In many ways, 2017 was a year of regeneration for popular cinema. Despite the continuing blight of forced franchise-building and the existence of The Emoji Movie, there was also a shocking outpour of artistry in studio tentpoles: Get Out, Logan, Wonder Woman, Baby Driver, War for the Planet of the Apes, Dunkirk, Blade Runner 2049, and Star Wars: The Last Jedi, among others, all provided the year with a ceaseless procession of ambitious and intelligent blockbusters, and Netflix provided a flawed but ambitious and well-crafted alternative in Okja, which has all the excitement and visual prowess of a studio tentpole while also packing much more of a personal vision. In an era where so many alternatives to the inconvenient and expensive world of cinema entertainment exist, studios saw losses on many pictures, but where the product delivered, audiences showed up. In that sense as well as many others (most notably the #TimesUp movement), this was also a year of upheaval. For the industry, there's work to be done, and lessons to be learned, but for moviegoers, there was a wealth of riches to experience. Here, from A to Z, are my ten favourites of this lot.
Just barely missing the cut, however, are Luca Guadagnino's sensual Call Me By Your Name, Lee Unkrich's gorgeous and moving Coco, Christopher Nolan's staggeringly ambitious Dunkirk, Jordan Peele's thrilling and satirically pointed Get Out, James Mangold's visceral and intimate Logan, Noah Baumbach's hilarious yet poignant The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected), and John Watts' intelligent coming-of-age parable Spider-Man: Homecoming.
And now, the list:
Baby Driver
dir./writ. by Edgar Wright
Edgar Wright has long showed a knack for a rhythmic sort of action scene, but in Baby Driver, he showcases a higher level of craft than ever before. In contrast with the subversive streak of his prior films, Wright here allows a traditional crime story to play out largely unaltered, livened up primarily by a charming sincerity which blends well with all the quirks of Wright’s style. More importantly, however, the action scenes are thrillingly musical, all set to the beat of the exquisitely-selected soundtrack, almost like a musical where nobody sings. And as familiar as these plot beats may be, their employment here is well-paced and genuinely entertaining, and a colourful cast led by a very charismatic turn from Ansel Elgort as the titular silent protagonist breathe life into these old tropes, speaking punchy dialogue which, if somewhat less humorous than Wright’s previous scripts, still rarely falters. Alongside the colourful, inventive visual style and the high craft of the action scenes, that makes for a spirited film which feels fresh even at its most familiar.
The Big Sick
dir. by Michael Showalter
writ. by Kumail Nanjiani and Emily V. Gordon
Similarly, The Big Sick is a film which doesn’t wholly shy away from conventional rom-com rhythms, but it smartly deepens them and adds both ambiguity and complexity to its core relationship. Kumail Nanjiani’s script is frequently hilarious, but there’s also a confessional quality to it, with a wide range of messy, authentic details which gives the film a unique identity. On top of that, the sheer melancholy of these situations – a recent ex-girlfriend having become hospitalized, finding love outside your family’s expectations, and dealing with significant career opportunities on top of those stressors – cuts through the comedy, and the final notes are less humorous than heartbreaking. The sharp, entertaining dialogue conveys personalities and emotion just as often as it delivers jokes, and although the film is indeed very funny, it’s that specific, deeply personal emotional truth which lingers.
Blade Runner 2049
dir. by Denis Villeneuve
writ. by Hampton Fancher and Michael Green
A dense, droning, visually astonishing science-fiction marvel, Blade Runner 2049 is as thoughtful and mesmerizing as its predecessor, and even steps above it with more complex characters who are better able to carry those weighty themes. 2049 is a speculative meditation on the authenticity of human experience, set in a world where people exist whom are entirely synthetic, and while much of its fascination comes from watching these characters navigate the thorny questions surrounding that authenticity, just as much is derived simply from the hypnotic mood created by the terrific synth score and the gorgeous neon imagery. Despite the inclusion of a fairly standard antagonistic figure, this is still a slow, challenging, and heady work, and the visual ideas on display here are every bit as imaginative and poignant as in its predecessor. The world created by this imagery, with echoes of an analog, organic past long in decline, give this sequel an astonishing vision all its own.
The Florida Project
dir. by Sean Baker
writ. by Chris Bergoch and Sean Baker
With The Florida Project, Sean Baker shows a more artful and ambitious touch than was seen in his previous film Tangerine, depicting an impoverished community living on the outskirts of Disney World, as great a symbol of decadence as any. Baker’s film is filled with bursts of delightful noise, raucous mischief from kids making the most of their misfortune, but it slowly shifts perspective to the messy world of adults, chronicling the consequences of this mischief, as well as both the sacrifices needed to keep these families afloat and the systems which work to keep them down. Baker has a strong feel for inventive comic scenarios, but he always evokes the humanity within them, especially through the charismatic performances of Brooklynn Prince, Bria Vinaite, and Willem Dafoe, and for all of its hilarious diversions, the final scenes of The Florida Project are crushingly poignant like few other films this year.
John Wick: Chapter 2
dir. by Chad Stahelski
wirt. by Derek Kolstad
The sequel to John Wick takes everything which made the first film great and makes it bigger, stranger, and altogether more wonderful. The action has been upped in ambition and scale, marrying a ceaseless procession of great set pieces to exhilarating, balletic fight choreography, and the mysterious edges of these films’ world has been taken to surreal heights far beyond anything in the prior film. Even the melancholic underpinnings have been given much more detail, and Keanu Reeves still carries the title character’s unique blend of swagger and soulfulness with aplomb, creating one of the most memorable action heroes in recent memory. The film starts small and constantly burrows deeper, not stopping until it emerges out the other end, constantly escalating in strangeness without ever losing sight of the visceral thrill of a well-crafted action sequence. John Wick has potential to become a truly iconic action franchise, and Chapter 2 deserves a place in the pantheon of great action movies.
Lady Bird
dir./writ. by Greta Gerwig
Lady Bird is a hilarious, insightful, and nuanced teen movie which easily transcends the clichés of the genre with an uncommonly complex observation of a familiar coming-of-age journey. The titular character, whom has adopted that nickname out of sheer adolescent unselfconsciousness, begins as a refreshingly mundane example of selfish teenage nastiness, and though her journey of self-discovery never quite deviates from the expected trajectory of these movies, the details are so specific and the writing is so funny that they elevate that familiar plot skeleton. Most exciting is the core relationship between Lady Bird and her mother, which is so richly imagined that it must be autobiographical, and which insightfully conveys the difficult balance between gratitude and the desire for independence on one side as well as the difficult balance of parenting well without alienating your kid on the other. On top of everything else, this film is hilarious and awkward and sincere, and like all the best teen comedies, its insight and its humour are brilliantly intertwined.
My Life as a Zucchini
dir. by Claude Barras
writ. by Celine Sciamma, Germano Zullo, Claude Barras, and Morgan Navarro
A brief French animation based on a children’s story, My Life as a Zucchini finds utter bliss in the tension between a simple, innocent narrative and dark, tragic background details. Broadly speaking, the story is traditional and simplistic, but everything underlying it is profoundly sad, with each character having their own crushingly realistic sob story which only adds greater poignancy to all of the sweet character interactions. It’s a largely episodic film, with a somewhat standard conflict only emerging in the back half, but it’s also very candid about loss, and the tension between that surface-level charm and the dark subject matter makes for something truly beautiful. Despite all these kids have been through, they’re still mostly sweet and earnest, and they’re all clearly distinct without breaking the group dynamic. It’s a gentle, adorable, and quietly heart-wrenching film, and on top of that, it features lovely stop-motion animation which does a brilliant job of imitating the colours and shapes of a great children’s book. And all of it is just so wonderful.
The Shape of Water
dir. by Guillermo del Toro
writ. by Vanessa Taylor and Guillermo del Toro
Guillermo del Toro has always had sympathy for the monsters, and in The Shape of Water, he twists all his filmic influences into a new scripture venerating the creatures they so often vilified. The core of this story, which involves downtrodden people finding solidarity in their oppression, isn’t a new one, but the details of both the cold war setting and the characters involved provide a layered examination of toxic masculinity, intersectional oppression, and the inhumanity of the arms race. All of these compelling themes are presented through sequences of beautiful, flowy frames, which pay homage to classic films while retaining an identity all their own, and which transform the city streets and steel bunker walls into an entirely new world. Del Toro’s visual imagination makes for some truly spectacular images, but he never loses sight of the humanity of his story, and in the final moments of this film, his usual sympathies transcend themselves and gain a truly mythic stature.
Star Wars: The Last Jedi
dir./writ. by Rian Johnson
What is Star Wars in 2017? In 2015, The Force Awakens imagined it as myth, the kind of thing people talk about in hushed whispers and only half-believe, and that’s still true in The Last Jedi. But whereas the prior film used those myths as inspiration for new players to forge their own stories, this new entry both demolishes the past and complicates the new myths being formed. Here, what came before will not save you, and only by letting go can you move forward, but at the same time, recklessness is not the true way to heroism. Rian Johnson’s script disseminates those ideas through nearly every scene, and even his diversions are as symbolically fascinating as they are exciting. Most importantly, though, this new Star Wars is one of the most distinctive visions the series has ever had, with many of the best action scenes and visual ideas in franchise history, and a carefully-juggled tone which uses solid comic relief only to relieve the otherwise incredibly bleak tone. It is, put simply, magnificent.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
dir./writ. by Martin McDonagh
A truly poignant black comedy, Three Billboards uses its provocative premise not for a critique of American law enforcement, but for a hilarious and deeply moving examination of grief and anger. Uproariously scripted by Martin McDonagh, it’s a provocative film which takes swipes at various corners of power, and Frances McDormand further elevates the material with fiery performance as its acid-tongued, aggressive protagonist. But although the film revels in provocation, thriving in tense confrontations and sudden outbursts of violence, there’s a real soulfulness lurking beneath, and the details of its protagonists lives – alongside the deep pain they hold with them – gives this story a poignant, ambiguous sadness. Mildred especially gets an emotionally-detailed personal life, but two focus characters within the police department also have profoundly emotional character arcs which make these characters sympathetic without condoning their actions. All of these people go to extremes, some more righteous than others, but none of that can really take their pain away.
Here's to another great year.
Thank you to my Patreon supporters:
Todd Throndson
VioletWisp
Your donations are greatly appreciated.
Support me on Patreon!
Just barely missing the cut, however, are Luca Guadagnino's sensual Call Me By Your Name, Lee Unkrich's gorgeous and moving Coco, Christopher Nolan's staggeringly ambitious Dunkirk, Jordan Peele's thrilling and satirically pointed Get Out, James Mangold's visceral and intimate Logan, Noah Baumbach's hilarious yet poignant The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected), and John Watts' intelligent coming-of-age parable Spider-Man: Homecoming.
And now, the list:
Baby Driver
dir./writ. by Edgar Wright
Edgar Wright has long showed a knack for a rhythmic sort of action scene, but in Baby Driver, he showcases a higher level of craft than ever before. In contrast with the subversive streak of his prior films, Wright here allows a traditional crime story to play out largely unaltered, livened up primarily by a charming sincerity which blends well with all the quirks of Wright’s style. More importantly, however, the action scenes are thrillingly musical, all set to the beat of the exquisitely-selected soundtrack, almost like a musical where nobody sings. And as familiar as these plot beats may be, their employment here is well-paced and genuinely entertaining, and a colourful cast led by a very charismatic turn from Ansel Elgort as the titular silent protagonist breathe life into these old tropes, speaking punchy dialogue which, if somewhat less humorous than Wright’s previous scripts, still rarely falters. Alongside the colourful, inventive visual style and the high craft of the action scenes, that makes for a spirited film which feels fresh even at its most familiar.
The Big Sick
dir. by Michael Showalter
writ. by Kumail Nanjiani and Emily V. Gordon
Similarly, The Big Sick is a film which doesn’t wholly shy away from conventional rom-com rhythms, but it smartly deepens them and adds both ambiguity and complexity to its core relationship. Kumail Nanjiani’s script is frequently hilarious, but there’s also a confessional quality to it, with a wide range of messy, authentic details which gives the film a unique identity. On top of that, the sheer melancholy of these situations – a recent ex-girlfriend having become hospitalized, finding love outside your family’s expectations, and dealing with significant career opportunities on top of those stressors – cuts through the comedy, and the final notes are less humorous than heartbreaking. The sharp, entertaining dialogue conveys personalities and emotion just as often as it delivers jokes, and although the film is indeed very funny, it’s that specific, deeply personal emotional truth which lingers.
Blade Runner 2049
dir. by Denis Villeneuve
writ. by Hampton Fancher and Michael Green
A dense, droning, visually astonishing science-fiction marvel, Blade Runner 2049 is as thoughtful and mesmerizing as its predecessor, and even steps above it with more complex characters who are better able to carry those weighty themes. 2049 is a speculative meditation on the authenticity of human experience, set in a world where people exist whom are entirely synthetic, and while much of its fascination comes from watching these characters navigate the thorny questions surrounding that authenticity, just as much is derived simply from the hypnotic mood created by the terrific synth score and the gorgeous neon imagery. Despite the inclusion of a fairly standard antagonistic figure, this is still a slow, challenging, and heady work, and the visual ideas on display here are every bit as imaginative and poignant as in its predecessor. The world created by this imagery, with echoes of an analog, organic past long in decline, give this sequel an astonishing vision all its own.
The Florida Project
dir. by Sean Baker
writ. by Chris Bergoch and Sean Baker
With The Florida Project, Sean Baker shows a more artful and ambitious touch than was seen in his previous film Tangerine, depicting an impoverished community living on the outskirts of Disney World, as great a symbol of decadence as any. Baker’s film is filled with bursts of delightful noise, raucous mischief from kids making the most of their misfortune, but it slowly shifts perspective to the messy world of adults, chronicling the consequences of this mischief, as well as both the sacrifices needed to keep these families afloat and the systems which work to keep them down. Baker has a strong feel for inventive comic scenarios, but he always evokes the humanity within them, especially through the charismatic performances of Brooklynn Prince, Bria Vinaite, and Willem Dafoe, and for all of its hilarious diversions, the final scenes of The Florida Project are crushingly poignant like few other films this year.
John Wick: Chapter 2
dir. by Chad Stahelski
wirt. by Derek Kolstad
The sequel to John Wick takes everything which made the first film great and makes it bigger, stranger, and altogether more wonderful. The action has been upped in ambition and scale, marrying a ceaseless procession of great set pieces to exhilarating, balletic fight choreography, and the mysterious edges of these films’ world has been taken to surreal heights far beyond anything in the prior film. Even the melancholic underpinnings have been given much more detail, and Keanu Reeves still carries the title character’s unique blend of swagger and soulfulness with aplomb, creating one of the most memorable action heroes in recent memory. The film starts small and constantly burrows deeper, not stopping until it emerges out the other end, constantly escalating in strangeness without ever losing sight of the visceral thrill of a well-crafted action sequence. John Wick has potential to become a truly iconic action franchise, and Chapter 2 deserves a place in the pantheon of great action movies.
Lady Bird
dir./writ. by Greta Gerwig
Lady Bird is a hilarious, insightful, and nuanced teen movie which easily transcends the clichés of the genre with an uncommonly complex observation of a familiar coming-of-age journey. The titular character, whom has adopted that nickname out of sheer adolescent unselfconsciousness, begins as a refreshingly mundane example of selfish teenage nastiness, and though her journey of self-discovery never quite deviates from the expected trajectory of these movies, the details are so specific and the writing is so funny that they elevate that familiar plot skeleton. Most exciting is the core relationship between Lady Bird and her mother, which is so richly imagined that it must be autobiographical, and which insightfully conveys the difficult balance between gratitude and the desire for independence on one side as well as the difficult balance of parenting well without alienating your kid on the other. On top of everything else, this film is hilarious and awkward and sincere, and like all the best teen comedies, its insight and its humour are brilliantly intertwined.
My Life as a Zucchini
dir. by Claude Barras
writ. by Celine Sciamma, Germano Zullo, Claude Barras, and Morgan Navarro
A brief French animation based on a children’s story, My Life as a Zucchini finds utter bliss in the tension between a simple, innocent narrative and dark, tragic background details. Broadly speaking, the story is traditional and simplistic, but everything underlying it is profoundly sad, with each character having their own crushingly realistic sob story which only adds greater poignancy to all of the sweet character interactions. It’s a largely episodic film, with a somewhat standard conflict only emerging in the back half, but it’s also very candid about loss, and the tension between that surface-level charm and the dark subject matter makes for something truly beautiful. Despite all these kids have been through, they’re still mostly sweet and earnest, and they’re all clearly distinct without breaking the group dynamic. It’s a gentle, adorable, and quietly heart-wrenching film, and on top of that, it features lovely stop-motion animation which does a brilliant job of imitating the colours and shapes of a great children’s book. And all of it is just so wonderful.
The Shape of Water
dir. by Guillermo del Toro
writ. by Vanessa Taylor and Guillermo del Toro
Guillermo del Toro has always had sympathy for the monsters, and in The Shape of Water, he twists all his filmic influences into a new scripture venerating the creatures they so often vilified. The core of this story, which involves downtrodden people finding solidarity in their oppression, isn’t a new one, but the details of both the cold war setting and the characters involved provide a layered examination of toxic masculinity, intersectional oppression, and the inhumanity of the arms race. All of these compelling themes are presented through sequences of beautiful, flowy frames, which pay homage to classic films while retaining an identity all their own, and which transform the city streets and steel bunker walls into an entirely new world. Del Toro’s visual imagination makes for some truly spectacular images, but he never loses sight of the humanity of his story, and in the final moments of this film, his usual sympathies transcend themselves and gain a truly mythic stature.
Star Wars: The Last Jedi
dir./writ. by Rian Johnson
What is Star Wars in 2017? In 2015, The Force Awakens imagined it as myth, the kind of thing people talk about in hushed whispers and only half-believe, and that’s still true in The Last Jedi. But whereas the prior film used those myths as inspiration for new players to forge their own stories, this new entry both demolishes the past and complicates the new myths being formed. Here, what came before will not save you, and only by letting go can you move forward, but at the same time, recklessness is not the true way to heroism. Rian Johnson’s script disseminates those ideas through nearly every scene, and even his diversions are as symbolically fascinating as they are exciting. Most importantly, though, this new Star Wars is one of the most distinctive visions the series has ever had, with many of the best action scenes and visual ideas in franchise history, and a carefully-juggled tone which uses solid comic relief only to relieve the otherwise incredibly bleak tone. It is, put simply, magnificent.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
dir./writ. by Martin McDonagh
A truly poignant black comedy, Three Billboards uses its provocative premise not for a critique of American law enforcement, but for a hilarious and deeply moving examination of grief and anger. Uproariously scripted by Martin McDonagh, it’s a provocative film which takes swipes at various corners of power, and Frances McDormand further elevates the material with fiery performance as its acid-tongued, aggressive protagonist. But although the film revels in provocation, thriving in tense confrontations and sudden outbursts of violence, there’s a real soulfulness lurking beneath, and the details of its protagonists lives – alongside the deep pain they hold with them – gives this story a poignant, ambiguous sadness. Mildred especially gets an emotionally-detailed personal life, but two focus characters within the police department also have profoundly emotional character arcs which make these characters sympathetic without condoning their actions. All of these people go to extremes, some more righteous than others, but none of that can really take their pain away.
Here's to another great year.
Thank you to my Patreon supporters:
Todd Throndson
VioletWisp
Your donations are greatly appreciated.
Support me on Patreon!
No comments:
Post a Comment