I saw less movies last month, but ended up writing a good amount more on each of them. Let me know what you think! At the very least, check out my rankings, then check out some of these films. Three are streaming on Netflix, one is on Amazon Prime, one is on HBO GO, and all eight are worth a watch.
8. Princess Mononoke
It feels unfair to put this one in the bottom slot because I have no experience with (or, to be honest, real interest in) Japanese animation. Furthermore, I’m aware that this is one of the most well-respected pieces in the genre, and I can understand why; it certainly drops you into a world that is fully built and fully realized. But there were just too many barriers that kept me from buying into the way this world looked, the way it sounded, and the dream logic on which it operated. I think if it was a bit more fun or silly and a bit less strange or self-serious, I could have enjoyed it more. However, I did appreciate the moral complexity with which it treated some of its characters. Usually, an environmentally-friendly fable such as this one would establish clear heroes and villains, but Princess Mononoke refrained from such simplicity. It acknowledged that even good people can play large parts in the destruction of our planet — and that to commit to conservation is difficult but necessary.
7. Chi-Raq
This was a film that polarized my favorite critics; some had it in their top five movies of the year, while some completely dismissed it. In other words, I had no idea what to expect, but I was really excited to find out.
Unfortunately, it ended up being a disappointment in my eyes. Spike Lee’s latest feels less like a movie and more like a variety show. It’s disjointed, but not in a way that pulls together disparate perspectives in service of one theme or message. It’s not funny enough to be farce, not insightful enough to be satire, and too unfocused (and plain silly) to leave any strong statements in the minds of viewers about gun violence in America. It certainly has a lot to say, which it often imparts in rhymed verse that should appeal to lovers of Shakespeare and hip hop equally. However, much of its dialogue is too didactic to feel remotely authentic. Additionally, some Chicagoans have objected to Lee’s entire premise and his ability to understand the particular situation of the South Side. I can’t comment on that personally, but whenever I tried to pull a metaphorical meaning from Lee’s idea of a sex strike, I couldn’t unearth it — and from an interview that I saw Lee give on Colbert several months ago, I wonder if he really doesn’t have any bigger-picture intentions on that matter.
However, I did appreciate the frequent references to the institutional discrimination that exacerbates all the other problems that the film discusses. It was an interesting choice to have one of the only white characters in the film (a clergyman played by John Cusack) be the mouthpiece for many of these truths. Some might call it problematic, but I prefer to see it as Lee urging white viewers to listen up, expand their worldviews, and join this movement for peace.
Chi-Raq’s greatest good is that it reveals the megastar potential of its lead, Teyonah Parris. If Hollywood has any sense (and the jury’s still out on that one), it would offer her as many multi-dimensional and interesting roles as she could fit into her schedule.
You can watch Chi-Raq on Amazon Prime.
Unfortunately, it ended up being a disappointment in my eyes. Spike Lee’s latest feels less like a movie and more like a variety show. It’s disjointed, but not in a way that pulls together disparate perspectives in service of one theme or message. It’s not funny enough to be farce, not insightful enough to be satire, and too unfocused (and plain silly) to leave any strong statements in the minds of viewers about gun violence in America. It certainly has a lot to say, which it often imparts in rhymed verse that should appeal to lovers of Shakespeare and hip hop equally. However, much of its dialogue is too didactic to feel remotely authentic. Additionally, some Chicagoans have objected to Lee’s entire premise and his ability to understand the particular situation of the South Side. I can’t comment on that personally, but whenever I tried to pull a metaphorical meaning from Lee’s idea of a sex strike, I couldn’t unearth it — and from an interview that I saw Lee give on Colbert several months ago, I wonder if he really doesn’t have any bigger-picture intentions on that matter.
However, I did appreciate the frequent references to the institutional discrimination that exacerbates all the other problems that the film discusses. It was an interesting choice to have one of the only white characters in the film (a clergyman played by John Cusack) be the mouthpiece for many of these truths. Some might call it problematic, but I prefer to see it as Lee urging white viewers to listen up, expand their worldviews, and join this movement for peace.
Chi-Raq’s greatest good is that it reveals the megastar potential of its lead, Teyonah Parris. If Hollywood has any sense (and the jury’s still out on that one), it would offer her as many multi-dimensional and interesting roles as she could fit into her schedule.
You can watch Chi-Raq on Amazon Prime.
6. Melancholia
This film was a true challenge, and I don’t think I ever need to see it a second time (at some point, I’ll describe why rewatchability is crucial to my rankings, but this piece already does it so well that I probably don’t have to). However, I feel so strongly about some of Melancholia’s achievements — particularly, how it submerges viewers in a perspective informed by depression, then by anxiety — that I wonder if it should be higher on my list.
One of the features of this movie that might make it unpalatable for viewers is that it begins with an eight-minute overture of strange, apocalyptic images and thunderous classical music. I wouldn’t be surprised if most people backed out at some point during this experience, but I really do believe that it sets the stage for the rest of the film so well. The overture establishes a universe that is frightening and unsettling, fatalistic and epically awful. We quickly come to see that this is the perspective held by the film’s two main characters, two sisters named Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), because of their struggles with mental illness. The camera allows us to look through these women’s eyes and see what they project onto each scene.
Part 1 of the film, entitled “Justine,” seems to be an allegory of living with depression; each character at Justine’s wedding stands in for a different (unhelpful and unsuccessful) way that someone might handle a friend or family member with depression. Dunst submits the best performance of any movie on this list (except for an actor in my #1 movie of the month). She puts on a face of grace and jubilance as would be expected of any new wife, but gradually allows the pain and anhedonia that her character experiences to claw its way to the surface and take over. Besides the fidgety camerawork that distracted me at certain points, I found this section of the film to be riveting.
Part 2, called “Claire,” was a bit harder to mine for meaning and a bit less interesting since the overture had hinted all along at how the story would conclude. Still, I loved how it began to incorporate more and more elements of a sci-fi disaster movie. (Some of its sky-gazing shots are more beautiful than anything in recent movies like Interstellar or The Martian that were actually set in space.) Also, its dramatic rendering of the anxiety that Justine’s sister experiences is an effective vehicle for director Lars von Trier’s message: this is how it feels. To live with this sickness is to fight against imagining the worst possible scenario at all times. It’s as drastic as believing that planets might literally collide.
You can watch Melancholia on Netflix.
One of the features of this movie that might make it unpalatable for viewers is that it begins with an eight-minute overture of strange, apocalyptic images and thunderous classical music. I wouldn’t be surprised if most people backed out at some point during this experience, but I really do believe that it sets the stage for the rest of the film so well. The overture establishes a universe that is frightening and unsettling, fatalistic and epically awful. We quickly come to see that this is the perspective held by the film’s two main characters, two sisters named Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), because of their struggles with mental illness. The camera allows us to look through these women’s eyes and see what they project onto each scene.
Part 1 of the film, entitled “Justine,” seems to be an allegory of living with depression; each character at Justine’s wedding stands in for a different (unhelpful and unsuccessful) way that someone might handle a friend or family member with depression. Dunst submits the best performance of any movie on this list (except for an actor in my #1 movie of the month). She puts on a face of grace and jubilance as would be expected of any new wife, but gradually allows the pain and anhedonia that her character experiences to claw its way to the surface and take over. Besides the fidgety camerawork that distracted me at certain points, I found this section of the film to be riveting.
Part 2, called “Claire,” was a bit harder to mine for meaning and a bit less interesting since the overture had hinted all along at how the story would conclude. Still, I loved how it began to incorporate more and more elements of a sci-fi disaster movie. (Some of its sky-gazing shots are more beautiful than anything in recent movies like Interstellar or The Martian that were actually set in space.) Also, its dramatic rendering of the anxiety that Justine’s sister experiences is an effective vehicle for director Lars von Trier’s message: this is how it feels. To live with this sickness is to fight against imagining the worst possible scenario at all times. It’s as drastic as believing that planets might literally collide.
You can watch Melancholia on Netflix.
5. The Big Short
Thanks to Oscar season, I feel like so much has already been said about this film that I don’t know if I have anything necessary to add. What’s obvious is that the editing team did a bunch of interesting work and that the writers did everything they could to get viewers to understand (and be compelled by) the ins and outs of the 2008 financial crisis. There’s no doubt that The Big Short is funny, infectiously fun, well-acted, and aware of its implications when it’s asking you to root for guys who are making money off of national peril. I really appreciated all of those things. However, as I get farther away from having seen this film, it feels less and less essential that I ever saw it in the first place. Its style is nothing new for Wall Street stories — the fast talking, the black humor. Its performances are well above average but nothing that requires any serious range. Its message (big banks are shady, greed is pervasive, and we need to change how all of this works) is vital, yet something that I already understood. All in all, this film is enjoyable and important, but it brings nothing to the table that will make it stand out a few years down the line.
4. Dope
This movie has such vitality: an amazing soundtrack, jittery and creative editing, a collection of lively performances, and a propulsive plotline. My main issue with it was when it became less than believable, whether that was the plot becoming contrived or the characters becoming caricatures. Most of the time, though, these features were much more excited than frustrating. Dope employs a sort of fun-loving surreality, and viewers are completely along for the ride.
The movie has plenty to say about issues of race and how they impact black identity and achievement, but these ideas never seem superfluous or grafted onto the main story. In general, Dope’s characters and settings feel true to life in 2016, but they’re usually confined to other forms of media (or not shown at all), so it’s exciting and refreshing to see them on center stage in a feature-length film. Shameik Moore is a natural in the leading role, and I’m really looking forward to see him in Netflix’s The Get Down later this year.
You can watch Dope on Netflix.
The movie has plenty to say about issues of race and how they impact black identity and achievement, but these ideas never seem superfluous or grafted onto the main story. In general, Dope’s characters and settings feel true to life in 2016, but they’re usually confined to other forms of media (or not shown at all), so it’s exciting and refreshing to see them on center stage in a feature-length film. Shameik Moore is a natural in the leading role, and I’m really looking forward to see him in Netflix’s The Get Down later this year.
You can watch Dope on Netflix.
3. No Country For Old Men
I can’t remember the last time that a movie made me so mad. I was basically seething in my seat for the last 20 minutes or so of No Country for Old Men. I don’t want to say why, because I don’t like to spoil plot points in these write-ups, but I will say that I felt as if the treatment of one of the main characters in this movie was totally unfair to viewers in terms of emotional payoff.
After a lot of thought, I’ve come around to the idea that the Coen brotherswanted to unsettle me like this. It reminds me of something that one of my favorite TV critics, Andy Greenwald, has said about the first season of one of my favorite shows, The Leftovers — basically that he hated it at the forefront of his consciousness because it was asking him to deal with pretty frustrating and upsetting ideas underneath the surface. It’s hard to deal with the notions that life might be nasty, brutish, and short, or that the arc of the moral universe might not bend towards justice. But this movie asks us to, and I respect it for that.
Plus, I wouldn’t have been so mad about the last 20 minutes if the first 100 hadn’t been so engrossing. This movie exemplifies the best of Western/crime thrillers; it’s suspenseful, gritty, and shocking. Javier Bardem pulls off the nightmare-inducing psychopath quite well (even if I thought the whole coin thing was a bit gimmicky), and Josh Brolin perfectly displays a man who seems much more confident and capable than he actually is. The Academy wouldn’t normally choose a movie like this for Best Picture, but it did, and it’s great to see two of our best directors get recognition.
After a lot of thought, I’ve come around to the idea that the Coen brotherswanted to unsettle me like this. It reminds me of something that one of my favorite TV critics, Andy Greenwald, has said about the first season of one of my favorite shows, The Leftovers — basically that he hated it at the forefront of his consciousness because it was asking him to deal with pretty frustrating and upsetting ideas underneath the surface. It’s hard to deal with the notions that life might be nasty, brutish, and short, or that the arc of the moral universe might not bend towards justice. But this movie asks us to, and I respect it for that.
Plus, I wouldn’t have been so mad about the last 20 minutes if the first 100 hadn’t been so engrossing. This movie exemplifies the best of Western/crime thrillers; it’s suspenseful, gritty, and shocking. Javier Bardem pulls off the nightmare-inducing psychopath quite well (even if I thought the whole coin thing was a bit gimmicky), and Josh Brolin perfectly displays a man who seems much more confident and capable than he actually is. The Academy wouldn’t normally choose a movie like this for Best Picture, but it did, and it’s great to see two of our best directors get recognition.
2. Burn After Reading
Although No Country For Old Men is many people’s favorite Coen brothers movie in general, it honestly wasn’t even my favorite of those that I saw in February. That honor goes to Burn After Reading. This isn’t a movie that has one thing in particular that vaults it into the realm of excellence; instead, it’s like a little machine in which every gear and pulley performs its own task, and the result is a deftly managed and darkly funny story. I don’t want to go into all the different ways that the plot weaves together a bunch of different characters and situations, but it ends up being pretty impressive. I also have to mention the manic energy that Frances McDormand brings to her role and the way that Brad Pitt is totally convincing and hilarious as a dumber-than-average personal trainer. It’s sometimes hard to remember — since he’s usually being referred to as Angelina Jolie’s husband or Sexiest Man Alive — but Pitt is a incredibly believable and likable actor. (I thought George Clooney was funny and convincing, too — more so than in O Brother, Where Art Thou? from last month.)
The Coens are masters at shifting back and forth between humor and horror, and their work in Burn After Reading is no exception. The movie leaves you with the troubling notion that something can so easily come out of nothing — that a simple set of misunderstandings can precipitate a total disaster. You’re also forced to wonder about our nation’s increasingly omnipresent security apparatus: how often does it defuse these disasters, and how often does it accidentally cause them?
You can watch Burn After Reading on HBO GO.
The Coens are masters at shifting back and forth between humor and horror, and their work in Burn After Reading is no exception. The movie leaves you with the troubling notion that something can so easily come out of nothing — that a simple set of misunderstandings can precipitate a total disaster. You’re also forced to wonder about our nation’s increasingly omnipresent security apparatus: how often does it defuse these disasters, and how often does it accidentally cause them?
You can watch Burn After Reading on HBO GO.
1. The Master
Maybe there’s some truth to “third time’s a charm.” I had already seen two movies directed by Paul Thomas Anderson (There Will Be Blood and Punch-Drunk Love), but I couldn’t buy into his aesthetic in either one; as much as critics champion him as one of our best contemporary filmmakers, I just didn’t get it.
But The Master completely floored me. First of all, it’s beautiful. I don’t have much of a working knowledge of cinematography, but all I can say is that this film’s color palette is rich and evocative of its 1950s setting, and it (in addition to its otherworldly soundscapes) makes the movie a total joy to absorb. Secondly, Joaquin Phoenix, as a deeply troubled WWII veteran named Freddie Quell, gives a performance with more range, tension, and unexpectedness than anything I’ve seen in recent memory — certainly more than anything I’ve written about this month or in January. The role requires rage, violence, weirdness, instability, and vulnerability, but Phoenix gives freely and fully. He’s completely believable, and it’s impossible to look away. As for the plot, I’ve heard from others that they found it to be inscrutable or hard to follow. I will admit that events aren’t always laid out plainly, and we’re not always sure what certain lines of dialogue are meant to imply, but I would urge viewers to trust the filmmaker and let him take the lead.
After the end of the war, Quell undergoes a series of strange trials but eventually comes under the wing of a cult leader named Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), and their relationship is the main focus of the movie. The Master deals with a collection of visceral concepts, but nearly all of them return to one question: who deserves our devotion? It’s a film that begs for deep psychoanalysis, having so many ideas swirling throughout that relate to power and attraction, repression and self-medication, love and idolization, and belonging and fatherhood that I’d have to write a full thesis to feel like I’d finally exhausted the text (and I’m sure there are film majors out there who have done just that).
Because Phoenix’s performance captivated me so much, I think my interpretation of the movie was colored by Quell’s perspective, but you could focus on Dodd’s motivations or the motivations of Dodd’s wife, played by Amy Adams, and arrive in totally different places. I look forward to rewatching The Master a couple more times and pulling together these interpretations. I really do believe that the film deserves that type of close attention.
You can watch The Master on Netflix.
But The Master completely floored me. First of all, it’s beautiful. I don’t have much of a working knowledge of cinematography, but all I can say is that this film’s color palette is rich and evocative of its 1950s setting, and it (in addition to its otherworldly soundscapes) makes the movie a total joy to absorb. Secondly, Joaquin Phoenix, as a deeply troubled WWII veteran named Freddie Quell, gives a performance with more range, tension, and unexpectedness than anything I’ve seen in recent memory — certainly more than anything I’ve written about this month or in January. The role requires rage, violence, weirdness, instability, and vulnerability, but Phoenix gives freely and fully. He’s completely believable, and it’s impossible to look away. As for the plot, I’ve heard from others that they found it to be inscrutable or hard to follow. I will admit that events aren’t always laid out plainly, and we’re not always sure what certain lines of dialogue are meant to imply, but I would urge viewers to trust the filmmaker and let him take the lead.
After the end of the war, Quell undergoes a series of strange trials but eventually comes under the wing of a cult leader named Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), and their relationship is the main focus of the movie. The Master deals with a collection of visceral concepts, but nearly all of them return to one question: who deserves our devotion? It’s a film that begs for deep psychoanalysis, having so many ideas swirling throughout that relate to power and attraction, repression and self-medication, love and idolization, and belonging and fatherhood that I’d have to write a full thesis to feel like I’d finally exhausted the text (and I’m sure there are film majors out there who have done just that).
Because Phoenix’s performance captivated me so much, I think my interpretation of the movie was colored by Quell’s perspective, but you could focus on Dodd’s motivations or the motivations of Dodd’s wife, played by Amy Adams, and arrive in totally different places. I look forward to rewatching The Master a couple more times and pulling together these interpretations. I really do believe that the film deserves that type of close attention.
You can watch The Master on Netflix.
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