10. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert FordPart true life drama and part Americana fairytale, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford tells the story of the fabled Jesse James as a mixture of fact and fiction, wearing its heart on its sleeve as it tells of the many layers of his story and confesses that it may or may not always be telling truth, perhaps instead merely reinforcing James’ own myth. Brad Pitt gives what could be his finest performance as the renegade anti-hero James and Casey Affleck is even better as his obsessed fan turned enemy, Robert Ford. Director Andrew Dominik should be counted as one of the year’s best breakthrough directors given the subtle, sophisticated, and meticulous nature of his craft. He paints a portrait of James so deep in its own silence that it almost doesn’t require words to flesh out the character. The film also offers some of the most unforgettable visuals of any feature all year, including a sullen Pitt wrapped in serpents and an unshakable robbery scene lit exclusively by train light. This a masterpiece of melancholy that offers us a more quietly vicious portrait of the old west than any I’ve seen. It’s also as much enamored of folklore as it is dedicated to dispelling its half truths. Certainly, we’re meant to see the weaker side of James here, the softer inner life. And yet, the film never patronizes him, or creates an “alternate” version of him for record books. It works in and around the lines already written by history, filling the voids of humanity left barren by the gun toting, no nonsense imagery offered to us over the years. We see the man behind the myth and yet the myth remains.
9. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
A man awakes in a hospital. He cries out for help, but nobody seems to hear. He watches as they sew up one of his eyes, demanding an explanation but hearing no response. As it turns out, he is not really speaking at all. He can’t speak. He has been paralyzed by a near fatal car crash and is experiencing “locked in” syndrome. All he can do is blink his one remaining eye. That is the opening of Julian Schnabel’s The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, an unforgettable film that’s more of an experience than an act of viewing. Filmed largely from the perspective of the immobile Jean-Dominique Bauby (played beautifully with minimal resources by Mathieu Amalric), the films traps us in his frustrated mind and then sets us free in the recesses of his imagination. Bauby’s internal thoughts, both deeply poignant and hilariously caustic, guide the film, which follows his life through the completion of his autobiography as dictated to an assistant through a system of eye blinks. It also chronicles the emotional impact of Bauby’s condition both on himself and his friends and family. In what could have been an overly dramatic pity piece, Schnabel and adapted screenplay scribe Ron Harwood find a biting and realistically grim voice that neither panders to the audience or demands their tears with connect the dots melodrama. Bauby’s body may be broken, but his spirit is alive and Schnabel captures this lively, delirious, energy in his soaring, affecting camera work. The films moves in ways Bauby never could and its language embodies his wild thoughts and feelings. This is a masterpiece of subjective filmmaking that expresses the internal nature of a character as well as any film I've ever seen.
8. No Country for Old MenJoel & Ethan Coen made an auspicious return to form this year with No Country for Old Men, their first duly celebrated film since 1998’s Fargo. Javier Bardem gives the performance of a lifetime as Anton Shigurh, the surreally efficient and untraceable assassin who hunts down Josh Brolin’s raggedy local townsman on the run for nearly two hours straight without sparing us even one minute of spine tingling suspense. Tommy Lee Jones delivers the film’s gritty gravitas with a soulful performance as the local sheriff, who dutifully tries to protect those in danger, but never escapes the sinking feeling that the time for justice and bravery has passed. Really No Country is a brutal, bloody meditation on life and death in a soulless modern world. Shigurh is a walking totem of all that is evil and the way in which he navigates our world without hardly ever being slowed or wounded, speaks to the immortality of suffering as much as it does the badass attitude of his near invincible character. A two layered tome with pulsing violence and ample allegorical value, No Country for Old Men may be best celebrated as one of the few masterful films this year likely to endure in the mainstream consciousness of the American cinema
7. Control
With experimental biographic works such as I’m Not There and Persepolis providing bona fide renewal of faith in the biopic as a viable film genre, it may seem something of a surprise that my pick for the best all year is also perhaps the least adventurous: Control. Anton Corbijn’s unforgettable and movingly unsentimental analysis of the life of Joy Division singer Ian Curtis offers no great twist on the formula. It simply does right by the rules. And by “right,” I do not mean that it's complacent. I mean that it is the epitome of film biography. It does what every great biopic dreams of doing and it does so by the sheer talent of its cast and creative team. Corbijn’s past as a rock & roll photographer and music video director lends itself brilliantly to this devastating piece. Each frame is like a gorgeous black & white photograph. And better yet, the characters scurrying about within each photo are alive with an edge and an electricity that no amount of planning could provide. Sam Riley and Samantha Morton are explosive and unmissable here as Curtis and his on and off partner of many years respectively. They do justice to the staggering visuals by offering us stark, yet delicate performances that match their crisp surroundings in perfectly detailing a life in motion. There is mystery and ambiguity to the narrative, as Curtis lived one of those hard to describe lives that no one could ever really pin down, but what is on screen will be etched into your brain forever and what’s left out of sight and unexplained will only make this masterpiece further haunt your thoughts and dreams.
6. ZodiacOne of the best films of the year and one of the greatest American crime films of all time, David Fincher’s uber-meticulous investigation procedural Zodiac offers us a revelatory glimpse at his unforeseen skills at filmmaking swept clean of manic rapid editing and stylized photography. Fincher finds terror in the banal here, trading in Kevin Spacey’s fingerprint-less sociopath from Se7en for a more pragmatic, true life killer. Where Se7en’s goon set up fiendishly elaborate pranks, the killer in Zodiac, based on the still unsolved police case, executes his victims efficiently and bluntly. One of the most chilling scenes of the year occurs at a brightly lit, picturesque pond. We simply see a man in black walking leisurely toward two college kids sitting by the lake. We slowly discover he has a gun. And the rest is history. It’s that kind of uncommonly simple scene that makes Zodiac so bold and so different. Rather than exaggerating the events, Fincher stays perfectly on point with a fact based decoding of the many clues left behind by the enigmatic murderer who terrorized San Francisco. It’s his least showy and most effective directing job yet. It also boasts a star turn by Jake Gyllenhaal and wonderful supporting performances by Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., Chloe Sevigny, and John Carroll Lynch. Zodiac is a masterful mystery as well as a chilling study of one man’s overwhelming, unstoppable obsession, a subject that’s all too fitting for the famously finicky Fincher.
5. The Savages
The Savages is a note-perfect movie with pristine dramatic-comic performances from stars Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney. As disgruntled siblings John and Wendy savage, the two phenomenal talents forge an unforgettable onscreen relationship that is bolstered by each one’s respective work of dramatic nuance and subtle wit. Linney is the self-defeating dreamer, who mostly just imagines the realization of her deepest wishes. Hoffman is a cold and callous scholar writing a commercially unwanted but personally significant book on the unemotional, all too similar, style of Brecht. They’re both stunned and dismayed upon learning that there father is ill and needs their assistance, a doubly thorny circumstance given how he abandoned them long ago. They both decide to be better people and treat him as best they know how. Their personal journey toward self-discovery coincides with his experience being tossed around hospitals and nursing homes. As he regresses into a self-reliant, near infant, they each expand their horizons and learn to finally mature into adults. Writer/director Tamara Jenkins solidifies herself as one of the of the top talents to watch with this darkly funny and painfully authentic tale of love, loss, and personal redemption.
4. Lars and the Real Girl The simple fact that Lars and the Real Girl is best reported on as a pop culture punch line limited only to teasing about its seemingly racy but actually adorable premise, is a clear indicator that a) most people haven’t seen this film and b) the ones that have and still don’t get it are clearly dumb. There was nothing more winningly, wholesomely old-fashioned anywhere on an American movie screen all year. Though its general plot does involve a plastic sex doll and one very lonely gentleman named Lars (played fearlessly by Ryan Gosling with a complexity that even outshines his Oscar nominated turn in Half Nelson), the film actually has the spirit of the very best that Frank Capra every had to offer in his glory days. A small town rallies behind a nice guy in trouble and helps to save his waning life. Its sly kink may be modern, but its heart is timeless. Credit goes to Nancy Oliver who does wonders with her first produced feature script. She’s amazing at balancing the cunning wit of the film’s outrageous plot with drama so searing you almost forget what film you’re watching. Lars is not just a big joke. His condition is serious. Despite there being some inherent laughs in it, Oliver steers clear of milking it dry. She simply allows for both drama and comedy to emerge naturally from the brilliant framework she has sculpted. It’s also no small help that co-stars Emily Mortimer, Paul Schneider, Kelli Garner and Patricia Clarkson all tackle the film with the same momentous enthusiasm. It’s a contagious work of great spirit held together sweetly by able director Craig Gillespie and delivered like a care package post-dated from a more open-minded, and less censored alternate universe version of 1930s Hollywood.
3. Juno
The stars really aligned with this little movie. It could have gone down in history as that other movie about getting knocked up. Instead it pummeled the competition and emerged victorious as the most well-rounded, emotional satisfying, and side-splittingly funny comedy to crossover all year. Ellen Page, who showed promise in indie films like Hard Candy, comes into her own here as an admirable actress and full blown movie star. Her Juno, a tart-tongued sixteen year-old who accidentally gets pregnant after one unexplainable night with her best friend (Michael Cera), is likeably snippy and hysterically quick witted. She also has a bruised little heart showing just beneath the surface and a tender gaze that few teen flick bitches ever get to show. Page remarkably discovers a way to find the humanity in breakout screenwriter Diablo Cody’s walking, talking quip machine of a character. She even gives lines like “Hells yeah” and “I gotta bounce” just enough noncommittal, self-satirical distance to make them genuinely funny and uncheesy for the first time in…maybe ever. The film is also elevated by an ensemble of brilliant supporting players, including the aforementioned Cera, Jennifer Garner, Jason Bateman, J.K. Simmons, and Allison Janney. Each one of these actors turns their periphery character into a fully realized person of interest. They don’t just service the story neatly, but rather undergo their own little mini-arcs with the same great bittersweet humor Juno does. It’s a good sign for Cody’s future that she’s bright enough to paint even the littlest characters with enough color to make them jump off the page. And lest we forget Jason Reitman whose rising star has been mysteriously overshadowed by that of Cody and Page. Following the biting satire Thank You for Smoking with this sentimental, offbeat gem shows a range that should put Reitman on the shortlist of cool comedy directors in Hollywood (a list that’s only been getting shorter each year). The gentle mix of heart tugging and knee slapping here is undeniably charming. It’s a safe bet to say that Juno is the best comedy the year.
2. Once With all due respect to Juno (my #3 pick), Fox Searchlight’s cultivation of its reputation as the “little movie that could” of 2007 seems like mostly myth to me. It’s had buzz in its blood since day one. The real surprise gem of the year and equally unexpected, albeit more modest, box office hit is Once, an Irish indie musical with no stars and an unknown director. Filmed on the streets of Dublin for very little money, it thrives off creative energy and raw talent. John Carney directs Glen Hansard of Irish rockers The Frames and singer/songwriter Marketa Irglova as a pair of musicians struggling to make a living and deal with their stagnant romances. Glen Hansard, known only as “The Guy,” works as a street musician and Hoover repair man. Marketa Irglova, “The Girl,” sells flowers and cleans houses. Both also happen to be brilliantly gifted musicians, if only they’d ever get the chance to prove it. Well, here they do. They meet casually on the street one day and connect in a rich duet of the beautiful song “Falling Slowly.” They continue sharing music with one another in unprecedented organic fashion. What emerges is a thoroughly modern musical for the age of DIY filmmaking and MySpace musicians. The songs are delicate, sparse compositions made from whatever means would be realistically available to these two characters. What carries the tunes to professional level is the obvious gifts of their makers. For anyone who still gags at over the top song and dance numbers, Once is a revolutionary film worth sampling. Never before has a musical been so truthful, so real, and so honestly passionate. The burgeoning emotions between the two main characters offers one of the most truly gripping “Will they or won’t they?” romances in many years, and the ultimate conclusion of their situation is as devastatingly authentic as everything that precedes it. Song and life go hand in hand here, with characters singing their hearts out while walking home on dark streets and sitting on buses with guitar in hand. And to describe its visual style as too simple, or underdone would be a crime. It’s filmed with lots of beautiful handheld work, and an occasional studio flourish. The final shot, utilizing a crane on a Dublin street, is as sweeping and, dare I say, epic as any flashy fellow musical could deliver. But what really makes this a masterpiece is its fragile heart which beats openly and honestly for 86 minutes before leaving you feeling like you’ve just experienced the same magical once in a lifetime connection that the characters did.
1. There Will Be Blood
There was no film this year more ambitious and perfectly realized than Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood. It really is that clear and simple. Film number five from the oft-critiqued and equally heralded auteur may not only be his greatest masterpiece, but also the one that finally silences his vocal detractors. I’ve been a diehard fan of Anderson’s early work for years and to witness There Will Be Blood was both a joy and vindication for me. Film fanatics have never been able to decide if Anderson was making brilliant films, or merely demonstrating brilliance in indulgent follies. Imagery of a mad genius tinkering with toys was often evoked. I, personally, adore everything from Hard Eight to Punch-Drunk Love without exception. Anderson, for my money, is the most imaginative mastermind of his generation and one of the most exciting talents in the contemporary film landscape. For There Will Be Blood he stripped himself of most of his trademarks and found proper uses for those he simply could not spare. Sure there are shots that carry on over many different locales and for many more minutes than necessary, but they feel more expansive when used in desert landscapes instead of the close quarters of apartment buildings and TV studios. Sure the characters can be weirdly emotional and even stark raving mad at times, but in this life and death opera of oil trade and hellfire, there could be no more appropriately dangerous and invigorating chord to strike. Every folly in the Anderson filmography has found its rightful place in this masterwork. And as dearly as I admire composer Jon Brion, who realistically should have at least two Academy Awards by now, the decision to drop his whimsical retro-pop score in favor of a dissonant, shredding soundtrack courtesy of Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood could not be more ideal for this film. A triumphant cast led by the incendiary Daniel Day-Lewis and all too underrated Paul Dano help Anderson carry this film into the stratosphere of America’s greatest epic works. It begins with Daniel Plainview (Day-Lewis) as a lowly gold scavenger in the late 19th century and follows his journey to prosperity though the mining of oil, a substance whose devil black, blood thick appearance marks him before he even gets to speak his first line (that is, of course, 17 minutes into the justifiably oversized film). His pursuits lead him to a small town where hardly any crops grow and the only solace anyone can find comes from the leadership of the local preacher Eli Sunday (Dano). The honesty of Sunday’s supposedly prophetic ministry remains ambiguous but his showmanship is undeniable. He has the town under a spell and Plainview’s arrival only serves to threaten his hold over his flock. The two power hungry men butt heads in a not too clearly drawn battle of good vs. evil that contests villainy on both sides. What is certain is that Sunday represents the folky older roots of America and Plainview is the deathly shallow messenger for future industrialization. He rapes the town of its culture, blinds its citizens with offers of financial gain, and eases their spirits with the illusion that he is really an honest and decent man (a charade aided by his adorable son, who is actually the orphaned child of a workman who died in one of Plainview’s mining shafts many years ago). Plainview is a slick, fast talking oil man, and very nearly pure evil. The film is a close reading of his maniacal character and a chronicle of his utter annihilation of old-fashioned idealism. He spreads his cynical sickness throughout the town and obliterates its past identity as completely as one could possibly imagine. It is the birth of cold-hearted American business as described through the life of one ruthless gentleman.
