the make up at the top seems to be in terms of the types of films I rated highly. As with every year, I found myself intrigued by a few idiosyncratic independents that certainly won't be for everybody, but I also gravitated toward a few down-the-middle entertainments that just hit their notes so well that I fell really hard for them. In the past, movies like Spring Breakers (reviewed here), Ex Machina (reviewed here) and The One I Love have represented the former, while undervalued mainstream stuff like Gone Girl (reviewed here), Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (reviewed here) and Bridge of Spies have represented the latter. This year, it’s the absurdist, dystopian black comedy The Lobster and Disney’s animated musical Moana representing the two extremes toward the top of the heap.

Written and directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, The Lobster depicts a society in which newly single adults are rounded up and sequestered in a hotel where they have 45 days to find a new romantic partner. Those who succeed are permitted to move back to society and embrace coupledom; those that fail are turned into an animal of their choosing and released into the world.

The film focuses on David (Colin Farrell, against type and fantastic), a schlub who arrives at the hotel with his brother (a dog) after his wife leaves him. If you think the premise sounds weird, I can tell you the execution is even stranger. The hotel has all kinds of odd rules, including a prohibition of masturbation despite a requirement for unfulfilled sexual stimulation by the service staff. There's also the fact that to be paired off with a mate, you must share a defining characteristic (an unsubtle critique of reductive online dating sites). David had previously connected with his wife over their nearsightedness. Meanwhile, an acquaintance with a limp laments how he can't couple up with a limping women because her limp will heal. In desperation, he periodically bashes his face so he can mimic her chronic nose bleeds. The couple struggles to make things work, and so naturally they are assigned a child to smooth over their relationship issues.

Hotel guests are given an opportunity to extend their stay by hunting rogue singles out in the wilderness. David eventually escapes the hotel and falls in with this group of loners, and he even forms a connection with a nearsighted woman (Rachel Weisz). However, the loners have rules of their own, and romantic connections are forbidden.

I don't want to give much more away here, but I will say that each time you think you know where the film is going, it pivots and does something else. I'm not entirely sure the film holds together the whole way through, as it's busy making so many different observations that it begins to meander and lose focus. However, the dry deadpan remains incredibly enjoyable throughout, and the whole thing is beautifully shot with ace acting from the principles, not to mention a great supporting cast that includes John C. Reilly, Léa Seydoux and Ben Whishaw. Besides, I'm convinced the lack of focus is part of the point. The Lobster serves as a thought-provoking satire of the superficial construct of courting, the societal pressure for coupledom and the insanity of love-induced sublimation, but it leaves plenty of room to poke at the potentially stifling nature of singledom as well. It's a Rorschach test about romantic relationships that's guaranteed to provoke a response, just not any sort of consistent one.

Look at how good the hair looks in Moana. And this is just a screen grab.

Along with this year’s Zootopia, Moana is the latest evidence that Disney Animation Studios has emerged from their early 2000s doldrums to stand alongside sister studio Pixar at the top of the animation heap. Both films will likely land Oscar nominations for Best Animated Feature, and Zootopia’s got the better chance to win because of its message about xenophobia and tolerance in this time of tremendous political uncertainty. It’s a great film, but for my money, the more traditionally structured Moana is even better.

In many ways, Moana is Disney returning to their formulaic bread and butter. It’s a musical about a princess directed by John Musker and Ron Clements, the duo who brought the world Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, and The Princess and the Frog. It even features a catchy “I want song,” which is that song in which an unsatisfied Disney protagonist sings about what they want (think “Part of Your World,” “Someday My Prince Will Come,” or “When Will My Life Begin”). Well, actually Moana (Auli'i Cravalho) is quick to point out she’s not really a princess, but she does have “How Far I’ll Go,” which is as catchy and affirmative as an “I want song” gets. Plus, as the demigod Maui (Dwayne Johnson) points out, “If you wear a dress and have an animal sidekick, you’re a princess.”

As Kristen Page-Kirby with the Washington Post points out, that statement is rooted in a legit critique of Disney’s Princess Industrial Complex, which has long used the term princess to describe all of its central females, even the non-princesses, who, to be fair, usually transcend to princessdom by the end credits via hooking up with a royal dude. Unfortunately, this has long been displayed as the crowning achievement a Disney heroine can achieve.

Disney has been subtly introducing more feminist friendly messages into its princess stories. Take Frozen for instance. I initially objected to bits of the film (reviewed here), but having seen it a jillion times now (thanks, Cassie), I realize how deft it was in dealing with all of this stuff. Anna’s part of the story is largely focused on critiquing the ludicrously flimsy romances that typically define these tales, and Elsa (not a princess, but a queen) has way more pressing things to deal with than whether or not she can find a man.

Moana takes things a step further, giving us not only a rare non-white heroine (she’s Pacific Islander), but also the first Disney princess story with absolutely no romantic interest (yes, I know, Merida from Brave, but that’s Pixar not Disney). Instead, Moana’s whole arc is more of a traditional hero’s journey (save the day by restoring some gem to its proper place), something that seems pretty old hat, until you consider how progressive it is to put a female in this type of story. Moana isn’t finding a man, getting saved by one, or serving his needs; she’s finding herself, fighting her own battles and serving her people. In that respect she’s following in the footsteps of Mulan (another non-white heroine, which is interesting) and, well, no one else (and even Mulan had a love interest, albeit not a prince).

Like many of their recent films, Disney goes for the easy "aww"

with an early kid-centered prologue.

Like Tangled, this is basically a two-hander about a girl and the rapscallion who’s begrudgingly helping her, but Maui is more like a selfish version of Aladdin’s Genie than a love interest. It’s probably more accurate to call him a Jack Sparrow-type. He’s a fun and even complex character, and the film gets a lot of mileage out of a running tattoo gag that reminded me of a similar stylistic Greek chorus from Musker and Clements’ Hercules. Plus, Johnson really livens up the film when he’s around and even delivers with Maui’s big musical number “You Welcome” (which, more than any other song in this thing, even the one Lin-Manuel Miranda actually sings, makes crystal clear that the Hamilton mastermind concocted much of the soundtrack).

The film isn’t perfect. At times, it feels like it takes too long to get where it’s going, but that time is well spent and results in making the leads feel more dimensional than typical Disney creations. Compare it to the tonally similar yet tighter Brave (reviewed here), and it becomes evident how much that time adds narratively. Even if it is a bit overlong, the music is fantastic and the animation is outright dazzling. John Musker and Ron Clements are old hands at all of this, but this is their first go around with CGI, and it’s damn impressive how well they carried this thing off. Look at the way water or hair move in this thing. It’s transfixing.

Plotwise, Moana is as formulaic as The Lobster is unconventional, but both films left strong impression on me. Once I get around to seeing more films from last year, both may not remain in my top 10, but they’ll remain close, because they represent truly worthwhile cinema from 2016.
The Lobster A-, Moana A-

"Trolls" Offers a Zany and Colorful Sugar Fix

Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake bring energy to Trolls.

Trolls was my daughter Cassie's first movie-going experience, so I'll cop to being completely swayed by her reaction. We cuddled the whole time, and she loved it. Thus, I loved it.

But the reality is that this isn't a very good movie. Trolls is entirely targeted at children, and so it doesn't have the strongest sense of plotting, character development or humor. Sure, it's cute, colorful and catchy, but it's mostly a formulaic, derivative mishmash of energized cover songs and zany visualizations in which characters fart glitter and poop cupcakes.

Beyond that though, there is, I think, a troublesome message in here about force-fed happiness and conformity, one that is directly opposed to the more nuanced takes in superior works like Inside Out and The Lego Movie (reviewed here). I'm not trying to be unfair. I like that the film ably gets the point across that it's important to look inward for happiness, and I challenge anyone who watches this thing not to be a little moved by the True Colors musical number. But I can't deny there's a disconnect here.

This is the high fructose corn syrup of the movie world. As with the real thing, it's a good idea not to overindulge on this type of treat, but it still offers a wallop of gratification for those looking for a sugar fix.C+

Live-Action "The Jungle Book" Provides Fresh Take On Old Tale

Jon Favreau's take on The Jungle Book is pretty damn good.

In recent years, Disney has fully committed to remaking their animated films in live action. Alice in Wonderland, Cinderella, Maleficent, Alice in Wonderland: Through the Looking Glass, The Jungle Book and the recently released Pete's Dragon have already come out, and a slew of others, including the hotly-anticipated Emma Watson-led Beauty and the Beast, are in the pipeline.

The strategy makes sense. The six films Disney has already released have garnered upwards of $2.5 billion worldwide. Why attempt to create something new when that kind of lucrative layup is right there for the taking?

I'm generally ambivalent about the concept of remakes, although I'll cop to preferring an artistically legit, non-monetary reason for making one. I prefer remakes that improve upon flawed films in some way (Ocean's 11), bring great stories to a larger audience (e.g. Insomnia, The Departed), or add some new wrinkle or point of view. For all its flaws, Maleficent accomplished that last point, while films like Cinderella and Alice and Wonderland felt like pure cash grabs through and through.

Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book proves itself worthy. The fact that effects have advanced to the point that this world can be believably rendered in "live action" could justify a remake on its own, but the film seals the deal by taking a decidedly modern approach to a story that has long been stuck in antiquated and offensive concepts of racial superiority. As originally conceived by Rudyard Kipling and then reiterated in the 1967 animated version, this story has historically advocated that we all need to be put in our proper place. It's imperialistic propaganda, a creed against social upheaval that simultaneously implies primitive cultures need to adopt Western advancements.

Throughout the film, Mowgli (Neel Sethi) is chastised for utilizing ingenuity to accomplish tasks because "it's not the wolf way" to use such tricks. Seeing the inherent benefits of what Mowgli does, Baloo (Bill Murray) reacts by saying "who cares?" And that's definitely the viewpoint this version hammers home. It follows the "you do you" ideology, suggesting that differences are to be celebrated and that nobody has to fit into predetermined boxes.

It's crazy scary how much of Christopher Walken's actual face the mo-cap

people transferred to King Louie.

From a plot perspective, the most interesting thing this version does occurs at the end. In the original text, Mowgli uses fire to best Shere Khan, achieving supremacy over the animal kingdom by embracing civilization. This results in him being forced to leave the jungle and be with man where he never really fits in anyway. As a result, he becomes a being with no nation.

That's far more tragic than the animated film many of us are most familiar with. In that version, the fire doesn't distance Mowgli from his friends, but he does make the decision to embrace humanity and civilization anyway, because it's what is best for him. In other words, he steps into the predetermined box he belongs in.

Here, Mowgli definitely learns to appreciate his position as man, but, ever the noble savage, he avoids distancing himself from the animals by rejecting fire and avoiding the corruption that comes with civilization. As what is essentially a mouthpiece for Kipling's original vision, Shere Khan (Idris Elba) has spent the entire movie warning against that corruption, and, yet, when Mowgli throws man's red flower away and proves him wrong, he says it's the stupidest thing the mancub could've done. Neither Khan nor Kipling understand the outside the box thinking.

There is so much going on here thematically, that it's hard to believe this is a kids movie. For instance, some could argue that Shere Khan functions as a stand-in for current isolationist politicians that prey on fears related to immigration and race. Others might see allusions to gun control or technology run amok in Mowgli's decision to reject fire and the power and adjoining distance that come with it.

That being said, this isn't some heady experience. Like the animated film, this new version is a ton of fun, and it even offers it's own renditions of "Bear Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You." The vocal performances of both Murray (soulful conman) and Elba (seriously terrifying) are the undeniable highlights of the voice cast, but Ben Kingsley, Christopher Walken and Scarlett Johansson do strong work as Bagheera, King Louie, and Kaa. I particularly appreciate how Walken's interpretation of King Louie as a sort of mob heavy sidesteps the distracting racial controversy surrounding the animated version of the character.

The effects in this thing are ridiculously good most of the time, and this is probably the best use of this technology since Life of Pi (reviewed here) or Avatar. However, there are moments where the cracks show, which are extra noticeable since the other moments around those moments have been so good. Fortunately, Sethi, the one real thing on screen, is up to the task of carrying the movie. His authenticity goes a long way toward selling this whole endeavor as a family experience fully worthy of your time. A-

Fun In Parts, "Suicide Squad" Is Still Spoiled By the Same Old Wanky D/C Plotting and Characterization

Will Smith and Margot Robbie display good chemistry in their second 
film together.

Like several of its main characters, Suicide Squad suffers from some sort of personality disorder. At times, it feels fresh, vibrant, and kinetic, operating with the same type of tongue-in-cheek mania that defined Deadpool. But unlike that incredibly successful Marvel adaptation, this D/C Comics joint fouls up many of the basics of superhero 101. The main bad guy sucks of course (that’s usually the way it goes), and the climax involves the same tired race to stop some doohickey from destroying the world (ditto). But worse than the that, the fights aren’t very dynamic, the logic of the whole thing is a mess, and, the characterization is problematic at best. As a result, the film plays a lot like The Losers, another mediocre team-up film from D/C that basically nobody remembers.

However, while The Losers was a totally innocuous property, Suicide Squad features small roles for Batman and Joker, two of the most popular comic book characters on the planet, and thus it can be sold as a major event to fans. As such, it simultaneously reaps the benefit of a built-in audience and gets crushed under the weight of expectations.

When I say small roles, I'm not kidding. Batman (Ben Affleck) and Flash (Ezra Miller) are inserted into short sequences solely to provide set-up for our antiheros. Joker (Jared Leto) has more to do, but not much -- he's really nothing more than tangential chaos on the margins of the main story. He's an interesting tertiary baddie, but he basically rates less on the importance scale than Yondu did in Guardians of the Galaxy.

Instead, the primary focus of the film is on the titular suicide squad, or rather it's supposed to be. The idea here is that ruthless government official Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) has implanted explosive devices into a gallery of gifted villains, with the aims of forcing them to do the nation's dirty work. It's a familiar concept, but also a good one. Unfortunately, only half the team gets any semblance of development, while the rest serve as little more than set-dressing.

This is comically evident during a finale in which the villain attempts to neutralize our heroes by promising to fulfill their deepest desires. Conflicted mercenary and expert marksman Deadshot (Will Smith), Joker's crazy mol Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), fire-wielding El Diablo (Jay Hernandez) and Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), the soldier in charge of all these wackos, all have visions of their desires, but the film doesn't even bother investing the time in the other members of the team, including Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), and martial arts expert Katana (Karen Fukuhara), a character so extraneous that she doesn't even get an introduction in the opening montage.

Not that it would've meant much. In his introduction, Captain Boomerang is shown to be a shit-bag who turns on his accomplices at the first opportunity, and yet, with no development whatsoever, the script has him go all Han Solo/Jack Sparrow in the end. A similar moment occurs with El Diablo, who is far better realized but still doesn't earn his departing line about the team being his new family. Excepting the bonds Deadshot independently forms with Harley and Flag, none of this camaraderie is earned in even a kinda-sorta way. Consider how much less credible these people feel as a team than the characters of Guardians or The Avengers do.

This all sounds super negative, but the film is a mostly enjoyable watch. It's stylish, has a lively soundtrack and some game performances. Smith and Kinnaman are fine anchors, and although he isn't given the room to deliver an iconic take like his forbearers, Leto is interesting as a thug Joker. Robbie and Davis are the standouts, suggesting distinct shades of villainy and vulnerability, which is a pretty cool thing to say when talking about such a dude-heavy movie and genre. As poorly as the film serves the rest of its cast, it serves these characters pretty well, which is a valuable thing since they are the five most important ones. Still, I wish the second tier characters had been afforded the same level of thought that Marvel affords the likes of Scarlett Witch, Vision or Falcon.

But, of course they weren't, because this isn't Marvel, it's D/C. Like Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice, this feels like a cool concept sunk by poor characterization and screwy plotting. Of chief concern with that last point -- why the hell is Waller even bothering to utilize such potential security threats when she has access to information that could lead her to more heroic accomplices like Batman, Flash and Aquaman (Jason Mamoa)? I'm going to assume it has something to do with a sadistic impulse to control powerful beings, but, once again, that means the D/C Universe is lazily asking me to just assume character beats it's not actually developing (as they did with Lex in Dawn of Justice). Not exactly the kind of thing I'm thinking about when I hope for consistency in such a cinematic universe. C+

Far From Ruinous, "Ghostbusters" Is a Celebration of a Childhood of Busting Ghosts

Proof of my childhood obsession. I wore this

constantly, usually along with my proton pack.

People have been lobbing unjust grenades at the latest Ghostbusters movie since it was first announced, based partly on the fact that Sony was rebooting the property at all, but also simply because it was going to star women instead of men. The narrative: this film was ruining childhoods and PC culture had gone too far. It's a pretty hilarious fear when you consider this tweet from David Ehrlich, senior film critic at Indie Wire.



Ghostbusters (2016) is finally out in theaters now, which means there's actually a product to judge, as opposed to blind speculation. The film is getting mostly good reviews, but it's hard to say if that's a knee jerk reaction from reviewers keen to knock nostalgia-huggers and misogynists down a peg, or a legitimate reaction to the film itself, which in the here and now isn't so much a movie as it is the locus of a warped culture war.

Based on the finished product, writer/director Paul Feig certainly has a sense of humor about all of it. Early in the film, after they post a video of an encounter with a ghost on the Internet, the leads read some of the comments, including "Ain't no bitches gonna hunt no ghosts." They brush aside the criticism, saying something about the pointlessness of putting stock in what Internet trolls type in the middle of the night (zing!).

But the film also addresses what it's like to be a woman in a man's world in the way it consistently puts the leads up against obstructionist men who seek to delegitimize them. Every female in the film provides them with help in some way, whereas every male functions as hindrance or a road block. Reflecting on it now, it's hard not to consider the way our culture treats women and the victim-blaming that follows sexual assault.

That's all in the subtext, but I don't want to overstep. Questioned credibility and presumed incompetence is an inherent part of a Ghostbusters outing, or really most paranormal-tinged movies in general. Believe me when I say this is a popcorn film first and foremost, and one of my favorite things about it is that the sex of the leads is largely irrelevant. By doing nothing more than modifying a few jokes, this film could easily star the likes of Jason Sudeikis, Will Forte, Bill Hader, and Craig Robinson instead of Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, and Leslie Jones. The fact that it doesn't isn't an indication of out of control political correctness, it's just the way it is.

It really is amazing how nostalgia manifests itself. Sometimes, there's out-sized excitement when studios bring back beloved properties (e.g. Fuller House, Jurassic World), and other times there's this type of overblown negativity. I remember getting into a conversation with an angry fan just after the release of the first CGI Alvin and the Chipmunks. She was incensed that a movie studio was stomping on the sanctity of her childhood memories, taking something she had loved and denigrating it for monetary gain. I remember arguing that a cartoon about singing chipmunks wasn't exactly a beacon of artistic integrity, that it was always a mediocre property designed with a bottom line to make money and sell merchandise. It's basically processed junk food, but it has been all along - the quality is really no different, the perspective is.

Kate McKinnon is amazing.

Ghostbusters is a bit different in that regard, because it has a deserved reputation as an outright classic. As such, someone could certainly make a legitimate argument that doing a follow up besmirches the original solely for the sake of commerce. At least they could have 30 years ago. The reality is that the franchise itself has already been diluted with oodles of lesser entries -- multiple cartoons, video games and a true sequel -- none of which can hold a candle to the original.

Unsurprisingly, this film doesn't either, but it's not a bad successor by any means. That's mostly because it's very funny, but there's also the refreshing fact that it's preoccupied with being its own thing. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of callbacks and cameos, but when it comes to tone, this one is very different. A laconic edge hangs over the original film, which is tons of fun no doubt, but also carries the same melancholy that defined every Bill Murray/Harold Ramis collaboration.

It's often said that Ramis grounded Dan Aykroyd's fantastical treatment for the first film, and while this one doesn't get as crazy as his original vision, it definitely leans more toward the Aykroyd vibe, which is unsurprising given his status as executive producer. It's still got an air of anarchic mischief (mostly due to the bemused live-wire that is McKinnon who's Holtzman feels like the greatest possible amalgamation of Peter, Egon and Ray), but it's more joyful than cynical, excitably spastic and consumed with an over abundance of technobabble and gadgetry.

While the central players in the original had a blue collar, been-there-done-that vibe, these new characters are fresh-faced and beyond giddy. In terms of plotting, that makes sense (the original takes place over a far longer period of time), but it's more than that. Honestly, I lost count of how many times a character says something like "that was awesome" or "this is so cool," but we're talking multiple dozens.

And it is cool. Whereas the original film played things pretty simple (proton pack to subdue ghosts, traps to capture them, and a resolution featuring one foe), the new one introduces an armory of gadgets, allows for ghosts to be vaporized, not just trapped, and ends with an action-packed slugfest between our heroes and an army of ghosts. Needless to say, the toy possibilities are endless. And that's kind of appropriate given that this film is less an ode to the original film as it is to The Real Ghostbusters cartoon and what it felt like to play Ghostbusters as a kid.

The Times Square throw down is indicative of the different approach here.

Getting more specific on the particulars of the film, I'll say that I'm a big fan of all these funny ladies bouncing off of each other, although I thought the script went over the top with all the scientific speak. I greatly enjoyed Chris Hemsworth's commitment to stupidity, and thought hanging the spine of the film on the fractured friendship between Wiig's Erin and McCarthy's Abby was a smart move, even if the resolution felt formulaic. I liked the way Slimmer and Stay Puft were used, but at the same time I was pretty underwhelmed by the film's inability to introduce new fun adversaries like them.

Speaking of adversaries, the big bad guy ultimately morphs into the ghostbusters logo (a nod to the opening credits of The Real Ghostbusters), but before that I found him to be the weakest part of the film. I guess they weren't exactly going to vilify the environmental protection agency in 2016, so an angry nerd makes sense, especially when you consider how well his arc plays off of the central one involving Erin embracing outsider status.

As far as science fiction antecedents with a debt to Ghostbusters are concerned, this doesn't quite measure up to Men in Black but it's a step above the likes of Evolution. It certainly doesn't trample all over any childhoods, and I say that as someone who's whole childhood was defined by Ghostbusters with a dash of Ninja Turtles, '60s era Batman and Monster Squad thrown in.

Some may not like that a group of women are leading the film, and they may even stoop to suggesting Ramis is rolling over in his grave (more on this in a great essay by his daughter), but screw 'em. This puppy brought back vivid memories of running around the school yard pretending to be ghostbusters with boys and girls, not to mention the original badass girl ghostbuster, Janine. The film is a celebration of what it meant to love Ghostbusters as a kid, and girls should get to play in that sandbox too. I stand by that claim, even though I acknowledge it is nudgingly muddied, at least on the symbolic level, by the image of four females literally shooting the Ghostbusters logo in the nuts at the end of the film (zing!). B

"The Big Short" and "Spotlight" Tackle Uncomfortable Truths Enroute to Screenplay Oscars

The Big Short uses Jenga to explain the unsound structure of CDOs.

Late in The Big Short, Brad Pitt, who gets to play a voice of reason and anger in a landscape of sly schmucks just as he did in 12 Years A Slave and Killing Me Softly, chastises his compatriots, saying, “If we're right, people lose homes. People lose jobs. People lose retirement savings. People lose pensions. You know what I hate about fucking banking? It reduces people to numbers. Here's a number - every 1% unemployment goes up, 40,000 people die, did you know that?” It’s a sobering moment, one that is undercut by the character’s willingness to go along with the scheme he's involved with, as well as his assurance that excitement is ok as long as you “just don’t fucking dance.”

That scene perfectly highlights the fact that while the featured players in The Big Short pride themselves on being anti-Wall Street crusaders, they're actually worse than all the amoral scum that started the problem by banking on high risk subprime loans, because they know better and still opt to short the investments. No matter how you slice it, these are men who looked at a terrible situation and decided to profit off of it instead of doing something about it, making the situation 10 times worse in the process. They may have thought they were sticking it to the big banks for screwing the American people, but by trying to profit in the offing, they guaranteed the American people would be left holding the bag. 

The Big Short doesn't shy away from the issue, even while it's courting viewers to root for all these shifty characters. Michael Burry (Christian Bale) opts to leave hedge funds behind because "business kills the part of life that is essential," while the film's smug narrator Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling) cops to being a douche, saying “I can feel you judging me. It’s palpable.” Vennett admits he's not the hero of this story, right after which a quick cut to Mark Baum (Steve Carrell), the most incensed of our protagonists, acts as movie code for "here's your hero."

And he is... sort of. He's the lead of the film, the one with a tragic back story that has filled him with anger and made him obsessed with taking on the system. He's hubristically convinced he can hurt the big banks where it counts, but in doing so he fails to account for just how sneaky they can be. When he finally realizes that type of victory is impossible – when he dines with a particularly vile piece of work and learns the banks have responded to the short sales on their collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) by shorting the shorts with synthetic CDOs comprised of credit default swaps – he decides if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. He tells his team to "short everything that man has touched," further adding to the mounting crisis. Later, when he finally opts to sell, the movie asks us to sympathize with Baum, because the banks got bailed out and he rightly predicts that in a few years everyone will just "be blaming immigrants and poor people.”

I don't know how to respond to that -- part of me loves that the film coaxes us to root for these guys, making us complicit in their scheming, only to have us come out the other end incensed and angry at everyone, these characters included. But most of me just wants to take a bath. There’s an ingrained desire in a film like this to have a character to gravitate toward, someone who distances him or herself from all the hustlers and sort of condemns them for what they've done, ala Bud Fox in Wall Street. But ultimately, I think writer/director Adam McKay made the right call avoiding that type of plotting, and that's specifically because it left me so much more outraged as a result. 

Like The Wolf of Wall Street before it, The Big Short employs a flippant dark-comic approach in its depiction of financial corruption, even going so far as to break the fourth wall with multiple celebrity cameos to make the financial terminology easier to understand. The tone works, and so too does the disdainful and cynical mood that is engendered by an ending note that warns CDOs have come back into the current market as "bespoke tranche opportunities," not to mention the ludicrous moment in which the leads are mentioned in the same breath as Robert Redford in All the President's Men.

Dogged investigative journalism unearths a major Church sex

scandal in Spotlight.

That Redford comparison would be far more apt for the characters of Spotlight, which takes a far more serious approach to what is essentially a very similar story. Sure, The Big Short takes aim at the 2008 financial crisis brought on by the U.S. housing bubble, while Spotlight tackles child molestation cover-ups by the Catholic church, but both function as cinematic activism about uncomfortable truths, or, put another way, as dramatized public service announcements about renegades railing against entrenched institutional villainy. The main characters in each film even sit on their scandalous information for an extended period of time, but while analysts in The Big Short do so to reap the financial benefits (and because the banks won't allow the other shoe to drop until they distance themselves a bit from the fallout), the reporters in Spotlight do so to ensure they write a strong story built on evidence so they can truly make a difference and enact change (and because of delays related to the tragedy on September 11).

Spotlight is a procedural set against the backdrop of a unique time in journalism, right when the proliferation of Internet content brought on a whole slew of cost-cutting measures and online poser "journalists" that crippled the previously prestigious and powerful print media. Long-term investigative journalism in which a reporter (or in the case of the Boston Globe's Spotlight team, a whole team of reporters) spent months breaking a huge story by rooting out actual nuggets of verifiable information used to be common practice, but now there's barely enough money to adequately staff breaking news coverage and even less time to properly confirm sources. The Globe's Spotlight team is still doing this type of work, but such opportunities are increasingly few and far between. As such, Spotlight also serves as a love-song to a profession that has fallen on hard times, but that, at its best, can expose corruption and righteously check institutional injustice as the fourth estate.

At the outset of the film, Martin Baron (Liev Schreiber), a new editor from outside the city, is brought in to take over the Globe, and immediately the newsroom is whispering about potential layoffs and apprehension over his lack of Boston roots. His first order of business is to question the staff about a column that mentioned 25 defendants have hired lawyer Mitchell Garabedian (Stanley Tucci) to bring a civil lawsuit against a catholic priest accused of sexually abusing more than 100 children. The records are sealed, and unlike the rest of the Globe staff, many of whom have ties to the church, Baron, a Jewish outsider unfamiliar with the power and influence the church wields in the city, wonders why. And so he puts the four-man Spotlight crew on the case, all of whom have a different reaction to the case, especially as the number of potential victims continues to grow.

Sacha Pfeiffer (Rachel McAdams) is so shaken by the victims and perpetrators she interviews that she stops going to mass and finds it difficult to talk with her devout grandmother. Meanwhile, Matt Carroll (Brian d'Arcy James) is alarmed that the church has a house for "retired" priests right down the block from his family home, and Michael Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) is angry, so angry that he wants to publish the information as soon as possible to protect the public. Section editor Walter Robinson (Michael Keaton) wants to wait, mostly to get the story right (he needs to convince a source he has a personal relationship with to confirm information), but also partly because of the shame he feels because he, and anyone who came across this information in the past, deserves some blame for not exposing all of this a long time ago. As Garabedian says, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one."

In a story like this, process trumps character, but writer/director Tom McCarthy (who shed light on the less attractive qualities of modern journalism as an actor on season 5 of The Wire) peppers in a series of effective character moments without ever tipping the scales into heavy-handed melodrama. It helps to have such a phenomenal cast giving one lived-in performance after another. Ruffalo and McAdams received nominations for their work, but everyone is on point here, especially Keaton, Schreiber and Tucci. They bring gravitas, authenticity, compassion, and a palpable sense of tenacious professionalism.  

The Big Short and Spotlight are two of 2015's tightly-structured films, and so it should surprise no one that they walked away with the screenplay awards at this year's Oscars. Both cover infuriating systemic treachery, albeit in completely different walks of life and with completely different point of views. If I prefer Best Picture winner Spotlight, it's mostly because it left me entirely satisfied by its well-oiled machinery and the win for the good guys, especially compared to The Big Short, which, by design, left me unsettled and foaming at the mouth.

The Big Short A-, Spotlight A