BEST OF THE DECADE - Final Thoughts

Having now revealed my list for the Best Films of the Decade, I’d like to take a moment to say a few last things about the films on it as well as address some general comments from readers regarding the list.

One detail a few readers took issue with was my placement of both Kill Bill films and all three Lord of the Rings films on the list. These people have argued that this is “cheating,” and I should pick one film from each series for inclusion on the list. While I do concede that there are differences in tone and plot for both halves of Kill Bill and each film in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, I do not believe the differences are stark enough to warrant separation on a list such as this one. Both Kill Bill and Lord of the Rings were conceived as single projects and filmed together. In the years to come, they will be remembered together, not separately. Without its companion film to complement it, neither Kill Bill film is as strong as the whole, and Lord of the Rings similarly works best when approached as one three-part epic.

Regarding Adaptation, I have a few reasons for giving it the top spot aside from the arguments I make in the review. More so than any other film on the list, Adaptation embodies a self-awareness that is very much a product of our time. Thanks to the popularity of behind-the-scenes DVD features and widespread availability of the Internet, moviegoers are becoming increasingly aware of the filmmaking process. Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze allow their film to adopt this self-consciousness and then they have fun with it. From a more personal perspective, Adaptation was the film that turned my interest in movies into an unabashed love of movies. It is the one film I continue to return to, always finding something new to appreciate in it, and that is the mark of a truly great film.

Keep in mind that these are only my personal choices and not an objective study of the last decade in cinema. Feel free to post a comment below including your choices for the decade’s best, or any other comments/gripes about my own list. Below is an aesthetically pleasing list of my choices from one to ten. Comment away!

1) Adaptation

2) The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

3) No Country For Old Men

4) The Departed

5) There Will Be Blood

6) A History of Violence

7) Requiem For a Dream

8) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

9) 25^th Hour

10) Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2

- Steve Avigliano, 2/16/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #1: Adaptation

Adaptation (2003): Dir. Spike Jonze. Written by Charlie Kaufman and Donald Kaufman, based on the book The Orchid Thief by Susan Orlean. Starring: Nicholas Cage, Meryl Streep, Chris Cooper, Brian Cox. Rated R (language, sexuality, some drug use and violent images). Running time: 114 minutes.

**NOTE: This review freely discusses the ending of the film, so be forewarned of spoilers.

The first time I saw Adaptation, I sat in a daze, staring blankly at the credits scrolling up the screen, trying to grapple with the film’s ending. The opening scenes had me hooked early, and the insecurities of neurotic screenwriter, Charlie Kaufman (Nicholas Cage), in both his personal and professional life had struck a chord with me. That the real-life screenwriter Charlie Kaufman had written Adaptation’s screenplay made the film wonderfully self-deprecating. I appreciated the character Charlie’s mockery of Hollywood clichés, his witty banter with his less cerebral twin brother, Donald (also Nicholas Cage), and the smart and biting jabs at the movie takes at the film industry. However, as the film follows Charlie’s struggle to adapt a seemingly un-adaptable book called The Orchid Thief, something strange happens. Kaufman the character writes himself into his screenplay and it becomes apparent that the script he is writing is the film we are watching. Now I was positively delighted by the film’s unabashed self-reference, but soon found the film had at least one more trick up its sleeves. The real-life Charlie Kaufman wisely avoids self-reference simply for the sake of it, and ends the film by throwing in every Hollywood convention in the book, leaving the film on an odd note of uncertainty. Why would a film so deliberately cop out in the final scenes? After many more viewings of the film, the true goals of Adaptation begin to reveal themselves. Though the film has much to say about the film industry and Hollywood clichés, it is ultimately about how we live our lives and how our expectations for the way our lives should be affect the way we live.

Charlie Kaufman, as depicted in Adaptation, is socially inept and desperate for female affection, but terrified of making of the first move. He drops a woman off at her house after a date, neglecting to kiss her when he had the chance. Idling in the car, he kicks himself for missing the opportunity and wonders what would happen if he just got out of the car, knocked on her door and kissed her. “It would be romantic,” he says in a voice-over, “Something we could someday tell our kids.” These are the expectations he gained from a lifetime of watching romantic movies and, lacking the courage to play the part of a romantic, he drives away dejected. Magazine writer Susan Orlean (Merryl Streep), in scenes that loosely dramatize The Orchid Thief, is a spiritual partner to Charlie, also wishing she had the courage to make a major change in her life. She wants to feel passionate about something in the same way her subject, the eccentric John Laroche (Chris Cooper), feels about orchids. Both Charlie and Orlean have dramatic foils that show them a seemingly better way of living. Charlie’s foil is Donald, who has no trouble writing successful screenplays or flirting with women. Meanwhile, Orlean envies Laroche for being able to detach himself so easily from something and move on.

On one level, the film’s ending is an extension of these themes. Let’s assume for a moment that the ending, which includes everything Charlie claims to despise in Hollywood movies (drugs, sex, guns, car chases, characters learning profound life lessons), actually happens within the reality of the film. The final shot in particular, featuring The Turtles’ “Happy Together,” is strangely upbeat considering Donald has just died in a car accident, Laroche was eaten by alligators, and Orlean’s life is in shambles. Kaufman seemingly betrays everything that has come before by tacking on a fluff ending that provides no real dramatic or emotional closure. This “fluff ending” might, however, be viewed as a satirical look at the ways in which individuals try to live their lives like a Hollywood film. After attending a screenwriting seminar by Robert McKee (Brian Cox), Charlie tells McKee that the seminar hit him deeper than his screenwriting choices. McKee’s advice that things must happen in a screenplay reflects poignantly on Charlie’s “choices as a human being.” Following the seminar, Charlie decides to find Susan in Florida, and in his spying escapade, he finds life as Hollywood sees it: secret affairs, exotic drugs and an exhilarating encounter with death. Little has changed about Charlie by the final scene, and yet he smiles after he learns the woman he loves will never be with him. Despite the sadness that has entered his life, he seems content with the Hollywood ending.

Adaptation also functions, perhaps more obviously, as a criticism of Hollywood movies and the advice of story seminars such as McKee’s. Throughout the film, Donald is a comic figure and his script pitches to his brother are some of the film’s funniest moments, poking fun at cookie-cutter scripts and genre films. At one point, Donald describes a chase scene in his movie where the protagonist rides a motorcycle in pursuit of a serial killer on horseback. “It’s like a battle between motors and horses,” he explains, “Like technology versus horse.” The McKee seminar is similarly mocked. “A last act makes a film,” says McKee, “Wow them in the end, you got a hit.” Charlie does just that. He deliberately packs the final forty minutes with all the contrived drama he can in an effort to show how absurd McKee’s philosophy is.

Despite its many contrivances, however, the last act of Adaptation genuinely works. Kaufman wisely makes the “Hollywood” ending compelling enough that its deliberate artifice does not call attention to itself until the final scenes. Adaptation works on a first viewing, and not until revisiting the film is it clear just how early Kaufman begins his detour into the realm of Hollywood intrigue. The characters are still convincingly played even as they carry out clichés, and the film retains the humor of earlier scenes. By identifying the third act as contrived, Kaufman is able to get away with his forced ending, even creating some heartfelt moments, most notably between the two brothers. Kaufman mocks Hollywood conventions by inserting all of the movie vices Charlie the character scorns in an earlier scene, all the while showing how these films can actually be rather effective when executed well enough.

Long before the ending, however, Adaptation identifies itself as self-aware, making many playful self-references. The title itself refers to Charlie’s adaptation of Orlean’s book, the theory of evolution (Darwin is referenced several times throughout the film), and the more basic theme of adapting to the changes that occur in everyday life. When Charlie asks his brother how an outlandish script idea could ever make logistical sense, Donald shrugs and replies, “Trick photography,” a device that very scene uses to allow Nicholas Cage to talk to himself. Later, McKee interrupts Charlie mid-voice-over to shout, “God help you if you use voice-over narration in your work! It’s flaccid, sloppy writing.” Even as Kaufman skewers the clichés of Hollywood scripts, he can’t help but make fun of himself too, a strategy that is as modest as it is self-deprecating.

With all the layers Kaufman gives his screenplay, its easy to take for granted the work of director Spike Jonze here. Jonze, who also directed Kaufman’s Being John Malkovich, presents the complexities of Kaufman’s script in a digestible way, moving between Charlie’s scenes and Orlean’s storyline with clever transitions. Jonze seamlessly moves from Florida “Three Years Earlier” to Charlie’s bedroom in the present by turning Orlean’s voice-over into the narration of her book as Charlie reads it. Other small touches, such as a book jacket photo of Orlean that changes poses as Charlie plays out a conversation with it, are part of Jonze’s style and visual inventiveness. Jonze succeeds in not only making Kaufman’s script understandable, but enjoyable as well, a difficult task to be sure.

I couldn’t tell you how much of Adaptation is based in truth, but the true story is rendered irrelevant by the reality of the film. The real-life Kaufman does not have a twin brother, but that didn’t stop Donald Kaufman from getting an Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay – though perhaps Charlie and Donald are just two halves of the same screenwriter. Did Kaufman really try to adapt Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief before finally writing this film? No doubt one could read interviews with Kaufman and Jonze to find out, but what would be the point? In one scene, Charlie reads aloud a book review of The Orchid Thief that explains how since there wasn’t enough story to fill up a book, Orlean adds “that sprawling New Yorker shit” about her hopes, her desires and her own life to fill the pages. It seems impossible to Charlie to adapt something so personal and intimate. What Kaufman does to remain spiritually faithful to the book is replace Orlean’s sprawling reflections on life with his own, and in doing so, he writes a film that sheds insight into a more universal concept. In order to live our lives, we must search for meaning, for purpose. These purposes differ from person to person, but the search itself is shared by all.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/13/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #2: The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

The Lord of the Rings (2001-3): Dir. Peter Jackson. Written by Fran Walsh, Phillipa Boyens and Peter Jackson, with Stephen Sinclair (Two Towers only). Starring: Elijah Wood, Viggo Mortensen, Ian McKellan, Sean Astin, Andy Serkis, Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, Orlando Bloom, John Rhys-Davies, Sean Bean, Ian Holm, Christopher Lee. Rated PG-13 (epic battle scenes, scary monsters). Running time: 558 minutes (theatrical), 683 minutes (Extended Edition DVDs).

I think I’ll always be hesitant to embrace epic films. Maybe it’s because the stories they tell are familiar and predictable. Maybe it’s because I can’t relate to all that lofty talk of honor and pride. Maybe it’s just because they tend to be so damn long. In the hands of some filmmakers, however, these qualities of epic cinema are not flaws or limitations at all. When executed well, the great potential of an epic film becomes evident, even to skeptic such as myself.

Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings represents the peak of that potential. The three films that make up the trilogy, The Fellowship of the Rings, The Two Towers and The Return of the King are impressive in scope and execution, but also hugely entertaining. Every scene of the lengthy trilogy bears the mark of being carefully crafted from the foundations of the screenplay to smallest details added in post-production. Looking at the films again, it’s difficult to think of what I might say about them; their appeal is no secret and their merit is unmistakable. Furthermore, much of my affection for these films stems from a deep nostalgic connection. I remember seeing these films as a middle and high school student. So to write a traditional review of the films seems absurd to me. A trilogy as massive as this deserves a list of its own, so here is my mini-list of my Top 10 Favorite Things About The Lord of the Rings. In it are individual scenes, specific characters and certain technical aspects of the films. No doubt another person could do the same and come up with a very different list. Their list would be as true as mine. For me, as it may also be for you, the best part about The Lord of the Rings is my personal connection to the films.

10) The Battle at Amon Hen (The Uruk-hai forest fight) – The exciting sequence that ends the first film features sweeping camerawork and quick intercutting keep the narrative action clear, something few action films take the time to do. No matter how frantic and action-packed these films get, the editing is always crisp and clear, and this sequence is a prime example of that.

9) Boromir, Faramir and Denethor – The family trio of these two brothers and their fathers is the most emotionally compelling subplot of the films. Sean Bean’s Boromir in the first film is a stirring performance that only gets better when we meet his overbearing father, Denethor (John Noble), in third. Possibly my favorite individual scene in the trilogy is one that intercuts Denethor feasting on his throne as Faramir (David Wenham) charges an overrun Osigiliath on a suicide mission ordered by his father. The Extended Edition of The Two Towers adds a flashback where all three interact and we get to see the whole horrible family dynamic.

8) The Battle for Helm’s Deep – The first major military battle of the trilogy comes in The Two Towers, a dark battle (in both tone and lighting) that shows the improbable victory of the Rohan soldiers against Saruman’s Uruk-hai army. An excellent battle sequence only outdone by…

7) The Battle of the Pelennor Fields – This climactic battle is the action centerpiece of Return of the King. The sequence gradually builds in tension and includes one of the most disturbing moments of the trilogy, when the orc army catapults the decapitated heads of men killed in battle into the city. Add an aerial Nazgul attack, charging oliphaunts and the Witch-king swinging a spiked ball, and you’ve got a spectacular climax to the film’s military action, even if the Army of the Dead’s arrival feels like a dues ex machina.

6) The Shire – The opening twenty minutes of Fellowship introduces us to the idyllic lifestyle of the hobbits through Bilbo’s (Ian Holm) humorous narration and ends with his 111^th birthday bash. Middle Earth has many scenic wonders, but I’d give them all up to kick back with some pipe-weed and ale and relax in the hills of Hobbiton.

5) The Mines of Moria– This extended sequence in Fellowship has a great fight scene against a cave troll and the scariest looking orcs in the trilogy, while Gandalf’s “You shall not pass!” line might be the films’ most iconic moment.

4) A Faithful Script – Adapting the novels are no easy task, but Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Phillipa Boyens do a remarkable job. Much has been condensed and some things have been added or changed, but the scripts ultimately remain faithful while also making the fantasy novels accessible to a wider audience.

3) Smeagol/Gollum – The best character of the books becomes the best character in the films thanks to Andy Serkis’s committed portrayal. The actor was denied a Best Supporting Actor nomination because of the heavy use of motion-capture animation, but the animation, seamless and expressive it may be, would be nowhere without the voice and physicality of Serkis’s performance. The complexity of the character is brought out in two interesting “dialogue” scenes – one in The Two Towers where a panning camera shows the two sides Smeagol’s split personality, and another in Return of the King where he talks to his reflection. The character is a prime example of every aspect of the film working in unity: a smart script, great acting and fine special effects.

2) Howard Shore’s Musical Score – The motivations of characters in epic films are always a little hazy for me, what with all that lofty talk I mentioned earlier, but Howard Shore’s affecting score gets me to buy into all of that and more. At least a half dozen memorable themes recur throughout the films, and without the score to accompany the adventure, it’s hard to imagine these films being as successful as they were.

1) The Other Three Hobbits – Frodo (Elijah Wood) is the star of the story, but his companions are the ones who make up the emotional heart of the books and films. Merry (Dominic Monaghan) and Pippin (Billy Boyd) keep things light by bringing a Hobbit’s optimism to even the darkest places in Middle Earth, while Sam Gamgee’s (Sean Astin) dedication and loyalty to his friend delivers some of the films’ most emotionally authentic moments.

These are the things I loved most about the films, and they can be experienced time and time again on DVD when you can take the time to watch the films over a series of evenings or in one marathon viewing (I’ve yet to successfully do this). No matter how you approach the films, be you fanboy, film scholar or just a regular moviegoer, it’s hard to deny the power of Peter Jackson’s films. The imagination they capture is like no other. That is, until The Hobbit reaches theaters.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/11/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #3: No Country For Old Men

No Country For Old Men (2007): Written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen, based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy. Starring: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin. Rated R (strong graphic violence and some language). Running time: 122 minutes.

**NOTE: This review freely discusses the final scenes of the film, so be forewarned of spoilers.

Strange, that after three viewings, I’m still at a loss to identify what exactly No Country For Old Men is. The main storyline featuring Llewelyn Moss’s (Josh Brolin) discovery of $2 million in drug money and killer Anton Chirgurh’s (Javier Bardem) subsequent pursuit of him are the makings of a fine crime thriller. Sheriff Ed Tom Bell’s (Tommy Lee Jones) investigation adds an element of a police procedural to film, but after much of the main action concludes, the film curiously stays with him for an additional 20 minutes. If you ask the Coen Brothers, they’d call the film a comedy, but perhaps it’s more of an absurdist drama, a comment on the randomness of crime and violence. Its lack of a clear identity is one of its mysteries, and in attempting to identity the parts of No Country, one begins to get at its intent.

The film is set near the Texas/Mexico border in 1980, when drug-related violence was at a peak from illegal trades across the border. However, if not for specific time markers, we might think the film is set in a post-apocalyptic world. In one scene, as Moss runs on foot from a group of Mexican drug dealers, a bolt of lightning splits the sky. Another scene sets a gritty standoff in an eerily quiet street that only offers parked cars as cover. Jones’s aged Sheriff Bell explains in his opening monologue, he doesn’t know what time make of this new world’s crime. The darkness and brutality of the violence he’s faced with has no logic or reasoning, and it appears to him that the world around him is becoming just as bleak.

Anton Chigurh presents himself as a product of this environment, and his identity is a mystery in itself. Bell thinks he’s a ghost. Or is he an incarnation of Death? Both theories are refuted in one scene that shows him bandaging a gunshot wound, revealing him to be very much human. Still, Chigurh views himself as more of a force than a man. For him, the murders he commits are not his choice, and he decides people’s fates by a coin toss. “I got here the same way the coin did,” he says. He is simply facilitating our eventual deaths. There is no systematic technique to his killings – he is not a serial killer in this sense – but he does retain a consistent tone and attitude. In several scenes, he speaks calmly to his potential victims, telling one man to “Hold still” and inquiring into another man’s family life. In others, he acts quickly and efficiently, and the Coen Brothers do not cut away from these killings. In this sense, the camera is as unflinching as Chigurh is. If the violence feels gratuitous, Sheriff Bell shares your view.

As the characters move through this bleak world, the pace remains methodical, and there is barely any musical score, with several sequences presnted in near silence. As a result, these scenes take on a chilling, sober air, and we find ourselves drawn to them with an almost animalistic fascination as Llewelyn fights for survival. The dialogue is minimalistic, and though the Coen Brothers claim to have simply opened up Cormac McCarthy’s novel and transcribed the dialogue, the pacing and delivery of it are decidedly Coen-esque. Watch how Javier Bardem takes the time to chew cashews in between lines of the first coin toss scene and raises his eyebrows to emphasize a point just before leaving. Later, a frank exchange between Llewellyn, dressed only a hospital gown, and a salesman elicits a laugh when the man states that, “It’s unusual” for a customer to come in without clothes on. These touches of humor and strangeness seep into the film without ever disturbing the film’s solemnity.

One of the main sources of mystery surrounding the film comes from what at first appears to be an extended epilogue after the main action has ended. The focus is redirected to Bell as he struggles to understand the world he is now a part of, ultimately conceding that he has neither the strength nor the will to actively fight back. A conversation with his uncle, a retired sheriff, convinces him this resignation is for the best; the evil forces in the world are too much for him. The scene that follows presents the film’s only glimmer of hope, a meeting between Llewelyn’s wife, Carla Jean (Kelly Macdonald) and Chigurh, who she finds in her home. When asked to call Chigurh’s coin toss, she refuses, stating that the coin has no say. Her resistance to Chigurh’s game expresses a belief that the world, Chigurh included, does not need to be the way it is. The scene cuts before we see his actions, but he checks the soles of his shoes in the next shot, and we know from a previous scene where he lifts his feet from a spreading pool of blood that he has killed her. The film returns to Bell for the final scene, ending with his recounts of two dreams featuring his father. He explains how his father never saw these times, and perhaps he wishes he hadn’t either. Reinforcing the theme of changing times is the sound of a clock in the background that is heard after the cut to black and into the credits. In the dream, Bell’s father is “going on ahead” to build a fire in the dark, perhaps a sanctuary in the afterlife of some sort, and in time, Bell will be joining him.

No Country For Old Men is a virtually perfectly edited film; nothing unnecessary is said or shown. It showcases the peak of the Coens’ craftsmanship, every shot a beautiful visualization of McCarthy’s bleak world, every character, no matter how minor, a fleshed out individual. It is a film that exists outside strict genre identity, delivering a potent and uncompromising take on a brutal and violent country.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/10/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #4: The Departed

The Departed (2006): Dir. Martin Scorsese. Written by William Monahan, based on the film Infernal Affairs. Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson, Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen, Vera Farmiga, Ray Winstone, Alec Baldwin. Rated R (strong brutal violence, pervasive language, some strong sexual content and drug material). Running time: 151 minutes.

The Departed is the third of three excellent Martin Scorsese films released this decade, each starring Leonardo DiCaprio. Scorsese reasserted his versatility with Gangs of New York and The Aviator, bringing his characteristic energy to a historical drama and biopic, respectively. The Departed has been labeled a “return to form” for the director, returning to the subject of his most acclaimed films: gangsters. While that statement underrates the stellar work he’s been putting out, The Departed is particularly noteworthy for bringing a youthfulness to the world of organized crime Scorsese is so familiar with. In his fourth decade of filmmaking, he hasn’t lost any of his fervor for making kinetic cinema, and The Departed is a rapidly paced, gleefully stylized gangster story.

Frank Costello, played by Jack Nicholson, opens the film with a voiceover that provides some context to organized crime in Boston, run largely by the Irish as opposed to the Italians who dominate Scorsese’s usual New York. The monologue primarily serves as an introduction to the man who looms large over the film: a racist, vulgar, and psychotic mobster played with over-the-top zeal in a way only Nicholson can get away with. The montage then establishes the two main characters, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), a recently promoted state trooper and Costello’s inside man in the state police, and Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio) an undercover cop who works his way into becoming one of Costello’s main men. Scorsese packs the opening twenty minutes with necessary exposition and subtle characterizations, introducing us to the main players and, ingeniously, two minor characters that play significant roles in the final scenes. Much is explained in a short amount of time, and Scorsese conveys it all in a stylistic blur of montages, flashbacks and crosscutting.

The Departed’s style is largely indebted to editor Thelma Schoonmaker, a frequent collaborator with Scorsese. Monahan’s script flows beautifully onscreen, every scene transitioning seamlessly into the next. No doubt many scenes were cut, but the final product is so polished, it’s difficult to imagine a single shot out of place. The editing also brings out some revealing contrasts by frequently intercutting scenes of Costigan’s terrifying and violent life undercover, with scenes of Costigan enjoying a cushy job and an upper-class lifestyle. The constantly moving camera also brings much energy to the film, panning and zooming to follow the rhythms of the dialogue and to underscore the character dynamics.

The attention to detail in the film elevates it beyond the expectations for the average gangster movie, and Scorsese’s use of sound plays a large part in bringing out these details. The first time we meet Costigan, we understand his intelligence by hearing his quick pencil scratches on his police exam. Another scene uses only the sound of screeching car brakes as a transition between scenes, conveying the immediacy of the moment without wasting the few seconds it would take to have an establishing shot of the car. Throughout the film the two double agents communicate with their superiors via cell phones, and phone vibrations and rings play a major role in creating tension. One of the tensest scenes in the film is comprised of little more than close-ups of Costigan and Sullivan and the sound of a vibrating phone.

As is expected with a Scorsese film, The Departed also features an excellent soundtrack, with nearly every scene in the film accompanied by music. The Rolling Stones “Gimme Shelter,” a favorite of Scorsese’s, appears more than once, as does Dropkick Murphy’s “Shipping Up to Boston,” which becomes something of an anthem for the film. John Lennon’s “Well Well Well” appears moments before Costello humorously misquotes the music legend, and a great live version of “Comfortably Numb” ironically accompanies a scene between Costigan and Madolyn, his pain killer supplier. Howard Shore’s score, performed mostly by Spanish guitars rather than an orchestra, fills in the gaps with a few memorable themes.

Adapted from the Chinese thriller, Infernal Affairs, William Monahan’s script uses dark humor much as Scorsese’s Goodfellas does, providing some unexpected laughs in an otherwise dense crime drama. Much of this humor comes from the banter of Costello’s cronies and the state police, men whose daily exposure to crime have caused them to take a cavalier approach to violence. The script features a slew of vulgar but undeniably funny one-liners, most of which are uttered by Mark Wahlberg in an Oscar-nominated performance. The heart of the film, however, revolves around Sullivan and Costigan, and DiCaprio and Damon express a range of anxieties as the two men lose track of their identities by pretending to be other people. Vera Farmiga makes a complex character out of a supporting role, Dr. Madolyn Madden, a therapist who becomes involved with the two men, and her dialogue with them provides absorbing interludes to the main action.

Watching the film again, The Departed’s complex plot holds up, and its thematic layers continue to reveal themselves after multiple viewings. Scorsese packs every shot with small details, visual jokes and foreshadowing. The result is that of supreme craftsmanship, and one of Scorsese’s most vibrantly entertaining films to date.

BEST OF THE DECADE - #5: There Will Be Blood

There Will Be Blood (2007): Written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, based on the novel, Oil! by Upton Sinclair. Starring: Daniel Day-Lewis and Paul Dano. Rated R (some violence). Running time: 158 min.

**NOTE: This review freely discusses the ending of the film, so be forewarned of spoilers.

“I’m finished,” says Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) in the final line of There Will Be Blood, as he sits in a bowling alley beside a pool of blood from the recently bludgeoned Eli Sunday (Paul Dano). This strangely understated and ambiguous statement has a few layers of meaning. In the most literal sense, he is calling to his butler in the next room to announce that he has finished his meal and his conversation with Eli, who was shown in by the butler a few minutes earlier. In a more figurative sense, the line is more of a declaration of victory, having ended his longstanding rivalry with Eli by murdering him. In yet another sense, Plainview, living in his luxurious mansion, has finished his life’s goals and has lived out the American Dream. He has built a prosperous business from nothing, beat out his competition, made all the money he could want, and now he sits with nothing more to do.

The film is set at the turn of the 20^th century when such dreams of boundless potential were on the minds of so many pioneering Americans out West. California was an open frontier for business prospects, and railroads stretched across the country taking workers and businessmen to burgeoning towns to start their lives fresh. In the film’s first shot of the expansive California landscape, director Paul Thomas Anderson presents us with an idyllic view of a railroad track that extends out to the horizon, a beautiful visualization of the limitless possibilities offered by the open country. The camera rests for a moment with the tracks in the center of the frame, before panning to the right and following Plainview’s car as he drives through one of these developing Western towns. The camera moves down the track until Plainview’s car comes to a stop, centered in the frame. In one fluid shot, Anderson presents us with an image of the American Dream, and makes a visual association with Plainview by also placing him in the center of the frame. Later in the film, Anderson constructs a similar moment, showing an oil pipeline stretching into the horizon before panning over to Plainview and his son, once again centered in the frame.

Daniel Plainview does not simply represent the American Dream in the film; he is consumed by it. He lives for nothing else but to be the best. He despises his competitors in the oil industry and distrusts all who work for him. He refuses to yield to anyone, least of all Eli Sunday, a young preacher who invests in Plainview’s oil rig as a way of funding his church. Plainview answers to no man but himself, and Eli’s attempts to bring God into Plainview’s life only serve to antagonize him. Eli, like every other man on the Western Frontier, wants to capitalize on the opportunity to build something. In his case, he desires to build a church, establish a congregation and have them look up to him for guidance. For Plainview, Eli’s determination represents a threat to his own goals and he refuses to allow the young boy to gain control over his land. As Plainview’s ambitions turn to greed, he becomes obsessive and violent, revealing a madness beneath his businesslike demeanor.

This development in Plainview’s character, however, is hardly a surprise considering the film’s foreboding title. Anderson plays with our expectations by naming his film There Will Be Blood and by using a score by Johnny Greenwood that frequently sounds as if it was lifted from a horror film. Even the opening shots of beautiful Western landscapes become ominous when accompanied by Greenwood’s score. The title itself could be that of a horror film (in fact, Saw II used the phrase in its tagline two years prior). The title also makes reference to America’s history of violence in pursuit of oil, and makes an interesting contrast to the title of Upton Sinclair’s novel, Oil!, from which the film is adapted. Though the actual violence in the film is not as rampant as the title suggests, it becomes all the more shocking in its sparsity, and Anderson’s gradual pacing allows the tension to build and release at unexpected moments.

Much of the film, including its deliberate pacing and musical score, is reminiscent of the late Stanley Kubrick’s style. Anderson has never been shy about admitting his influences, most notably Robert Altman and Martin Scorsese, and has cited Kubrick as an influence on this film. In the opening fifteen minutes, Anderson has the patience to let wide-angle landscape shots establish a setting while scenes free of dialogue introduce the story, not unlike 2001’s “Dawn of Man” opening. The film is also a spiritual cousin to many of Kubrick’s films, sharing their bleak outlook on humanity.

However, Anderson includes enough mystery and strangeness in the film to make it his own. Several elements of the film go largely unexplained, such as the identity of Eli’s twin brother, Paul, who only appears once in the film to sell Plainview information about his family’s land. The two brothers might be separate individuals, but there are enough suspicious moments to suggest that Paul might be an invention of Eli’s to keep a clean conscious about selling his family’s property to an evil man. Other scenes, including Eli’s strange and passionate sermons, and Plainview’s now-infamous milkshake analogy, are as startling as they are funny, but Anderson pulls everything together with complete mastery into a bleak interpretation of America’s most treasured values – family, faith, and entrepreneurship.

Before the final, violent confrontation, Anderson presents us with an establishing shot of Plainview’s bowling alley, two parallel lanes centered in the frame, looking curiously reminiscent of the earlier railroad shot. In place of the horizon, however, is a wall. Plainview has reached the end of that supposedly infinite reach of possibilities, revealing there to be nothing more than death and self-isolation as he sits in the center of the frame once more. He has lived the American Dream from start to bloody finish.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/8/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #6: A History of Violence

A History of Violence (2006): Dir. David Cronenberg. Written by Josh Olson, based on the graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke. Starring: Viggo Mortensen, Maria Bello, Ed Harris, William Hurt. Rated R (strong brutal violence, graphic sexuality, nudity, language and some drug use). Running time: 95 min.

**NOTE: This review freely discusses elements of the film’s plot, and if you have not yet seen the film or are unfamiliar with the plot, I would recommend watching it first.

The crime genre has been around since The Great Train Robbery captivated audiences in 1903. There is something thrilling about watching a life of crime unfold onscreen, almost as if we’re hardwired as humans to be entertained by such exploits. More than one hundred years after that first cinematic heist, the crime genre still dominates film and audiences continue to be entertained by the violent acts of robbers, drug dealers and gangsters. David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence, adapted by Josh Olson from the graphic novel of the same name, is a compulsively entertaining film that capitalizes on this ingrained fascination with crime while also exploring the moral and psychological implications of violence. The film invites us to enjoy the action onscreen, but then questions that very instinctual pleasure.

A History of Violence is genre film populated by larger-than-life gangsters and quaint Midwesterners. A seemingly innocent family man, Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen), runs a diner in Millbrook, Indiana with his loving wife, Edie (Maria Bello). They have a son in high school and a daughter still young enough to be afraid of monsters under the bed. They know the sheriff on a first name basis and do nothing to invite trouble into Millbrook. This changes when a pair of professional killers passes through town, tries to rob the diner and murder everyone in it. Tom suddenly takes action by killing the two men with unusual efficiency for a small town man. Tom becomes a local hero and the media attention attracts a few “bad men” from out of town, most notably the menacing Carl Fogarty (Ed Harris), who recognizes Tom as an unfavorable acquaintance from years ago named Joey. The film is economically edited to a lean 95 minutes, yet David Cronenberg evokes more authentic emotion in those 95 minutes than most directors could in three hours. Every scene does its share of work, from subtleties at the breakfast table that establish the Stall family dynamics, to an earnest sex scene that shows Tom and Edie are still very much in love after years of marriage. Once the action starts, the film rockets along with a series of increasingly tense and revealing scenes.

Though the film functions as prime entertainment, it is also deeply layered with ideas regarding the nature of human violence. We see the teenaged Jack Stall possibly filling his father’s old shoes as he stands up to a bully in what turns out to be a more brutal fight that the typical hallway scuffle. Issues of identity make up the film’s main drama – are Tom and Joey really different identities, or two halves living within the same man? After Edie witnesses this other side of her husband come out, she confronts him in the hospital. Has their marriage been an act? Where is the line between lies and true emotion? Without ever betraying the moments that precede it, this scene pushes the film beyond the expectations we hold for a conventional crime drama.

A History of Violence is like a sequel we would never expect to see to a gangster film. Colorful characters like Ed Harris’s Carl Fogarty, or William Hurt as Joey’s brother are compelling enough to steal an entire film, but only make appearances here. William Hurt even received an Oscar nomination for his brief but charismatic 20 minutes of screen time. It’s as if the world of gangster films has seeped into the real world, and it’s from this interaction that A History of Violence creates its drama. Joey comes out of Tom in one violent moment, and that momentary transformation allows the past to commingle with the present.

David Cronenberg, who made a name for himself as an auteur of the bizarre with a string of cult-classic sci-fi and horror films, proves himself to be a masterful director here. Watch, for example, the final scene, when Viggo Mortensen comes home after a final visit with his brother and finds his family eating a meatloaf dinner in silence. As he stands outside his home, we see Joey and Tom at once in his face, and he wonders how the two identities can be reconciled. Without speaking a word, Edie looks up as he enters the room and Maria Bello’s expressive face asks him who he is, Tom or Joey? By cutting between close-ups of the two actors, a speechless conversation unfolds between them. Accompanied by Howard Shore’s musical score, this quiet moment of domesticity turns into the height of drama. The scene cuts to black and the film ends on a moment of uncertainty, but not ambiguity. The film has very clearly introduced big questions that do not have easy answers, if they have them at all. Cronenberg crafts a hugely entertaining film, but delves deeper than most filmmakers would by exploring the consequences of the characters’ violence. By reeling us in early and then turning the film on its head, he leaves us as devastated as the Stall family sitting at the dinner table.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/5/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #7: Requiem for a Dream

Requiem for a Dream (2000). Dir. Darren Aronofsky. Written by Darren Aronofsky Hubert Selby Jr., based of the novel by Hubert Selby Jr. Starring: Ellen Burstyn, Jared Leto, Jennifer Connelly, Marlon Wayans. NC-17 (intense depiction of drug addiction, graphic sexuality, strong language and some violence). Theatrical release was R and featured a less graphic sex scene, but is available as "Unrated" on DVD in its original form. Running time: 102 minutes.

Beginning in elementary school, anti-drug campaigns teach children to memorize long lists of drug symptoms without ever allowing students to fully understand the real-life consequences that these campaigns attempt to prevent. The problem, of course, is that these efforts, valiant though they may be, can only describe in words what must be seen and felt. Requiem for a Dream brings to frightening life the horrors of its characters’ lifestyles by immersing us emotionally and psychologically in their lives. Director Darren Aronofsky and editor Jay Rabinowitz compose the film in such a way that recreates the various subjective states and internal thoughts of its characters, and moves us quickly along their inevitable decline over the course of the three seasons that divide the film into three chapters. The film is a startling and disturbing experience, delivering a potent anti-drug message that worms its way into our minds and is difficult to forget.

From the opening scene, Requiem’s stylish editing calls attention to itself. Without any set-up or introduction, the film begins with Jared Leto storming into his mother’s apartment to steal her television and pawn it. His mother (Ellen Burstyn) locks herself in her room and the screen suddenly divides and becomes a split screen. The scene continues seamlessly, but we’re now both inside and outside the room at once, viewing the action on both ends. Each of Requiem’s subsequent editing tricks offers similar insights into multiple perspectives, although they frequently do so for more subjective states of mind. Aronofsky begins by using sped up visuals to illustrate the euphoric effects of various narcotics, but as dependence and withdrawal kick in, scenes slow down, change in color and abruptly cut depending on the context of the scene. Though Aronofsky employs a wide range of effects, each is carefully chosen to best evoke the symptoms the characters.

The film frequently uses montages to expedite the decay of its characters’ lives, and indeed one could even argue that the whole film is a montage, it moves along so rapidly. The final twenty-five minutes, making up the “Winter” chapter, are a blitz of intercutting that visually ties the fates of its four characters together, all the while accompanied by Clint Mansell’s heart-wrenching score. Shorter sequences in the film highlight the rituals and preparations of drug habits, dividing the steps of popping pills and shooting up into brief cuts.

Requiem’s style, however, is only a tool Aronofsky uses to better tell the story. The film gets inside our heads by recreating the small moments of our lives that only the most observant of films depict. The Burstyn scenes in particular reveal how the innermost workings of our minds function – how we only notice the No’s in a diet book (No sugar, No butter, etc.), how we play out fantasies in our heads, how we eagerly anticipate a letter in the mail. These scenes, dramatizing an addiction to diet pills, show how drugs can touch anyone, and make a strong parallel storyline to the more familiar scenes of illegal drug dealing. By breaking the film down into succinct moments, Aronofsky limits the amount of time for exposition and characterization, which allows the characters to function on an almost symbolic level. The characters become archetypes that we may fill in with our own mothers, friends and loved ones. Once we do this, Requiem’s goal becomes clear – to force us to imagine awful scenarios we would rather not think about, but should, if only to understand the horrors of a drug lifestyle gone wrong.

As an anti-drug message, Requiem for a Dream represents an extreme scenario, but never feels as if it’s preaching or being overdramatic. The film’s impact comes less in its finale – brutal and unforgiving as it is – than in following the anxiety and desperation that lead to this finale. Aronofsky uses sophisticated filmmaking techniques to evoke our innermost fears and bring out the darkest corners of our emotions. While hardly a pleasant experience and occasionally outright difficult to watch, Requiem for a Dream is undeniably powerful in a way few films are.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/4/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #8 : Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004): Dir. Michel Gondry. Written by Charlie Kaufman. Starring: Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet, Kirsten Dunst, Mark Ruffalo, Elijah Wood, Tom Wilkinson. Rated R (language, some drug and sexual content). Running time: 108 min.

Film is a visual medium that has the potential to show us things few other art forms can. Too often films are adapted from books and plays without giving us something new, something visual to hold on to that wasn’t there the first time. These films are simply interpretations of their source material, and while there is nothing inherently wrong with a simple interpretation, few filmmakers strive to do what director Michel Gondry and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman do in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Here is an original screenplay that could not be told in any other medium but film, and demands a visual presentation. There are scenes in Eternal Sunshine that almost defy a verbal description, but make instant sense visually. In its exploration of the human mind and memory, the film uses imagery to find an emotional truth outside the limitations of words on a page or actors on a stage.

The story involves a medical clinic that, for a price, erases painful memories of a loved one following a death or break-up. Clementine Kruczynski’s (Kate Winslet) once happy relationship with her boyfriend Joel Barish (Jim Carrey) has disintegrated into misery and self-loathing, and so she decides to erase the memory of him from her mind. Joel, after learning what his ex-girlfriend has done, decides to do the same and much of the film takes place within Joel’s mind during the procedure. We follow Joel as he wanders backwards through memories of Clementine and we learn the details of their relationship as the memories are erased one by one. Michel Gondry creates some mesmerizing sequences by using careful editing and subtle effects to create the appearance of Joel’s memories being erased before his eyes.

However, for all its visual trickery and nonlinear storytelling, the film’s message is surprisingly simple and direct. As mementos of Clementine vanish and the procedure steals Joel’s dearest memories away from him, Joel begins to regret his decision and comes to the understanding that not all of his memories are painful, and even the painful ones might be worth keeping. The science-fiction premise becomes a launching point to examine our relationships to those we love and our memories of them. There is also a sense of modesty to the production, and Gondry never uses a visual effect unless it advances the story or enhances the emotional themes.

Charlie Kaufman’s screenplay also avoids being showy simply for the sake of it. There are several layers to the film and not until the end do we understand how every piece fits together, but Kaufman wisely makes every scene enjoyable the first time around before revealing its relationship to the larger story. The dialogue, as expected from a Kaufman script, is sharp and frequently funny. Kaufman shows an understanding of the ways in which people interact with one another. Every relationship in the film is fully fleshed out and authentic. The script is also wonderfully layered with several deteriorating relationships shown throughout the film, and even a second memory erasure that plays a large role in the ending. Kaufman also understands the workings of the human mind. We do not store memories chronologically, but in clusters relating to a person or a feeling. Joel and Clementine’s relationship is not presented in big, meaningful moments, but rather is shown through a series of small, intimate memories, because these are the ones that tend to last. Kaufman takes the time to dramatize the aspects of our life that don’t often get treated in movies. Joel plays out conversations in his mind, creates a running commentary on his memories, and revisits past events. Kaufman’s attention to these aspects of our lives is what allows us to connect with Eternal Sunshine on a personal level.

Eternal Sunshine is a fascinating film to figure out, and multiple viewings are necessary to understand it all, but the film is ultimately an emotional experience. Gondry’s visual imagination allows Kaufman to enter the human mind and show us, with astounding insight, how our memories process love and life.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/3/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #9: 25th Hour

25th Hour (2002): Dir. Spike Lee. Written by David Benioff and based of his novel, The 25th Hour. Starring: Ed Norton, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Barry Pepper, Rosario Dawson, Brian Cox, Anna Paquin. Rated R (strong language and some violence). Running time: 135 min.

**NOTE: This review freely discusses the film's ending, so if you do not wish to know what happens before you see it, I would recommend skipping over the second-to-last paragraph.

There’s practically a subgenre in crime films for the redemption film. Redemption films deal less with the actual crimes than with the individuals who commit them and the events that follow. 25^th Hour sounds like it could be a redemption film. A drug dealer, Monty (Ed Norton), has been caught and faces his last day before a seven-year prison sentence. Through the course of the day he talks to his girlfriend (Rosario Dawson) about their future, has lunch his father (Brian Cox), ends relations with the Russian mobsters he worked for and finally meets up with his childhood friends, Jacob and Frank (Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Barry Pepper) for one last night out. However, Spike Lee’s film, based on a novel by David Benioff (who also penned the screenplay), does not allow Monty any redemption. The film instead takes the events of his final day and makes them emotionally engrossing by focusing less on plot than on honestly portraying its characters and their situations. Just as life does not wrap things up neatly for us, not all loose ends are tied before the final scene.

Casting a long shadow over the film are the attacks of September 11, 2001. As a New York filmmaker, Spike Lee cannot ignore the events, and sets the film, his first since the attacks, in early 2002 as Americans begin to move on and live their lives again. The opening titles make this expressly clear, featuring beautiful shots of the New York skyline during the initial run of the “Tribute of Light” memorial that cast beams of light into the night sky to symbolize the fallen towers. Later, Lee presents us with a chilling shot of Ground Zero as seen from Frank’s apartment window. Lee keeps the wreckage in the shot as Frank and Jacob discuss air pollution in the city following the attack before eventually moving onto the main subject at hand, Monty. Lee acknowledges that 9/11 happened but never calls attention to it so much that it obscures the plot. Just as people did in the months following 9/11, the characters of 25^th Hour continue to live their lives, albeit in a city that has suffered a great loss.

Life in a post-9/11 world is treated again in the memorable “Fuck You” scene that has Monty responding to bathroom graffiti by going off on a cathartic rant that indicts the many races and peoples of New York, his friends, his family and Osama Bin Laden. The scene recalls the racial slur sequence from Lee’s Do the Right Thing but where that scene highlights the film’s racial tensions, this scene focuses on Monty’s personalized anger and hatefulness. Like so many Americans, Monty needs to blame someone for the misery in his life and he points a finger at all the familiar scapegoats until he ultimately turns the rant back onto himself and takes responsibility for his actions.

Ed Norton’s performance in the film is deceivingly restrained, and Norton makes Monty a calm man with deep undercurrents of fear, suspicion and resentment. However, the best performances here come from Philip Seymour Hoffman and Barry Pepper. Hoffman’s committed portrayal to his lonely high school teacher justifies the tangential storyline about an inappropriate relationship with a young student (Anna Paquin), and Pepper, who for years has been an excellent character actor, has something of a breakout role here. His sleazy Wall Street trader disappears into backrooms with waitresses but has an intense loyalty to his friends that comes out in the final scenes.

Brian Cox, who only appears in two scenes, conveys depths of history between father and son. In the devastating final scene, he offers Monty a glimpse of how life might have been and narrates an alternate future for his son. As he drives Monty to the prison he offers to turn off the highway and take the blame for allowing his son to run away. The extended scene that follows is a fantasy of the American dream – moving to the country, opening a business, raising a family – and Lee shoots it in such a way that we’re not sure if the events are actually happening. When the scene cuts back to Monty in the present, the crushing reality of the next seven years sets in. There is no second chance, no redemption. The fantasy remains the lost opportunity of what might have happened if Monty chose to live a better life.

At 135 minutes, the movie might be overlong, and it drags a bit in the middle, but there are moments of greatness here that stand next to Spike Lee’s best work. In the opening scene, Monty saves a dying dog and gives him a home, suggesting the possibility of his own redemption, but by the film’s end, there is no one to save him, no second chance to be had. 25^th Hour makes its characters face reality, and reality, it should go without saying, is rarely kind.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/2/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - #10: Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2

Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2 (2003-2004): Written and Directed by Quentin Tarantino. Starring: Uma Thurman, David Carradine, Daryl Hannah, Michael Madsen, Lucy Liu, Vivica A. Fox. Rated R. Running time: 111 min. (Vol. 1), 136 min. (Vol. 2).

Quentin Tarantino was a critic’s darling in the early 90’s after Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction elevated the gangster genre with smart writing and tight filmmaking. His underrated 1997 effort Jackie Brown disappointed some fans, but the maturity and focus of that film kept him within the good graces of critics. In 2003, however, the director found himself facing considerable backlash with the release of Kill Bill Vol. 1. Some of these criticisms came from Tarantino’s usual detractors, but perhaps just as many came from those who admired his previous works. The arguments made about his other films seemed doubly true here – he steals from other films, revels in violence, and self-indulgently over-stylizes. Kill Bill is a deliberate tribute to the director’s favorite movies – that forgotten back catalogue of exploitation flicks, kung fu and spaghetti westerns collecting dust in your local video store – in an effort to highlight the best of these films and maybe even get us to rent one (although these days even your local video store is becoming an antique). Tarantino makes no effort to hide what he’s doing. Every trick he pulls is out in the open, bringing attention to itself. Call it self-indulgent, call it meta-cinema; regardless, it works. The Kill Bill films are stylized candy – they have little pretense of being much more than that – but oh, what gourmet candy they are.

Despite the impressive style of the Kill Bill films, many critics lamented a loss of Tarantino’s storytelling skills that were so treasured before. In place of his witty, colorful dialogue are intentionally cheesy one-liners and stilted conversations about revenge and “unfinished business.” However, evocation of the aforementioned B-movies aside, the dialogue here retains a Tarantino-ian air in its crispness and clarity. Despite his reputation, Tarantino is a remarkably patient filmmaker. His characters don’t just kill each other – they talk about it first. The script borrows much of the hamminess of B-movies, but Tarantino infuses it with humor, pop culture jokes and self-awareness. At one point Uma Thurman’s voiceover introduces us to a character as the woman “dressed like she’s a villain on Star Trek.” But isn’t Tarantino the one who dressed her? The film pokes fun at its own style and never takes itself too seriously. Take a scene from Vol. 2, for example, where Bill and Budd discuss the Bride’s bloody fight with a gang of kung-fu warriors known as the Crazy 88. Budd wonders how she could have cut through all 88 of them. Bill responds that “there weren’t really 88 of them, they just call themselves the Crazy 88.” “How come?” Budd asks. “I don’t know,” Bill shrugs, “I guess they thought it sounded cool.” Tarantino is enamored with these cool films, but he also parodies them and understands that it’s all for the sake of fun.

Though these are not films to be taken seriously, Tarantino scores some genuinely touching moments at the end of Vol. 2 when Uma Thurman discovers that her 4-year-old daughter is alive and living with her father, Bill. Here Tarantino drops much of the imitation and writes some of his best dialogue, including a child’s understanding of life and death, and an insightful analysis of Superman. He digs underneath the seemingly shallow action that precedes these moments and reveals actual characters with convincing motivations. Of course, they still exist in Movie Land, but Tarantino finds the heart of cinema’s artificiality in a way that few filmmakers do. In one scene, Thurman talks a female assassin out of killing her by showing the woman a positive pregnancy test she took moments before the assassin arrived to kill her. The scene, both tense and funny, is not borrowed from anywhere, but is wholly Tarantino.

Many have stated that the films, particularly Vol. 1, are all style and no substance. But since when is style not substantial? Problems arise in highly stylized films only when the director does not know how to handle these stylistic devices. The Kill Bill films are filled with such tricks, featuring several scenes in black-and-white, one shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio, another entirely in anime, superimposed text, split screen, etc. And these are only the post-production additions. Tarantino uses the camera in bold ways, such as an extended tracking shot through a Japanese restaurant and surprising angles that defamiliarize otherwise typical fight scenes. You could call him reckless if every shot wasn’t so carefully put together. The soundtrack makes up another essential aspect of the film’s style. Tarantino showcases his usual knack for unearthing lost musical gems, adding here Ennio Morricone themes, funky selections from kung fu scores and original music (a rarity for Tarantino) by the RZA and Robert Rodriguez.

Is he showing off? Yes, but it’s hard to complain when a director has this level of proficiency and knowledge of film. Tarantino is as familiar with the style of French New Wave as he is Blaxploitation, and he throws everything together as if the boundaries of time and geography are merely illusory – which they are. Though the films do not expressly preach, there is an argument to be found here, one that is familiar to anyone who has ever tried to defend a film for its entertainment value alone. The Kill Bill films are sophisticated executions of trashy genres, blurring the line between high and low culture until the line is no longer visible. All filmmakers borrow from those who came before them. Such is the nature of art. By making his influences explicit and revealing his process, he celebrates the craft of film – old and new, high and low, all together.

Kill Bill, as one cohesive project, is more focused than it first appears. Tarantino takes the time to build his own mythology and flesh out the history of his characters. The film was divided into two releases due to length, and Tarantino makes the division work (there is a clear tonal shift between Vol. 1 and 2). On DVD, however, you can kick back and watch it all at once, letting the style of this self-proclaimed “gory story” wash over you. Stylized candy it may be, but if I’m going to rot my teeth out – and I most assuredly will – I want it to be at the hands of the finest confectioner in the world.

- Steve Avigliano, 2/1/10

BEST OF THE DECADE - Introduction

Here we sit in 2010, a futuristic number to be sure, and yet the world doesn’t look quite like the future yet. In the ten years since Y2K, little has changed. We don’t have flying cars yet (although according to Back to the Future II, those don’t arrive until 2015), nor do we have robots to serve us (those are coming in 2104 according to A.I.), and the government isn’t tracking our every move (assuming Minority Report is correct, this technology doesn’t come until 2054). And here I am, 20 years old, still comparing my life to Steven Spielberg-produced science-fiction movies. No, it doesn’t appear that much has changed at all in the last decade. 2010 is rather a lot like 2000, except for the fact, I guess, that I own an iPod now. As Bilbo Baggins might say, change comes slowly if it comes at all. However, we don’t need a major change to warrant a glance backwards. All we need is a nice, round number.

So the list that follows is my top 10 of the last 10 years – the 00s. The movies on this list are not a retrospect of the last decade in film, but are my personal choices for the Top 10 of the 2000s – the films I had a personal reaction to and have stayed with me after multiple viewings. I’ll be going through the list one day at a time, posting a full-length review for each – my argument for the canonization of each film.

For this particular list, I’ve decided to stick only to American films. While there were certainly many great foreign films released in the last ten years (City of God (2002) and The Lives of Others (2006) are two that come to mind as being among my favorites), I don’t feel that I would be able to accurately represent the overwhelming wealth of quality that global cinema has to offer. So I’ll stick to the market I know well and have been following closely for the last decade.

A few interesting points before we begin the list: Five of the films on the list could be considered crime films, a whopping eight were based on books (one of those is a bit of a stretch though), and two of them feature fight scenes where a villain swings a spiked ball on a chain – I’m as surprised to say that as you are to read it.

But enough teasers. Let’s kick things off with the Honorable Mention – ten more great films that didn’t make the list, but are still among my favorites released in the last decade. In alphabetical order, they are: Almost Famous (2000), The Dark Knight (2008), Finding Nemo (2003), Inglourious Basterds (2009), Jarhead (2005), Match Point (2005), Minority Report (2002), Mystic River (2003), The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), and Zodiac (2007).

And now we start the list with number 10…

- Steve Avigliano, 2/1/10