This Just Might Be My Masterpiece: A Review of 'Django Unchained'

"Django Unchained" is a necessary evil. Unlike films like "Precious" and "The Help," "Django Unchained" inspires honest, provocative, and intelligent discussions about race and violence, whether you think the movie is good or not. Indeed, some of the best reviews of "Django Unchained" criticize Quentin Tarantino's decisions as a filmmaker (see Armond White's review and some of Jermaine Spradley's article).

I can't remember another movie quite like "Django Unchained." As I walked to my car from the theater, I couldn't determine whether I liked it. All I knew was that I had experienced something. I got to hear a black woman yell "Whip him! Whip him!" in the theater as Django went to town on an evil white man. I got to hear white people laugh frequently as "nigger" was said again and again by both white and black characters.

I was eventually confused by my own reactions to "nigger." I personally didn't find it funny when any of the white characters said "nigger" - I just took it as a sign of the time and a reminder that people still use the word in the traditional sense. But when Samuel L. Jackson finally came on the screen, I found it difficult in a couple of instances not to laugh at his use of the word ... what the hell? Was it because I'm a hypocrite? Or was it simply the irony of Jackson's delivery? And why did I laugh much more at "nigger" in "Blazing Saddles" and never feel guilty about it?

Much has been said about whether "Django Unchained" functions as a black fantasy or a guilty white liberal's fantasy. Based on my observations, I'm pretty sure it's both. The black woman in the theater mightily confirmed the black fantasy. In a much different way, Christoph Waltz's character, Dr. King Schultz, confirmed the guilty white liberal fantasy. In the film, Schultz decides to kill Calvin Candie (a scarily effective performance by Leonardo DiCaprio) because of a troubling flashback involving a black man being ripped apart by dogs on Candie's order. The tricky part is that Schultz knows he will endanger two free black people, Django and his wife, by killing Candie! Repulsion obviously plays a part in Schultz's misguided use of violence, but guilt is also a factor: Schultz didn't prevent a black man from being killed by dogs. Schultz is overcome by guilt and repulsion because he had frequently allowed blacks to be mistreated by whites. The dogs simply highlighted what might happen when good men sit back and watch.  

Strangely, Quentin Tarantino is neither a guilty white liberal nor a black man, as explained in Armond White's "Still Not a Brother." At the same time, Tarantino is closer to black than to, say, Australian, as evidenced by the terrible accent Tarantino uses in his "Django Unchained" role, the worst cameo by any director in film history.

Tarantino has proven one thing throughout his career and now especially with "Django Unchained": he is the best living director at provoking extreme feelings. He's like a teenager who loves to push buttons for the sake of pushing buttons. You might think a movie like "The Human Centipede" is revolting, but if "Django Unchained" offends you, it easily tops the gag reflex. And what separates Tarantino from provocative directors like Sam Peckinpah is how his ideas often clash rather than complement each other, whether these ideas relate to genre, taste, morality, history, or whatever is on Tarantino's mind.

The last scene of "Django Unchained" disturbed the hell out of me, particularly when Django proceeded to shoot the knee caps of Samuel L. Jackson's self-hating head slave. Fuck fun and games and fantasy: the scene was not right in a moral sense.

But my moral response was soon put to rest. I felt extreme nostalgia upon hearing Tarantino's final song selection: the theme to "They Call Me Trinity," a comedic western that I watched with my family at least 25 times.

'Skyfall': A Mature Take on Tradition and Duty

"Skyfall" reveals Bond's feelings about his childhood home: "I always hated this place." "Casino Royale" might have left out the gadgets of Bond lore, but "Skyfall" openly mocks them. At the beginning of "Skyfall," M decides to risk killing Bond rather than trusting him to save the day as always. From these examples and others, one would get the impression that "Skyfall" is ready to blaze a more revolutionary trail than even the stripped-down "Casino Royale."

But that's not quite right. Bond's car in "Skyfall" has appeared in other Bond movies. The film has the most traditional Bond music cues since "Tomorrow Never Dies" (some of these cues are so obvious that the fourth wall seems to be broken). "Skyfall" is also more concerned with one-liners than "Casino Royale" and "Quantum of Solace."

While I could have done without some of its more contrived nods to the past, "Skyfall" makes a powerful statement about responsibility. You can't just look to the past, or the world will leave you behind. At the same time, you can't completely ignore what made you successful. Both Bond and M must face this universal truth.

Going beyond the direction of Sam Mendes and the cinematography of Roger Deakins (both of which make "Skyfall" the most beautiful Bond movie ever), and placing aside the fact that Daniel Craig is the deepest cinematic expression of Bond, you ultimately take away one thing from "Skyfall": no matter what, Bond isn't going to quit. In fact, he's going to enjoy the job. It's a simple, refreshing thought for our fear-ridden culture.

'The Virgin Spring': The Power of Moral Filmmaking

Even though I live in a largely Christian country, I was taken aback by the Christianity and moral questioning of a Swedish movie made more than 40 years ago - Ingmar Bergman's "The Virgin Spring." This says a lot about Hollywood and our film culture. For decades, Hollywood has distanced itself from religious and moral filmmaking, and audiences have paid Hollywood well for its efforts. This observation is not a mean indictment; the movie tickets I've purchased do not provide me with any moral high ground. Nonetheless, "The Virgin Spring" is the kind of movie that should be made in the United States. Even something like Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life," a genuine attempt to address spiritual concerns, is descriptive and mundane rather than provocative and transcendent.

We must look beyond the obvious. Yes, "The Virgin Spring" is an influential film. Every rape-and-revenge movie ("The Last House on the Left," "Straw Dogs," etc.) might owe it something. But if all we can say about "The Virgin Spring" is that it started the rape-and-revenge movie trend, and if we can say that with enthusiasm, we must question not only the film's worth but also our own culture's worth.

"Oh, but it's just a movie!"

The above mindset is the opposite of what Bergman wanted one to think after watching "The Virgin Spring." The film is like an untold story from the Bible - it's an emotional parable. We might root for the father in the story to take revenge for what happens to his daughter, but Bergman goes further than this: we are made to empathize with the father's guilt and his conviction to atone for his violence. I won't reveal how the film gets its title, but it's what miracles are made of.

"The Virgin Spring" didn't inspire blunt moral questions from its imitators. Sure, "Straw Dogs" and the remake of "The Last House on the Left" might bring up a moral discussion (much more than idiotic fare like "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo"), but "The Virgin Spring" insists on moral examination. Whether you ultimately share the protagonist's spiritual concerns (illustrated beautifully by actor Max von Sydow) is immaterial. All of us, Christian or not, must justify and question our responses to the events of "The Virgin Spring." Such is the power of moral filmmaking.

'The Amazing Spider-Man': Without a Mask, Without a Point

Spider-Man hardly wears his mask in Marc Webb's "The Amazing Spider-Man," a ploy that manufactures the most mundane drama. Remember when Michael Keaton rips off his mask in Tim Burton's "Batman Returns"? That scene offered a poignant character moment, a hero willing to give up his madness for love. In contrast, "The Amazing Spider-Man" makes one wonder, "So what is the fucking point of wearing a mask?" The funny thing is that Sam Raimi's Spider-Man trilogy already made me ask that question.

"The Amazing Spider-Man" begins with Peter Parker's parents leaving him behind, but this opening only sets up a flimsy link between Peter's father and Dr. Connors, the villain of the film, and the suggestion that Peter and Dr. Connors can owe their transformations to Peter's father (Peter's mother is forgotten). Peter's love interest, Gwen Stacy, just so happens to work for Dr. Connors. In the middle of the film, Spider-Man saves a man's son, and this man later plays deus ex machina - in the right spot at the right time to save Spidey's ass. With great power comes great coincidence.

Like its hero, this film doesn't have a secret identity. It is clearly a riff on Sam Raimi's trilogy and David Cronenberg's "The Fly," with the villain's master plan resembling what Magneto did way back in Bryan Singer's "X-Men" - and this isn't the first time a superhero movie has copied that scheme. The only interesting idea in "The Amazing Spider-Man" is the conflict between Spider-Man and Gwen Stacey's cop father, played by Dennis Leary. But their relationship is deemed pointless by the end of the film, as Peter Parker vows to break a promise he made to the man, despite the fact that Spider-Man owed his life to him.

"The Amazing Spider-Man" is a dark and silly movie. The witty lines in the trailer are reserved for one scene, which suggests their placement in the trailer was used to attract people like me who thought the Sam Raimi films needed a more lighthearted Spider-Man. However, what we end up with is an inept and horny Spider-Man. Quite frankly, the guys in "American Pie" were more heroic. 

The Hobbit: How Three Films Might Threaten Our Film Culture (and Wallets)

In case the hype machine hasn't told you yet, The Hobbit is the stuff that happens before The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien intended The Hobbit to be a children's book, as opposed to The Lord of the Rings. I've read a chunk of The Hobbit, and it indeed has much better pacing than The Fellowship of the Ring.

Once upon a time, a shrewd man named Peter Jackson thought this children's book could only fit into two films. He has since announced that it can fit into three films. 

Jackson's announcement brings up a question: what the hell happened?

Specifically, what happened to one book getting one movie? What happened to getting our money's worth? What happened to writing, an activity that requires one to remove unnecessary words, sentences, and events?

I believe it all started with the two films made out of the last Harry Potter book. Not to be outdone, the second part of a two-film adaptation of Twilight's final book, Breaking Dawn, will be released later this year.

You know what Peter Jackson has to say about that?

"Hey, fuck you guys. The last Harry Potter and Twilight books were hundreds of pages shorter than Gone with the Wind, but you thought you could make more money by adapting them into two movies that, when combined, were longer than the Gone with the Wind movie? Fuck you guys. I can take a 300-page children's book and turn it into three films. I'm good at telling stories. Fuck you guys."

OK, OK. Peter Jackson would never say or think that. He seems like a pretty nice guy. He probably honestly believes The Hobbit needs three movies. This doesn't change the fact, however, that what he's doing is not good for our film culture, assuming we play along with the business plan.

We shouldn't pay more money to see one story. We shouldn't encourage Hollywood to make even longer franchises. We should spend our money on good movies. I was gonna write another sentence with some curse words, but I guess this'll do.

The Dark Knight Rises: When Hype and Tragedy Intersect

The events surrounding Christopher Nolan's final Batman movie are hard to swallow and disentangle. Last weekend my desire to see The Dark Knight Rises was lost. After I heard about the horrible murders in Colorado that Friday morning, I couldn't work, and the last thing on my mind was whether the movie was going to be good.

I was already disgusted with the hype surrounding The Dark Knight Rises. Batman fans attacked critics who gave the movie a negative review, even though these fans hadn't seen the movie. The attacks escalated to death threats. Then Christopher Nolan, a supposed artist, gave his savvy, all-business take on the extreme reactions: "I think the fans are very passionate about these characters the way a lot of people are very passionate. Batman's been around for over 70 years and there's a reason for that. He has a huge appeal, so I think you know people certainly respond to the character." Perhaps one could defend Nolan, as this writer did, but I wouldn't. Even if Nolan hadn't heard about the death threats, his comments are not those of an artist but of a peddler. Regardless of how much someone loves a character, that doesn't give the person who hasn't even seen the movie the right to attack a critic for a negative review. It's shitty, immoral discourse, and Nolan, as a supposed artist, should not excuse or encourage it. None of us should. 

Enter James Holmes, a maniac who killed 12 people and injured dozens more (estimates vary by news source) in a Colorado theater. This man claimed that he was inspired by the Joker from Nolan's second Batman film, The Dark Knight. When Holmes appeared in court, he was in a strange daze, not unlike Heath Ledger's Joker when the character is taken into a police station for questioning. Regardless of whether you would draw a causal relationship between the film and Holmes' violence (I can't), it seems the man was a fan of Nolan's movie.

Christopher Nolan issued a statement to express his sadness about the murders. Even though we all expected him to do this, I have no doubt he was sincere. At the same time, it saddens me it took this tragedy to get Nolan to speak out against deranged fandom. I certainly can't equate Holmes to the people who lashed out at the critics, even those who made death threats. But I am still disappointed in Nolan's delayed moral response to mania. 

It's time to change our film culture and challenge businessmen like Nolan to do better. There's nothing wrong with being excited about a character on the big screen, but if the movie isn't good, you don't have to like it. If someone else says the movie isn't good, you don't have to be outraged. I'm not pointing a finger at any specific reader, but a big chunk of our overall film culture is more about hype than quality. 

It's time to ask moral questions about films, as Americans did in the 1960s and 1970s. James Holmes' appreciation of the Joker was obviously not the correct moral response. The fact is that he's not the only person who loves Nolan's Joker in the wrong way (I say with shame that I was one of those people initially). True, most fans like this won't kill people. But why does this strange appreciation occur? Does it have anything to do with a film that doesn't let a superhero be, well, a hero? The Dark Knight is a bleak film with no clear moral point. Does the sequel to this kind of material deserve our hype and excitement? 

Our culture needs more moral clarity, not more bleakness. Satirical Facebook tributes and comments about the attractiveness of James Holmes are examples of our culture's lack of moral restraint. Even if all of these comments about Holmes being cute or being a hero are meant to be funny, they display a remarkable lack of understanding about what transpired in Colorado. People are dead, you fucking morons. Mourn them like any upstanding person should do. And as Facebook defends its users' freedom of speech, I must ask the Facebook Team a question: if the victims were your family members and friends, would the tributes to James Holmes be allowed? Hell no, they wouldn't.

What is up with the darkness surrounding Nolan's last two Batman films? Heath Ledger might have died even if he hadn't locked himself in a hotel room for weeks to become the Joker, and James Holmes might have killed people in a theater even if he hadn't seen The Dark Knight, and fans had threatened the lives of critics for negative reviews of movies before The Dark Knight Rises. So while it would be hard to argue that Nolan's films caused people to lose their fucking minds, it's possible these blockbusters aren't cheering us up the way the original Star Wars trilogy did.

Will any of Nolan's next films address these cultural issues? Will many of us expect any of his next films to do so? God I hope so. 

This article is dedicated to the memory of those who were killed in Aurora, to the families who suffered these losses, and to the people who were injured. Might the rest of us strive to make this world a better place.

The Newsroom: Preaching to a Choir

I watched the first episode of The Newsroom with my wife last night. The best part of the experience was when we laughed at Sam Waterson going off on the most annoying character of the show: "I'm a Marine, Don! I will beat the shit out of you, I don't care how many protein bars you eat!" I found myself clinging to the hope that Waterson would beat the shit out of somebody, maybe everybody, involved in the show.

The beginning of The Newsroom starts out well enough. Creator Aaron Sorkin does a good job of showing how political debate in the United States goes stupid. Actor Jeff Daniels is in the middle of this stupid debate. When probed by a student and moderator about what makes America the greatest country in the world, Daniels goes on a rant about how America isn't that great. He cites a lot of depressing statistics and fires at liberals and conservatives. His rant (as unenlightening as it is) then turns embarrassingly sentimental - the sappy dialogue and music brought to mind the "Lesson for the Day" denouements of sitcoms like Family Matters.

The self-importance and lack of intellect that creator Aaron Sorkin displays here is outstanding. It's easy to suggest America is or isn't the greatest country in the world. But here's the truth: any question about the greatest country in the world is idiotic. Who has lived in every country in the world? Who knows everything about every country in the world? These are questions that Sorkin should've raised, but instead I am reminded of Steve Urkel.

Sorkin fumbles again when the BP oil spill comes up. He uses incredible coincidences involving the college roommate and big sister of a character just to be smug about the disaster. I think any reasonable human being knows the oil spill was a travesty, but anyone who disagrees would either a) never watch The Newsroom anyway or b) scoff at Sorkin's smugness.

As a cultural statement, The Newsroom will inspire those who worship the United States to continue their blind faith and know-it-all people to masturbate to depressing statistics. Based on the pilot, it is an irresponsible and, worse, insipid show. We are better off catching another pair of knockers on Game of Thrones.

'Black Swan': Darren Aronofsky's Fake Masterpiece

“Watch the way she moves. Imprecise but … effortless. She’s not faking it.” This is how ballet director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) describes one of his dancers in Darren Aronofsky’s 2010 film, "Black Swan." If only Leroy’s quote could apply to Aronofsky. With incredible precision, Aronofsky has convinced many critics and fans that "Black Swan" is a work of art. In reality, the film is a sorry and unoriginal horror exercise.   

One of the more absurd bits of praise for "Black Swan" is that it compares well to Roman Polanski’s "Repulsion" (for examples, see here and here).  While both "Black Swan" and "Repulsion" concern a woman with a crumbling mind, and while both films have cinematography that effectively conveys anxiety, Aronofsky cheapens psychology, as well as art, by having protagonist Nina Sayers kill herself in the pursuit of her dream as a lead ballerina in Tchaikovsky’s "Swan Lake." Polanski, a survivor of the Holocaust, doesn’t confuse nightmares with the pursuit of dreams.

On a more obvious level, Aronofsky isn’t subtle or tasteful like Polanski. He doesn’t trust his audience’s intelligence like Polanski, who used a seemingly innocent family picture to suggest sexual abuse in "Repulsion." But that by itself doesn't allow one to understand the artistic distance between the two directors. Because there is no subtlety in "Black Swan" (right down to its superficial connection to Tchaikovsky’s "Swan Lake"), we must look at something in the film that approaches Repulsion stylistically: the use of visual effects.

A comparison of visual effects reveals Aronofsky as a hack and Polanski as a genius. Aronofsky primarily uses visual effects to illustrate Nina Sayers’ transformation into an artist, even though her transformation is preposterous from a conceptual standpoint. People don't quickly become artists through masturbation, drinking, and lesbianism (though I support all three activities in their proper places). Her transformation is also silly from a visual standpoint. We see Sayers morph into a black swan gradually with effects that recall David Cronenberg’s "The Fly." However, the similarity with Cronenberg ends there. Aronofsky’s effects are only there as a road map for the audience – you know, in case we’re too dumb to “get it.” This condescending approach culminates when Sayers, on stage during her great final performance, becomes a glossy black swan. This effect has little power besides awkwardness. One gets none of the dread that Cronenberg elicits with the final stage of Jeff Goldblum’s transformation in "The Fly," and wonder isn't at play, either, given that the effect is obviously an effect. In this way, Aronofosky is no better than George Lucas or James Cameron. In contrast, Polanski primarily uses visual effects in "Repulsion" to illustrate the mental deterioration of his protagonist. His effects show us what his protagonist thinks she is seeing: cracks in the walls (multiplying over time) and hands reaching out of walls to fondle her. Polanski didn't have Aronofsky’s budget, but his simplicity is effective and doesn't assume anything about the audience.

To be fair, Aronofsky attempts to show us what Sayers thinks she is seeing in "Black Swan." But whereas Polanski is honest and clear about his protagonist’s hallucinations, Aronofsky reveals Sayers’ self-destruction in a clichéd plot twist. Neither you nor Sayers really knows what’s happening until she realizes she is killing herself rather than murdering someone for gain. This sudden awareness is a cheap twist that appeared in "Fight Club," "Secret Window," "High Tension," and "The Machinist," to name a few recent examples. Ironically, Aronofsky was more straightforward with "The Fountain," a film with three interlocking stories.

If the ending of "Black Swan" is uninspired due to a conventional plot twist, the overall content of "Black Swan" is monotonous due to Aronofsky’s previous film, "The Wrestler." The protagonists of both films are obsessive artists who end up dying for their art (some would say "The Wrestler’s" ending is ambiguous, but in reality it’s tasteful rather than vague). The difference between the two films lies in their levels of futility. At least Mickey Rourke’s Robin Ramzinski bonds with his fellow wrestlers and appears to have fun wrestling. Natalie Portman’s Nina Sayers doesn't even seem to enjoy ballet. She's been in the ballet company longer than anyone (according to her mother), yet she has virtually no friends or support. She is abused and hurt in almost every situation. Her most pleasurable moment, the lesbianism scene, is revealed to be a fantasy. It's almost as if Aronofsky takes the emotional heaviness of "The Wrestler" and attempts to satirize it in the style of Martin Scorsese’s "After Hours." Indeed, I found it hard not to laugh during some scenes because Sayers rarely catches a break.

Is exploitation what Aronofsky wanted? You get the sense he wanted to say something more profound, but Nina Sayers is no Jesus Christ or Santiago. Her sensationalized plight illustrates nothing meaningful about the human condition. Sayers has her heart set on the lead role in "Swan Lake," but unlike Tchaikovsky’s original ballet, Aronofsky’s version isn't ultimately concerned with eternal love; "Black Swan" is concerned with death by art. Is this the same director who warned us about drug addiction in "Requiem for a Dream" and explored the intellectual and emotional sides of mourning in "The Fountain"? With "Black Swan," Aronofsky demonstrates that he has, if anything, become a more immature filmmaker.  

All the same, "Black Swan" gives one the impression that Aronofsky thinks of himself as a master. His reactionary words to critic Armond White - who dared to write a negative review of "Black Swan"! - at the 2011 New York Film Critics Awards are more evidence of his sense of entitlement (see here). Despite his pride, Aronofsky wants our approval, but he couldn’t wait for the real thing. When the screen goes white in "Black Swan," you can still hear the applause of Sayers’ audience as the words “Directed by Darren Aronofsky” appear.

Yep, he’s faking it.

'Paranormal Activity': The Anti-Cinema of Mockumentary Horror

"The Blair Witch Project" wasn't the first mockumentary horror film, but it started a revolution. Numerous documentary style and found footage horror movies have been made since the 1999 blockbuster, including hits like "Paranormal Activity" and "Cloverfield." The goal of these films is to heighten the horror by making events seem more real.

Last week my girlfriend Lacey and I had different reactions to "Paranormal Activity," which has spawned two follow-ups since its 2007 release ("Paranormal Activity 3" recently broke box office records). She was engaged during the film and very frightened afterward, but I thought I had just watched a silly television show. It was my first mockumentary horror film experience (I had only watched scenes from "The Blair Witch Project").

Our reactions stemmed from different beliefs and experiences. Lacey believes in the supernatural due to unexplained experiences she had more than a decade ago, so she is the ideal audience for director/writer Oren Peli. This is even clearer when you consider that she can handle non-mockumentary ghost movies like "Poltergeist" and "Insidious." For her, the faux documentary brings her closer to the real terror she felt many years ago.

Unfortunately, I am not the ideal audience for Peli. I don't believe in the supernatural because I've never seen anything out of the ordinary (though for one year I lived in a house that was said to be haunted). But that by itself doesn't explain why I wasn't captivated by Peli's approach. For example, even though I wasn't scared during "Poltergeist" or its half-assed imitator "Insidious," they interested me. On the other hand, "Paranormal Activity" didn't have my attention until its deadly ending. The reason is simple: I believe in cinema, and "Paranormal Activity" is not cinema.

******

One year after the mockumentary horror film exploded onto the scene with "The Blair Witch Project," reality television made its stamp on American television with "Survivor" and "Big Brother." This one-two illustrates a significant cultural phenomenon. Since 1999, more and more people have wanted films and television to be more real. For them, it makes viewing more entertaining and exciting.

Although "mockumentary" is most often used to describe comedies that satirize culture - films like "This Is Spinal Tap" and "Bruno" - I find the term even more suitable for this new wave of horror movies and reality television. These things mock reality in the most technical sense. During the first season of the hit television series "Survivor," I remember people getting off on the real interactions between the contestants. Hell, I remember getting off on the second season in Australia myself, mainly because it had this real crazy guy who killed a pig and smeared its blood on his face. But this man probably wouldn't have killed a pig and made such a spectacle if not for the show. Of course, we must consider the possibility that the whole thing was staged. But fuck it, right? It was the presentation and inclusion of no-name people that made "Survivor" more real for viewers. (I say "more real" instead of "more realistic" because the former is associated with the belief or perception that something is actually happening. "Realism," on the other hand, refers to art that depicts subjects as empirical reflections of reality.)

This is not to say everyone who watches reality television takes it seriously as drama. From my own observations, many people are more likely to laugh at reality television's subjects. It's cheap entertainment. But the phenomenon started from the idea that, yes, we are watching something that is more real than a sitcom or drama. And for what it's worth, reality television is more real than any silly-ass sitcom.

But the mockumentary horror film is taken as seriously (if not more so) as it was when "The Blair Witch Project" made millions. Some people who scoff at "The Blair Witch Project" are affected by the "Paranormal Activity" films. I think the main reason for this is that "Paranormal Activity" allows one to see everything more clearly; "The Blair Witch Project" is notorious for its shaky camera. In this way, "The Blair Witch Project" is pure anti-cinema.

There's that word again. What does cinema mean? For me, it means the work of many wonderful filmmakers and the standards they set. D.W. Griffith, John Ford, Akira Kurosawa, Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Federico Fellini, Francios Truffaut, Steven Spielberg, and Werner Herzog (who knows a thing or two about blurring the line between feature film and documentary), to name a few. Cinema represents the idea that film can do anything and make us feel a wide range of emotions by appealing to our most immediate sense: sight. The term also sets what we know as film apart from any other medium (please note the following is an incomplete list): literature, music, painting, and, oh yeah, television.

Critic Pauline Kael once remarked about the detrimental influence of television on film in her essential piece of film criticism, "Trash, Art, and the Movies": "Television is a very noisy medium and viewers listen, while getting used to a poor quality of visual reproduction, to the absence of visual detail, to visual obviousness and overemphasis on simple compositions, and to atrociously simplified and distorted color systems. The shifting camera styles, the movement, and the fast cutting of a film like 'Finian’s Rainbow'—one of the better big productions—are like the 'visuals' of TV commercials, a disguise for static material, expressive of nothing so much as the need to keep you from getting bored and leaving. Men are now beginning their careers as directors by working on commercials—which, if one cares to speculate on it, may be almost a one-sentence résumé of the future of American motion pictures."

Kael's comments can be applied to "The Blair Witch Project." Indeed, the story and thematic content of the film are so bare that the producers needed a shaky camera to keep people's attention. "[A]bsence of visual detail" and "static material" is "The Blair Witch Project" in a nutshell. We could even speculate that the main reason people distiguish it from television is that it was marketed and released as a theatrical movie.

So where does that leave "Paranormal Activity"? Well, I have to give it credit to an extent. It did set a higher standard for mockumentary horror films. For one thing, it's not "very noisy" or lacking "visual detail" in a sense. The noises in "Paranormal Activity" are doled out slowly, and as mentioned before, the film doesn't suffer from a shaky camera. I can see why the film spellbinds people. Its camera, unlike the cameras in normal feature films, is an object in the purest sense. In many scenes, the camera doesn't show you anything but what's happening in a bedroom while a couple sleeps (or tries to sleep), and we know it's not going to move unless something we're seeing tampers with it. The film gives the illusion that we're forced to watch malevolent forces unfold in real time. Whereas in a traditional horror movie, the camera is magic, separate from the scene - we trust the director to show us what we need to see.

However, I wasn't spellbound by the mockumentary approach. "Paranormal Activity" has an unoriginal, paper-thin story with characters who don't say or do anything interesting. The film didn't seem to comment on anything culturally relevant (though Slate critic Dana Stevens theorized it was a metaphor for the credit crisis - interesting, but I disagree). The editing has no rhythm; the film is shot from an exceptionally normal perspective for the illusion of realness, with choppiness to boot. But the biggest problem was how the film killed suspense. During the bedroom scenes, you can see the camera's clock in the low right-hand corner. The "scene" fast-forwards as the clock numbers roll. The scene resumes when the clock stops rolling, letting you know when to expect ghostly activity. The technique is a converse of the instant replay, which drove the film's relationship to television even further home for me.

******

Last night Lacey and I watched "Paranormal Activity 2." Admittedly, it held my attention more than the first because it had more action, characters, and camera perspectives (the father sets up security cameras in the house), but I was struck by the fact that it had a different director. Peli is replaced by Tod Williams, but you can't tell a difference in directorial style. This uniformness reminded me of how television shows change directors while retaining the same stylistic elements. Mockumentary horror films appeal to individual beliefs and experiences while rejecting the individuality of cinema as a personal artform.

I could discuss the numerous cinematic limitations of "Paranormal Activity" and its kind for hours, but the reality is that the horror film and audience expectations have changed. I just hold to the hope that if this new wave of horror movies continues to take over, we, as a filmmaking and filmgoing culture, will not forget the past - that we will learn about it and from it.

'Ironclad' starts strong but becomes tedious, hypocritical

In a way, it's impressive “Ironclad” (2011) is mediocre instead of plain shitty. The film had an almost completely different cast before financing got tricky, and there are 18 executive producers in its credits. So when the squire Guy says "We held" after a tough victory, you can imagine the creative team saying the same thing.

The story of “Ironclad's” production is inspiring, but director/writer Jonathan English only makes a halfway decent historical action film. The plot concerns a Templar knight, Thomas Marshal (James Purefoy), who helps lead an effort to stop King John (an entertaining Paul Giamatti) from killing the barons who forced him to sign the Magna Carta. Marshal and Baron William de Albany (the great Brian Cox) form a group similar to that of Akira Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai" and fortify Rochester Castle, King John's main target. Meanwhile, Lady Isabel (Kate Mara) is unsatisfied with her husband, the constable of Rochester. The last part sticks out because it's a pointless subplot that destroys the morality of the film.

English directs a good film for an hour or so. He emphasizes action, but the bits of dialogue are often meaningful. The best parts involve Marshal and the squire Guy. During one exchange, Marshal tells Guy it is not noble to kill. Guy asks, "Not even when it's done for freedom?" Marshal replies, "Not even when it is done for God." This line shows honor that wasn't present in Mel Gibson's “Braveheart.” Later, when Guy broods after his first kill, Marshal consoles him: "Faith, Guy. Only the weak believe that what they do in battle is who they are as men." This line counters the cynicism in Clint Eastwood's “Unforgiven,” in which William Munny doesn't share anything as insightful with the Schofield Kid.

The action in “Ironclad” is interesting at first. Although the setting and parts of the battles recall Peter Jackson’s “The Two Towers,” English’s visual style is more intense and visceral. The weapons in “Ironclad” don’t neatly slice and chop flesh and bone. One of the seven heroes, Jedediah Coteral, even uses a severed arm as a weapon. You almost find yourself believing so few men can defend Rochester Castle. That is, until the portcullis is raised under the heroes' noses and everything goes to shit. Then you have a select few survivors doing the improbable. The main problem is not believability, however. The last action scenes simply do not raise your pulse like those in Takashi Miike's “13 Assassins,” John Woo's “The Killer,” or Sam Peckinpah's “The Wild Bunch.” The outcome is predictable, but the greater flaw is that “Ironclad” offers nothing noteworthy after King John sets a bunch of pigs on fire to take out the castle's keep. Shouldn't our heroes do something as electrifying?

English compromises the morality he sets up in “Ironclad.” Marshal makes a good hero of few words, but his honor is lost when he gives into the advances of Lady Isabel (a name very close to Jezebel, the infamous woman in The Bible). Marshal resists Isabel several times because he has taken a sacred vow not to have sex. Isabel eventually convinces him he should not deny his desires. Nevermind that she's married. Nevermind that the heroes of the movie are fighting because King John failed to live up to his word. The sad thing is Purefoy and Mara have chemistry and lose it after their characters have sex (the funny thing is not even an adolescent would defend the sex – no tits!). English wastes an opportunity to illustrate the honor of Marshal and instead suggests vows aren't important, that one should do whatever one wants, just like King John, Marshal, and Isabel. Not to mention Isabel has no characterization other than her tingling vagina. But at least it’s understandable when Marshal fucks Isabel. In an earlier scene, he leaves the castle to get food … without telling anyone. Marshal says all the right things to Guy, but his decisions outside of battle are questionable. “Ironclad” pretends this moral discrepancy doesn’t exist.

English should be commended for seeing his film through production hell, but if he wants to be successful in crafting action art, he must come up with something more heroic than the second half of “Ironclad.” Even though the good guys win, their victory is hollow.

Genre and Politics in '13 Assassins'

It’s rather cool that “13 Assassins” is reminiscent of both “Seven Samurai” and “The Wild Bunch,” further reinforcing the connection between the samurai and western. Moral codes. Honor. Sentimentality. There’s a scene in “13 Assassins” of samurai being forced away by the sight of guns – a historical point with much to say about our postmodern culture that was created by numerous technological advances. Out with the old, in with the new. Not only does the scene invoke Kurosawa and Peckinpah, but it trumps the argument that the action film can’t be for thinkers.

But what makes “13 Assassins” electrifying is the stamp of Takashi Miike, an incredibly prolific director (about 40 movies since 2000!) who ignores the line between the highbrow and lowbrow. For the most part, “13 Assassins” is impressive from a technical standpoint, but Miike throws in CGI bulls on fire, an effect that really looks like shit. If I had seen such a thing in any other historical epic, you would likely be reading a mini-rant now. But in this case I remember that Miike has directed many direct-to-video productions. His lack of taste, if anything, has made the world of film more interesting and funny.

I don’t want to mislead you, though. “13 Assassins” is one of Miike’s most accessible films. The humor is sharp rather than demented. While the film is very violent, the level of violence is comparable to movies like “Saving Private Ryan.” As in “Seven Samurai,” the good guys are introduced one by one; this formula, for whatever reason, is always fun.

As agreeable as the film is to general audiences, I couldn’t help but notice subversive elements. With films like “Ichi the Killer” and “Izo,” Miike is as satirical as he is fond of genre. In “13 Assassins,” the samurai poses are very obvious (and thus awesome), but the coolness is countered by some of the deaths that follow. I found myself relishing the genre glory but losing the high moments later. Early on, images of an amputated victim approach the territory of “Audition,” Miike’s horror masterpiece.

In interviews Miike has deflected the idea that his work has social commentary. Nonetheless, “13 Assassins” touches on a few political morals. For example, the major question is whether a samurai should stay loyal to his master if the latter is corrupt and murderous. Obviously, the 13 assassins say no, and we root for them. But what are we doing in our actual lives? Are we blindly following an inhumane Military Industrial Complex and/or leader, or is our political reality not so bleak?

In “13 Assassins,” a bandit/hunter named Kiga is found in a cage and freed. Although he is of samurai lineage, he rejects samurai tradition (i.e., he fights with sticks and stones and doesn't appear to be someone willing to commit ritual suicide). He joins the cause as the thirteenth assassin but is flippant about the carnage that ensues. In a way, Kiga represents postmodern culture. Rather by direct or indirect participation, we make up a political entity that fights other political entities, but many of us are often disconnected from the traditions and sacrifices involved (even as voters). But like Kiga, we find meaning in our personal lives. But would we appreciate life more from a different perspective? Lord Naritsugu, the antagonist of the film, provides an answer with his rumination on war: “With death comes gratitude for life.” The veterans I know might agree.

'The Fighter,' My Favorite Film of 2010

When I saw the advertisement for "The Fighter" a few months ago, all I could think was that director David O. Russell ("Three Kings") was wasting his talent on a pretentious and sentimental boxing film for the all-important American dollar.

Instead, what we have here might be the most honest film of 2010. You're going to hear "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake more than once. You're going to see homely women that must make the elite Hollywood crowd wince. Hell, you're going to see and hear the two boxers and brothers this film is about, Mickey Ward and Dicky Eklund, right as the end credits roll. The hilarity and pain of real life are plastered all over this movie - unlike "Cinderella Man," which makes the Great Depression seem like a fight anyone could have won.

One of the simplest pleasures I've had in a theater is watching Christian Bale play a crack addict. Bale excels in roles in which he can't get outside of himself (e.g., "American Psycho" and "The Machinist"). In this respect, the pathetic energy of Bale's Eklund is natural. But reality catches up with him in the form of Melissa Leo, who plays Eklund's aggressive mother. Russell prevents Bale from chewing scenery by finally getting him to connect with other actors, something that only Steven Spielberg had achieved, and that was more than 20 years ago when Bale was a child in 1987's underrated "Empire of the Sun."

But really, this film has a fuckload of effective performances. I already mentioned Leo, whose acting in the film's domestic disputes brought to mind experiences from my own life (that's powerful shit, my friends). Amy Adams drops her innocence to play one of the strongest women I've seen on the screen in a while, and what's particularly inspiring is that Adams makes it clear that this strength comes from bad decisions her character must live with; there is no fake, inherently badass quality to speak of. The father, played by Jack McGee, is overpowered by the women and boxers around him, but one winds up empathizing with him as a steady figure rather than dismissing him as a pussy.

In the middle of these performances is subtle Mark Wahlberg. Yes, that's right, he's fucking subtle. He's the subtlest boxer I've watched in a film, and you need to see that. For example, after winning his first comeback match, Wahlberg isn't able to enjoy the moment because of the conflicting personalities around him, and you don't get that with a line or even a shrug, just his eyes.

At this point I could be a typical reviewer and point out that this film isn't about the fighting but the characters. But that would be bullshit. The fighting in any boxing movie is very important. Compare "Rocky" and "Raging Bull." Their stories and fights are different. Rocky has long, unrealistic fights to show us how much the underdog can overcome, and Raging Bull has short, nasty fights to accentuate the brutality of the protagonist and sport. "The Fighter" doesn't take either route. The women who parade the signs make the scene as alive as anything, as do the fools in the audience. The fights aren't spectacular or painful to watch; they simply involve people punching each other. This is the most down-to-earth boxing since "Diggstown."

I believe Russell has directed his greatest work, a decidedly humorous masterpiece of sports cinema, and it would be a shame if one avoided it because of the trailer's phony inspirational vibe. I almost did, and I would have missed my favorite film of 2010.

A Review of Christopher Nolan's Filmography or: How I Managed to Offend Some of His Fans

This entry reviews Nolan's filmography. After reading this entry, if you feel like I have said something dreadfully wrong and you are driven to dislike me to any extent, congratulations. You are a Batman Fan. But if you read this entry and disagree or perhaps find yourself nodding in agreement, you are a Normal Human Being. If you think Nolan is a shitty director, you might be a Sophisticated Filmgoer. Pat yourself on the back.

(Note: If one were to say I am biased against Batman and superheroes, I would accuse one of the opposite. There are many, many Batman and superhero stories - whether we’re talking film, television, or comic books - that I prefer over “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight.”)

Following (1998)

I had watched every Nolan film with the exception of his debut up until two weeks ago. Perhaps surprisingly, “Following” features some of Nolan’s best direction. Its black-and-white imagery, obscure cast, and unpretentious dialogue give the film a naturalism that I prefer to Nolan’s phony realism in “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight” (interestingly, you can see the Batman emblem on a door in “Following”). Initially, I was bugged by the voice-over at the beginning of the film, but this exposition is later tied into a sequence that effectively brings the story to its climax. As in “Memento,” Nolan employs a nontraditional time frame for “Following,” but in contrast to “Memento,” the time frame doesn’t resemble a gimmick. That is, Nolan isn’t simply telling the main story backward.

Memento (2000)

That one can easily follow “Memento” is evidence of Nolan’s talent as a storyteller. As the main story is told in reverse, black-and-white scenes - that move forward as a traditional story would - are interjected to illuminate the mental condition and purpose of Guy Pierce’s protagonist. When the two series of events meet, the viewer may solve the mystery (or maybe not). Much like the characters in “Following,” the players in “Memento” have dubious motives, establishing moral ambiguity as a consistent theme of Nolan’s work. My favorite scene is when Pierce cannot remember whether he is chasing or running away from someone (Nolan’s wit takes a serious blow after “Memento”). What strikes me the most about the protagonist is not his rare disease that prevents new memories but his psychological need for resolution - a need that is common among humankind and the basis for the mystery genre itself.

Insomnia (2002)

“Insomnia” features a recent Al Pacino performance that doesn’t amount to self-parody. Maybe this showcases Nolan’s potential as a filmmaker more than anything. But I digress. Nolan sets up another case of moral ambiguity with the protagonist, but he makes it awfully damn clear that Robin Williams’ character is a shit-eating piece of shit (I stole this clever line from the back of the DVD case). What worries Pacino is that he starts to realize that he might also be a shit-eating piece of shit, and to make matters worse, he’s in fucking Alaska during perpetual daylight. Thus, the man gets no rest. I dig this lesser work from Nolan, but I have to excuse Hillary Swank’s horrible go-getter role and the firefight climax that should have been saved for a dumb action movie. Finally, one should note Nolan adopts the linear narrative starting with this film.

Batman Begins (2005)

And here, Nolan throws moral ambiguity out the window (but thankfully doesn’t abandon it in his career). We can forgive him for this, however, because Liam Neeson plays the villain! Also, Cillian Murphy! (When speaking of The Villain in Batman films, the word “also” is a must.) Anyway, this movie isn’t realistic (any scene involving the redneck toy Tumbler is incredibly fucking stupid, for example), but Nolan’s main concern is showing us how Batman began, thereby making him less myth and more man (or rather, more Christian Bale-ish). I can appreciate that. What I cannot appreciate is how retarded some of the dialogue is: “It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me.” Well, Jeezus Christus, just slap me with your balls while you’re at it. Lastly, Rachel Dawes (played by Katie Holmes) gives Nolan a two-movie streak of shitty female characters, the director seemingly forgetting what he accomplished with “Following” and “Memento.”

The Prestige (2006)

Just as one can see Nolan gradually define morality with “Insomnia” and “Batman Begins,” one can see him return to the morally gray territory of “Following” and “Memento” in “The Prestige.” Neither magician in this film would be allowed in the church choir, which makes the conflict all the more decadent (and enjoyable). Nolan brilliantly creates a parallel to this conflict with a Thomas Edison vs. Nikola Tesla subplot (and getting David Bowie to play Tesla is terrific casting), granting the film an evident, but secondary, science fiction element. I would mark “The Prestige” as Nolan’s first step toward science fiction, even though others give that distinction to “Memento.” One should keep in mind that “Memento,” unlike the subplot in “The Prestige,” is primarily concerned with answers, not the backbone of quality science fiction: questions. The only major problem with “The Prestige” is the ending, a parlor trick (oh! he has a twin!) that cheapens the aforementioned conflict.

The Dark Knight (2008)

First, let me assure everyone of one thing: I do not consider “The Dark Knight” Nolan’s weakest film because it is his most successful film. I believe “The Godfather,” “Jaws,” and “Blazing Saddles” are three of the greatest films in history and the best work from their respective directors. Furthermore, in case anyone still has questions on the matter, I was blown away by “The Dark Knight” after I saw it in a theater. However, I tailored my opinion after repeated viewings and more thought.

“The Dark Knight” is Nolan’s weakest film because it is, quite frankly, full of shit (i.e., it does not accomplish what it thinks it does). Nolan pretends this film is more believable than other Batman vs. Joker stories, but it isn’t. The Joker is still able to pull off impossible scheme after impossible scheme, and Batman is still the only one who can stop him. Do I have a problem with either of these things by themselves? Of course not. However, Nolan’s pretense on the matter is absurd. And if only that were the single major flaw of the film.

Replacing Katie Holmes with Maggie Gyllenhaal doesn’t change the fact that Rachel Dawes is a boring character who serves as little more than a piece of meat for the predominantly male cast.

Remember the silly line I quoted from “Batman Begins”? “The Dark Knight” is replete with this obvious Flashcard Writing. The worst offense is Commissioner Gordon’s monologue explaining the entire fucking movie, interpretative thought be damned.

Some people say moral ambiguity is at play in “The Dark Knight,” and Nolan undoubtedly shares this view, but I don’t buy it. The film is no more morally ambiguous than Burton’s two Batman films, in which the protagonist breaks the law however he sees fit to fight criminals. In fact, I would argue that Burton’s first film has more moral ambiguity insofar as Batman is directly responsible for creating the Joker via dropping Jack Napier into a chemical vat. In “The Dark Knight,” the Joker is not the effect of Batman’s existence (unless you want to argue that Nolan’s Joker wasn’t abused as a child). As Alfred Pennyworth says, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.” Yeah, that’s another Glaring Flashcard for the stupid audience (which includes me and you, by the way), but it illustrates that Batman has a noble purpose and that the Joker is wrong.

“The Dark Knight” is not a bad movie, and it features one of the best performances of the 2000s (I don’t even have to say the actor’s name), but it is not a masterpiece. Also, watch “Batman: The Brave and the Bold.” OK, I’m done.

Inception (2010)

“Inception” is Nolan’s first full-fledged attempt at science fiction, and while I wouldn’t call it a knockout punch (come to think of it, I wouldn’t call any movie a knockout punch), it is a thinking person’s theme park ride. Moral ambiguity is back again. The idea of sneaking around in someone’s dream is fucked up, no matter the purpose. As far as the time frame is concerned, Nolan’s narrative is still linear, but the dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream structure is far from a standard experience. You won’t know what I’m talking about until you see it, but when the van finally hits the water, the effect is orgasmic. (So be careful whom you sit by.) Alright, alright, so most of the characters in this film are about as flimsy as paper, but Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s coolness makes up for that shortcoming. Now, about the ending: it’s not complicated, and there’s no reason for Multiple Interpretations. Nolan is simply pointing out that reality and dreams have meaningful interplay, a theme explored previously by the late Satoshi Kon’s “Paprika.” In other words, it doesn’t matter whether the last scene is a dream or not. The conflict has been resolved in the protagonist’s mind.

Acknowledgements. Then I'll blather about 'Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker.'

Well, shit, it's been more than two months since my last entry that concluded Another Top 50 Films of the 2000s List. I told several people--hopefully not more than several--that I would write a follow-up to the list. You know, mention some movies that didn't make the list (e.g., no Clint Eastwood films!) and thank people and so on. I'll just stick to the thanking.

I extend a hearty thank-you to everyone who read the list (including friends at Facebook, Comic Book Resources, and Anime Forums), to those who commented on the entries, and to those who encouraged me to continue writing (my girlfriend is certainly part of this long list). Special thanks go to Ray R. from CBR (I quoted him here) as well as other members of that forums site. Special thanks also go to IcareAlot from A4 (because I did steal a line from him for the "Save the Green Planet" review) as well as other members of that forums site. If I do another list, I hope it's as rewarding as this one.

Alright, I'm done being a nice guy. Now I am going to give a negative review to a direct-to-video film, "Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker." Why should anyone read or write this shit? We have to start somewhere.

But seriously, "Mask of the Phantasm" is a very good movie. Perhaps the best Batman film yet. It also didn't make back its small budget during its theatrical run. Ouch! That doesn't give me dollar signs to use as a fucking crutch while I pontificate about how "Mask of the Phantasm" is better than every comic book movie--and certainly most movies ever made.

I have determined that the preceding paragraph is the product of poor transitional thought and anger, but the point I wanted to make is that perhaps "Return of the Joker" could have been very good, just like "Mask of the Phantasm." Paul Dini is a solid writer, and "Batman Beyond" refers to a new Batman who uses futuristic technology and hangs out with an older, grumpy Bruce Wayne ... fair concept. Hell, it even sounds fun. Here's the problem: "Return of the Joker" should be fun, but it's not.

But could we call "Mask of the Phantasm" fun? It was serious most of the time, but Joker attacking someone with bologna? Yeah, that's worth a laugh.

"Return of the Joker" has nothing to laugh about. That's because--and yes, I'm about to spoil this no-theatrical-release mofo--the Joker in this film is actually Tim Drake. The guy who used to be Robin. The really young guy. In the film, we get a dark flashback involving Batman, Drake, Batgirl, the Joker, Harley Quinn, torture, death, and insanity ... maybe I could let you fill in the blanks. It shouldn't be too hard. Just think of an obvious way to make the young Robin fucked up. Like, Robin gets tortured by the Joker and Harley Quinn, but Batman and Batgirl come to the rescue, and Joker and Harley Quinn die, but Batman did not kill them, thus making their deaths Rightful Punishment, and Drake, though rescued, is insane.

So fuck it, that's all I have to say about the story. I can't enjoy this morbid nonsense. I'm just wondering why this movie contains the phrase "Batman Beyond." After all, Joker doing fucked up shit to people and Batman dealing with the consequences are not beyond my expectations.

And then a thought comes, and none of this matters! Ding, ding, ding! It's a nearly 10-year-old straight-to-video Batman film! Jeezus, what was I thinking?

Another Top 50 Films of the 2000s List: 5-1.

I apologize for not writing this sooner.

Twenty days. Why did the final five take that long to write? The most obvious explanation is I tortured myself on the ordering. About a week ago, any of these five films could have been No. 1 in my mind.

But that is just a partial explanation for this lateness. My personal life has been tumultuous this month. That’s not to say I don’t have a lot to be thankful for. But let’s say my brain has been rather weak. Only now do I consider my wits restored.

No. 5 - “Inland Empire” (2006)

When you get down to it, director/writer David Lynch asks a lot from you with his longest and weirdest movie. The good news is that “Inland Empire” doesn’t require you to watch it in one sitting. Or at least, that’s been the case for me.

The following thought is probably going to doom my reputation as a Serious Commentator, but I feel I have a very odd relationship with “Inland Empire.” As I implied, I’m fine with watching this movie in multiple sittings, and the main reason for this sentiment isn’t the 179-minute running time. Simply put, “Inland Empire” can overload you mentally and emotionally if you accept Lynch’s rejection of a narrative rulebook.

Ultimately, the film is a visceral mystery. Now, now, what the fuck does that mean? As I follow Laura Dern’s confused protagonist through nightmarish cul-de-sacs, I find myself just as clueless and stupefied as she is. Watching “Inland Empire,” you will sometimes have trouble determining whether there is more than one mystery, and if you decide there are multiple mysteries, do you need multiple answers, or does one solution solve the entire puzzle? If the previous sentence leads you nowhere, that is exactly how you feel during the majority of “Inland Empire”—in short, you are never removed from the fear and anxiety of Dern’s character.

And a quick word about Dern. She gives an amazing performance. Somehow, she is able to satisfy Lynch’s craziest wishes and translate her character into a woman we can understand. It’s a daring role that is often difficult to define but always impressive. I was particularly moved by the scenes in which Dern describes the violence she enacted on men. Her delivery during these scenes makes me squirm and guffaw.

There is something I feel I should address: the absence of “Mulholland Dr.” from this list. Frankly, I have no idea why anyone would prefer that film to “Inland Empire,” as the latter features far better acting, writing, and directing. “Mulholland Dr.” is a contrived and humorless combination of ideas. “Inland Empire,” on the other hand, is a fully realized film that Lynch wittily sums up for us: “A Woman In Trouble.”

So yeah, you’re goddamn right I’ll take a challenging and funny movie over a dull, meaningless phenomenon.

No. 4 - “Inglourious Basterds” (2009)

I have to do two things with this entry. First, I have to justify why this film made my list. Second, I have to explain why and how this film deconstructs World War II pictures. I am addressing the second point because some people have inaccurately suggested that “Inglourious Basterds” is sort of a mindless but fun revenge fantasy. In reality, that conclusion is oversimplification.

But yes, it is irrevocable that the film is a lot of fun. Director/writer Quentin Tarantino is all about having a good time at the movies, often through homage. As Tarantino intended, “Inglourious Basterds” is “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” in a World War II setting, with Shoshanna being The Good, Hans Landa being The Bad, and Aldo Raine being The Ugly. This fact, among other things such as faulty subtitles and obtrusive segments narrated by Samuel L. Jackson, proves that we are supposed to have a blast with the story.

At the same time, this movie has a surprising amount of substance from a film history standpoint. Had any WWII movie rejected historical accuracy to this extent? No, they never dared to. At best, WWII films strived for historical accuracy and/or relied on action sequences. “Inglourious Basterds” clearly dismisses both trends. This conclusion is evident in Tarantino’s decisions as a writer and director. For example, why spit on historical accuracy in one monumental scene but pay such careful attention to language throughout the film? While these decisions may seem contradictory at first, they work together to defy convention and audience expectations. Most importantly, Tarantino wants us to laugh, particularly when it’s inappropriate to do so.

And if you still don’t think “Inglourious Basterds” deconstructs WWII films, take this challenge. Watch both “The Dirty Dozen” and “Schindler’s List” and explain how “Inglourious Basterds” champions the goals of these films. I predict you will have trouble finishing such an analysis since “Inglourious Basterds” resembles a critique of these films far more than it resembles, well, them.

Some have called “Inglourious Basterds” disrespectful. Others say you cannot justify its running time (whereas I value the film’s Hitchcockian suspense). But these complaints seem rather minute when one considers that film has the power to kill Hitler and make our mouths water as whipped cream is applied to a strudel. Our reactions to “Inglourious Basterds” typify the concept of being alive. Insert a rant about what art should do here.

No. 3 - “No Country For Old Men” (2007)

Out of these top five films, “No Country For Old Men” has the tightest plot. To use an appropriate cliché, the film is like clockwork. A look at the practical side of the directing/writing team of Joel and Ethan Coen is elucidating. On the set of a Coen brothers film, the tone is relatively relaxed. If you ask Joel what to do and then go to Ethan, you will get the same answer. This confident attention to detail is evident in all their films, but it is most apparent in “No Country For Old Men.” Why? Because their script closely follows a Cormac McCarthy book that assuredly presents description after description in concise sentences.

The Coens are genre whores, too. Genre-wise, the essence of “No Country For Old Men” is encapsulated in the scene where Tommy Lee Jones’ Sheriff Bell opens a hotel room door, his cowboy silhouette representing the mixture of the film noir and western genres. But the movie also contains a fair bit of action (more than any other film by the Coens), and Anton Chigurh is like a horror movie villain in that he always moves forward for another kill. Of course, no Coen brothers film would be complete without comedy, as the darker variety can be found in "No Country For Old Men."

Damn, two paragraphs in and I’m still sucking off the Coens as a general phenomenon. But isn’t that enough? “No Country For Old Men” is the epitome of something we’re familiar with as filmgoers. This film will never be remembered as a great thing by itself. A substantial chunk of its appeal is that it showcases the Coens in top form …

No, that’s not everything. The story is fucking great and very much resembles what McCarthy wrote in his book, which demonstrates the Coens’ eye for what can work in film rather than the philosophy that all adaptations should be faithful. But beyond the theme of an old man not keeping up with the times, there is the face of Chigurh, portrayed by Javier Bardem. Chigurh’s face is symbolic of nothing certain. We can’t tell where he’s from. We don’t know what he’s thinking. We just know that destiny follows him.

Funny. A strange man with a silly haircut is a great visual definition of the universe.

No. 2 - “There Will Be Blood” (2007)

An underrated aspect of “There Will Be Blood” is its sense of humor. The final scene is a self-referential joke from director/writer P.T. Anderson, who has a history of unusual endings (just watch “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia”). Comparisons to “Citizen Kane” and “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” are apt, but it's a sinister final wink that makes “There Will Be Blood” stand out, and Stanley Kubrick has the patent on that. And like Kubrick’s work, “There Will Be Blood” has a soundtrack that takes on a life of its own while playing off the visuals. (The soundtrack is Johnny Greenwood's greatest accomplishment. Yes, better than the drivel with Radiohead. As a recovering admirer of progressive rock, I interject unnecessary insults about its followers, even when I like them.)

Notwithstanding that Anderson was looking to Kubrick for guidance, “There Will Be Blood” is a distinct creation. Anderson’s dialogue, for example, is strange in how it can fit a story that takes place in the early 1900s but still evoke contemporary culture. Thankfully, even if you don’t listen to OutKast, “brother from another mother” is funny enough as a phrase to work without the reference.

There's also this unknown actor called Daniel Day-Lewis who plays the lead role, Daniel Plainview. His performance is as masterful as any in film history. The voice, physicality, and personality of Plainview are often ridiculously blunt. During the scene in which Plainview performs his first execution, Day-Lewis no longer looks human, contorting his face into an uncomfortable ugliness. Yet in other scenes, I could only laugh at how evil he is, his threats delivered as naturally as we would say “Hello” to a friend.

“There Will Be Blood” works on more than one level and achieves every lofty goal of Anderson. That's the main point here. It's a fantastic character study, a unique comedy, a brutal commentary on American capitalism, and a technical achievement that is scary in its audaciousness. When oil catches fire, the film is an eerie hell and every aspect of its design a brilliant flame nonetheless inseparable from the other in the demonic mise-en-scène.

No. 1 - “Grizzly Man” (2005)

Although “Grizzly Man” is directed by Werner Herzog, it is the work of two great filmmakers: Herzog and the late Timothy Treadwell, who lived with grizzly bears for 13 summers and videotaped more than 100 hours of his work. Indeed, a notable aspect of “Grizzly Man” is Herzog’s acknowledgement of some of the wondrous shots Treadwell set up in the wilderness, many of them unintentionally beautiful.

And yeah, I hope no one has a problem with a documentary being the No. 1 film of the 2000s. I certainly don’t, especially when it involves Herzog, who has blurred the line between feature film and documentary for decades. “Grizzly Man” is as much of a character study, with Herzog making assumptions like any good storyteller, as it is a biography. But I would argue the film goes even further than that. During several scenes, I find myself as fascinated with the mentality of Herzog. When Treadwell remarks on the general beauty of nature, Herzog reveals that he disagrees with Treadwell’s assessment. When a close friend of Treadwell wonders what to do with an audio recording of Treadwell’s death, Herzog insists that she must never listen to the tape and destroy it. Of course, these moments involving Herzog do not outnumber those that deal with Treadwell’s character, but they are just as moving and human.

This is not to say that Herzog relies on his own perception to interpret the actions of Treadwell. Herzog’s various interviewees range from people who loved Treadwell for everything he was to those who questioned or condemned his quest to save the bears. After you finish this film, you are not left with a one-dimensional portrait of the character (unlike the incredibly overrated 2000s documentary, “Man On Wire”). Treadwell is foolish and inspired, courageous and outrageous, tragic and detestable, funny and depraved.

I am still amazed at the sheer watchability of “Grizzly Man.” The foundation of the film is built on information, but the story is sold with emotion. This paradox is perhaps the reason I consider Herzog the greatest narrator in film history. His calm voice—an incredible sound, as German as it is English—convicts me to look for truth as my heart would have it.

Another Top 50 Films of the 2000s List: 10-6.

No. 10 - “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” (2004)

“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” works as romantic comedy and science fiction. I can’t say that about any other film I’ve seen. But such is the quality of Charlie Kaufman’s writing, which serves as a hole puncher to allow us to peek into the human soul …

Goddamn! I gotta quit that kind of talk. Let’s just say Kaufman knows the awkward conversations that precede and follow relationships. He also knows good science fiction is built around questions, not maxims and computer-generated spaceships that bore the shit out of me. Sure, maybe the answer to “Should we fuck with our memories to reduce heartbreak?” is simple, but it’s fascinating seeing how the idea plays out.

I have to admit, for a while I was sucking off Kaufman so much that I somewhat dismissed Michel Gondry’s role as director. I mean, is it a coincidence that the Kaufman-scripted “Adaptation,” “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” and “Synecdoche, New York” remind me of each other visually, despite having different directors? No. But I’ll put money down saying Gondry’s film has the best pacing out of the bunch.

(As a side note, what I like so much about the memory-tampering sequences is how they aren’t just visually engaging—when one watches the destruction of a life via memory swipe, it is irksome. Maybe James Cameron could learn something here.)

Finally, the cast is the main reason “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” is a pleasure to watch. Jim Carrey delivers his most restrained performance, with Kate Winslet playing the wild card. Regardless of how their characters are scripted, Carrey and Winslet make a strange pair, but their interplay is universal in how it speaks to our …

I’m moving to the next one.

No. 9 - “Caché” (2005)

Man, I would have been pissed off if I had paid to see this bugger in a theater. Director/writer Michael Haneke likes fucking with us and then, to slightly plagiarize a friend, laughing maniacally at the ruckus. Basically, think an evil, thinner Alfred Hitchcock with white hair and beard, glasses, and vicious teeth.

But I really like the bastard, what can I say. But yeah, I missed the ending to this film. Strange idea, isn’t it? Missed the fucking ending. Then you look at the title again, “Caché,” and curse yourself for letting Haneke win again.

You will get no definitive answers to the mystery, but this isn’t “The Birds.” Haneke simply dangles possibilities in front of you.

The crazy thing is I don’t think Haneke gives a shit about what actually happened in this story. He wants you to look at what caused the mystery. Truthfully, it’s a simple ploy, but we are so used to certain conventions that it is devastating. Thank Christ you’re not the protagonist.

Plus, any movie that puts all its opening credits on one screen is admirably cuckoo.

No. 8 - “The Royal Tenenbaums” (2001)

A few people may see this movie at No. 8 and go, “Sorry, I can’t get into Wes Anderson.” I can help with that. If Anderson’s intentions are that dubious, pretend this entry is about your favorite movie of all time.

Essentially, “The Royal Tenenbaums” is a storybook of a film, complete with obvious typography and a section for the cast of characters. The story is narrated by a calm Alec Baldwin, which is a testament to Anderson’s knack for self-referential contradictions. Clearly, the introduction of this film is an odd way to start a movie. But listen closely. A cover of “Hey Jude” by The Beatles is playing in the background, and the lyric “Take a sad song and make it better” perfectly describes what Anderson is doing with the dysfunctional Tenenbaum family.

For example, instead of presenting Royal Tenenbaum (Gene Hackman in a superb role), the insensitive father, in a totally negative light, Anderson wants us to laugh at him when he lies about having cancer to win his family back. Rereading the previous sentence brings to mind a genuine sadness to this film that Anderson cloaks and reveals ever so well.

But fuck all that. Look at this cast: Hackman, Anjelica Houston, Ben Stiller, Gwyneth Paltrow, Luke Wilson, Owen Wilson, Danny Glover, Bill Murray, and Kumar Pallana.

I believe I have shown there is nothing that difficult to “get” here. If I haven’t, perhaps I should have included “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou” in this list like my wacky side suggested.

No. 7 - “The Piano Teacher” (2001)

Close call. I almost listed two movies in a row by the same director twice. (Check out No. 16, “Audition,” and No. 15, “Ichi the Killer,” both by Takashi Miike.)

A question remains, however. Does Michael Haneke deserve to have two movies in a top 10? No, the scheming bastard certainly doesn’t. I am not a Haneke fan in the way one is a Nolan fan. Haneke is a self-important and deceptive person. Having said that, his films are unique, provocative, and unforgettable, and those three adjectives should describe all of the top 10. Otherwise, what the hell am I doing?

I want to switch gears a bit to write about Isabelle Huppert, who plays the titular protagonist. Huppert is a scary actress, much like Daniel Day-Lewis is a scary actor. The depths she is able to convey through both subtle and fierce performing may scar you. I could not remove her character from my mind. Her motivations and secrets are tormenting.

But see, that’s only the excellent actress at work. During the film, you might feel guilty, as Haneke’s camera angles seem more like hiding spots for the most depraved voyeur than visual framing for a story. Like Hitchcock, Haneke is very interested in letting you see nastiness, but the primary weapon in “The Piano Teacher” is sexuality, not violence. If you can handle the violence, Haneke thinks you should be able to handle the sexuality.

(By the way, “Audition” has lost its throne as the most disturbing movie on this list.)

No. 6 - “Oldboy” (2003)

This revenge film from director/writer Park Chan-wook is as visceral as it is intellectual. Don’t let those who praise the hallway fight as cool lead you astray. “Oldboy” is not about heroism or victory. Chan-wook takes the Sophocles approach to tragedy but mixes in enough dark humor and romance to make you think he was the kid burying bodies in the sandbox to make a larger point about—ah, just take my word for it.

This movie is fucked up. That is one claim no one will dispute. The challenge is to take “Oldboy” in a broader context rather than as a film for the sake of itself. If one misses the commentary on the dreary revenge film genre, the movie may resemble unjustified torture. I assure you it is not. Even the infamous squid scene ties into Chan-wook’s critique of revenge flicks. (I’ve read that more than one real octopus had to die for the scene.)

But it’s so addicting! “Oldboy” is immensely rewarding on repeated viewings. Choi Min-sik's lead performance is just as scorching every time (the same can be said for Yoo Ji-tae's antagonist), and his voice-over narration doesn't get tiresome, as it is needed and funny. The flip side is that one also realizes this is an incredibly contrived story, but for a contrived story, it knows how to punch you in the gut.

Damn, I wanted to put this at No. 1.

Another Top 50 Films of the 2000s List: 15-11.

No. 15 - “Ichi the Killer” (2001)

I don’t like it when a list includes two movies by the same director in a row (in this case, Takashi Miike), but damn it, this is how my ranking turned out. “Ichi the Killer” contains more perverse violence than anything on this list. Dismemberment, disembowelment, torture with hooks, rape, tongue cutting. Fucked up, I know, but this exaggerated violence seems to mock Japanese gangster films and anime. “Ichi” was clearly made with comedy in mind, as evidenced by cartoony gore, wild characters (one guy puts on dog ears to become a hound/sleuth), and complete lack of explanation for the titular character’s deadly suit (which may comment on countless anime in which whiny protagonists become unstoppable via ridiculous suits).

But why the hell is it so high on the list? The story is unique, where almost every character has a sadistic or masochistic side. These tendencies are often exploited for laughs, but if you take the characters for what they are, their motivations are understandable. The script simply plays by a different rulebook.

Convention and decency are not only ignored in “Ichi”—they are deemed inappropriate. Perhaps the boldest display of this philosophy can be seen in the film’s climax, when Miike allows his cast (led by the incredible Tadanobu Asano) and crew to make the creative decisions themselves. As Miike explains in a DVD commentary track for this scene, one possibility is more fascinating than multiple possibilities.

He’s right. There will never be another climax like it.

No. 14 - “Memories of Murder” (2003)

Director/writer Bong Joon-ho could have made a pretty good serial killer film, like David Fincher went on to do with “Zodiac” in 2007. After all, Joon-ho was drawing material from real and fascinating unsolved cases in South Korea. Instead, he made a great satire using the same story. This is why you see an officer dropkicking a suspect during an interrogation. Every time you think you might be watching a procedure, “Memories of Murder” inches toward bitter critique. Song Kang-ho is brilliant as the lead detective who helps botch the investigation.

No. 13 - “Spirited Away” (2001)

From my standpoint, one can enjoy Hayao Miyazaki’s animated masterpiece in two ways. You can watch “Spirited Away” as a quirky story about growing up, with the child protagonist Chihiro getting a job, falling in love, and finding her way in a world of spirits and magic. Just as one’s life is affected by many people, Chihiro meets an array of strange characters that help and challenge her.

However, I prefer watching “Spirited Away” the other way, accepting every weird, unexplained thing as fact and not bothering with what anything means. Judging by certain negative opinions on this film, some people may have forgotten the bliss of watching a movie as a child. Miyazaki certainly hasn’t.

No. 12 - “Eastern Promises” (2007)

David Cronenberg changed his direction for the 2000s, leaving behind social critique and sci-fi/horror for a more realistic, character-driven, and subtler approach. (But as one can see in “Spider,” “History of Violence,” and “Eastern Promises,” the director didn’t abandon subtext.) Cronenberg improved this new approach with each of his 2000s films, making “Eastern Promises” his contemporary masterpiece. For such a short film in an overcrowded crime genre, it explores several themes and sets itself apart from “The Godfather,” “Miller’s Crossing,” and every other superb crime film (for example, everyone uses knives in “Eastern Promises”).

The cast and characters are devastatingly good. Viggo Mortensen’s best performance could have been a disastrous lesson on how not to do a Russian accent. Half the battle was won with the script, which presents Mortensen’s character as a three-dimensional moral enigma. Then you have Naomi Watts, whose maternal heroine stands up to an organized family of crooks; Vincent Cassel (almost steals the movie), a son who may or may not be hiding homosexual feelings; and Armin Mueller-Stahl, a friendly but sinister force of evil.

But as much as Cronenberg restrained himself in the 2000s, he still couldn’t help his fascination with the relationship between sex and violence. This lack of restraint is best demonstrated in the sauna fight of “Eastern Promises,” a hilarious spectacle of penetration and dick waving. What makes the scene so well done is how its excess complements the overall story.

Finally, I like any movie that knows how to use a voice-over narrative with fucking dignity. “Eastern Promises” doesn’t overuse the device and allows it to enrich the story, not frustrate me with rambling and exposition.

No. 11 - “Pan’s Labyrinth” (2006)

“Pan’s Labyrinth” is a fairly tale in hell that gets darker every time I see it. The greatness of this film lies in its ability to be simple and profound simultaneously. The fantasy segments don’t give us a break from the war story. They help us understand it. Guillermo Del Toro handles the theme of resisting authority—even if it means death—rather brilliantly, framing the idea in the context of politics and family. The girl Ofelia is defying both a captain of a repressive regime and her stepfather. While this story element may seem merely obvious, it helps accomplish the impressive feat of melding the war and fantasy genres.

“Pan’s Labyrinth” does a lot of things very well: acting, cinematography, visual effects, characters, etc. But what I can’t forget is the woman humming during the main theme of the film’s soundtrack and how her voice overcomes an undefined sadness.