Thursday, November 12, 2009
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"I believe if there's any kind of God, it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me, but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed, but who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt."
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"At night, I think of my piano in its ocean grave, and sometimes of myself floating above it. Down where everything is so still and silent that it lulls me to sleep. It is a weird lullaby and so it is; it is mine. There is a silence where hath been no sound, there is a silence where no sound may be, in the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea.
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Best (favorite?) of the 90s, part 2
Here we are, back again in List-Country, stalking that elusive beast: the best film of the 90s. We have, however, nine more creatures to take down before we reach that one, so how about y'all get comfortable. Without further ado, Part 2 of the best of the 90s!
10. The Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont, 1994)
The Shawshank Redemption is a bizarre phenomenon of a movie, in that it seems to be all things to all people. Currently, it sits at #1 on IMDB's "best of all time" list. That may be taking it too far in the superlative department, but I can't deny this film its rewards. The Shawshank Redemption sticks out in my mind as one of the more inspirational films in recent memory. I admire it for its pacing: Frank Darabont makes time feel real and tangible, as if the audience is in prison right along with Andy Dufresne. This isn't to say that the film is interminable, of course. Despite its moments of occasional violence, Shawshank's overall tone is one of hope and dignity in the face of adversity. Morgan Freeman, in, if not his best role, his most famous, provides a steady, weatherbeaten rock to which the audience anchors. His final monologue (Hint: it involves the phrase "I hope") is one of the cinematic highlights of the decade.
9. Titanic (James Cameron, 1997)
This movie is one of my greatest guilty pleasures. Perhaps it's because this is the first "adult" movie I remember seeing in theaters; at the tender age of 7, it seemed like nothing as good as Titanic had ever happened, nor would ever happen again. Now that I'm older and wiser, I'll be the first to admit that the first half of the film is uneven melodrama that is hokily written and clumsily acted. The last half, aka the sinking, is some of the most intense and proficient filmmaking ever to grace the silver screen. I have to respect James Cameron for his single-minded dedication: for the film, they literally created a near-scale model of the actual Titanic, and then proceeded to sink it. I'm a sucker for Big Movies that earn those capital letters, and Titanic is the biggest movie since Gone With the Wind. At the very least, Titanic earns its spot on this list for having the balls to go for old-fashioned epic filmmaking in a decidedly anti-epic modern cinemascape.
8. Saving Private Ryan (Steven Spielberg, 1998)
Saving Private Ryan might not be the best WW2 movie of 1998 (that one you'll meet in a minute), but it's certainly the loudest. ...That might not sound like a compliment. What I mean to say is that Saving Private Ryan is completely unsurpassed in its depiction of battle. The opening Normandy sequence is, for my money, the best battle scene ever committed to film--not to sell short the other fantastic set pieces in this blood-soaked film. With Saving Private Ryan, Steven Spielberg almost achieves the completely impossible: he sets out to make an anti-war film about the futility and dehumanizing nature of conflict set entirely within the confines of a conflict-driven film. As I said, he almost succeeds. I'm not sure I approve of the ending (SPOILER WARNING: jump to the end of the parentheses if you haven't seen it. Had I made this film, I would have ended it as Tom Hanks was shooting his pistol at the tank bearing down on him; the perfect metaphor for the futility of men trying to halt the machines of politically driven combat. But then, the deux ex machina comes, and we get the present-day framing, and the film loses a little power. SPOILERS ARE OVER...) If the ending were altered slightly, this film might be higher on the list. Still, I can't deny its extraordinary power and technical acumen.
Warning: I might not be able to control my enthusiasm for the remaining seven films on this list. Act accordingly.
7. The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)
I really don't have words to describe this movie. Let the movie's title try: it's mysterious, yearning, secretive, sad, lonely, troubled, confused, loving, musical, gifted, intelligent, beautiful, tender, sensitive, haunted, and passionate (that's the full title of adjectives, as it were). It's also creepy, ugly, strange, angry, bitter, and cynical. So many adjectives, yet I still feel no closer to solving the mystery that is this movie. It's just like its main character. Matt Damon's performance as a social climber who'll do anything to remain on top is downright chilling. Normally Damon is so likable: here, he inspires feelings that crawl under my skin and promptly die there. The Talented Mr. Ripley's stylistic and thematic beauty and flippancy is constantly overturned by moments of brutal violence whenever the film seems to come up for air. It drags the viewer down into the Stygian depths of its madness, and doesn't allow respite until the credits begin to roll. This is a bromance, of sorts. No, I take this back. This is a tale of male-on-male infatuation that ends in the worst way possible. Nothing like a kind-of-sort-of-not-really-but-still gay serial killer to start off one's week, is there?
6. Fargo (Joel Coen, 1996)
Here's another movie that's nearly impossible to describe in conventional terms. I told a friend recently that Fargo was a movie "in which terrible things happen to good people in cringe-inducingly funny ways." Fargo is like a comedy of errors in which every error results in some form of grisly carnage. This Coen tale of a planned kidnapping gone terribly wrong is completely unique; I've never seen another film like it. Most of it is as cold, heartless, and unflinching as the Minnesota winterscape in which it occurs. The scenes involving Frances MacDormand's Marge Gunderson, however, are filled to the brim with warmth, humor and love. It's a bizarre juxtaposition, even more so when the heavily pregnant Gunderson finally crosses paths with the kidnappers-turned-murderers on the make. Fargo makes for incredibly absorbing filmmaking. Watch for Gunderson's monologue at the end of the film; its almost religious in its simplicity and depth (hint: it's the "there's more to life than money, ya know" speech).
5. Good Will Hunting (Gus Van Sant, 1997)
Who knew math could be so enthralling? Sorry, I jest. Good Will Hunting is a fascinating piece of work, not for its math (what the hell is an Advanced Fourier proof, anyway? ...not sure I spelled that right), but for its examination of the reluctance to depart from routine for fear of something new. Matt Damon and Robin Williams have never been better as a JD genius and his therapist, respectively. Conversations that could fall into tired cliche stay constantly insightful and interesting, thanks to the absolutely fantastic script written by Damon and co-star Ben Affleck. That this was their first screenplay is completely astounding, as this is, in my opinion, one of the most intelligently written films in recent memory. Yes the movie is intelligent, but it's also very moving. There are moments of dramatic intensity ('it's not your fault,' anyone?) that are nearly unparalleled in recent cinema. And all this from two kids in South Boston. Good Will Hunting isn't just a great movie: it's definitive proof of miracles.
4. The Thin Red Line (Terence Malick, 1998)
What a beautiful, beautiful film; the best war movie of 1998, regardless of what Steven Spielberg would like you to believe. Make no mistake: The Thin Red Line is not entertainment: it's work. Malick's film is a three-hour long visual poem with little in the way of conventional storytelling, plot, or even characters. The one real character in the film is Charlie Company; the men in it are pushed in and out of the spotlight, doing their bit and then receding into the background. The Thin Red Line is hardly about warfare as much as it is between man's conflict with nature, and the balance of good and evil in the soul of the individual. This is not to say that the film doesn't offer moments of violence: indeed, the assault on the Japanese entrenchment halfway through the film is almost overwhelming in its cruelness and intensity. Most of the film, however is devoted to long, bittersweet monologues concerning the world, eternity, morality, and what one man can do to cope with the infinite. The cinematography must be mentioned: this is one of the most beautiful movies you'll ever see. Every frame is stuffed with enough gorgeousity (shut up, it's a word) to make a grown man cry. This, coupled with the underlying thematic power and the completely unique directorial style, makes The Thin Red Line one of the most unforgettable cinematic experiences of my life.
3. The Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme, 1991)
Man, it hurts to put this movie as low as #3, but them's the breaks. This movie is a rare gem, a near perfect cinematic confection. I have to start by saying that: there has never been a better villain on film than Dr. Hannibal Lecter. You kids can have your joker, I'm sticking with Anthony Hopkins. Hell, not only is this the best villain ever captured, it's one of the best performances in general. There aren't words to describe how perfect and spot-on Hopkins' character is. I don't want to undersell Jodie Foster, however. It must have been intimidating just to breathe in the same room as this man, but somehow, she found untapped resources of dramatic integrity, creating a foil for Dr. Lecter that is every bit as convincing as he. As for the screenplay: were it not for another movie that you'll be hearing about directly, I would call it my favorite screenplay of all time. It's a rare tribute to a film when, in a movie containing serial killers, cannibalism, and a race-for-time-against-a-deranged-killer, that the most riveting parts of the film are discussions between two characters. It's true, though. The skull sessions that Agent Starling shares with Dr. Lecter are absolutely spellbinding in their intensity. This movie is all about building up to tension: though there are few moments of violence, when those few moments do occur, they seem more shocking than anything the viewer could have imagined. This is filmmaking at its most intense.
2. Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
Ah yes, here we are: the best movie screenplay ever written. As a wise friend recently told me after watching this: the art of interesting conversation has been lost. Right you are, wise friend (anonymity be damned: Nick, I agree). Consider the first scene, in which Jules and Vincent travel to their hit. They discuss Amsterdam, burgers, Samoans, and foot massages, but never once do they discuss who they are or what they do. Still, by the end of the scene, we realize that they're hit-men on their way to commit a crime. How many other movies have you seen that set up their exposition entirely in inferences and incidentals? And that's just the beginning. Pulp Fiction is never silent: it's over two hours of someone or another talking constantly. The miracle is that it never gets old, it never gets annoying, and you never find yourself wishing for less talking and more action. Thus far, I've made it out as if the dialogue is the film's only redeeming factor. Not true: the acting is great, particularly Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman, and the plot is endlessly inventive. This film is great fun, but they're also something a little heartbreaking about it: a search for redemption. It shows us all these people at the bottom of the barrel, thrashing around, attempting to rise out of their situation, but with no idea how to do so. Samuel L. Jackson's Ezekiel 25:17 speech to Ringo at the end of the film goes down in my book as the best monologue in movie history, and Uma Thurman's "do you still wanna hear my joke?" has got to be one of the most heartbreaking.
1. American Beauty (Sam Mendes, 1999)
And it comes down to this: maybe American Beauty isn't the greatest film on the list, but it certainly connects with me the most. So there it is: emotional impact gets preference over technical proficiency. Not to say that American Beauty isn't technically proficient: its acting is magnificent all around, delivered by one of the most involving ensembles in recent history. It's beautifully shot, with moments of real, eye-opening wonder, it's evocative score finds all the right emotional keystones, and it's all put together so that the film never loses its balance. To endorse all of its surface qualities, however, is to neglect the sheer weight of its emotional impact. The film is, improbably, about hope and change. Its message implies that the catalyst and the end result aren't nearly as important as the desire to rescue oneself from mental and emotional death. It's about beauty: how the world is full of perfect moments hiding under the surface, waiting to flower for anyone willing to look. It's about love: love isn't neat, it isn't obvious, but it's full of those moments of beauty that make life worth living. In the end, it's about feeling gratitude for every minute of your stupid little life. And you know what? It works.
There we are. All finished. Based on this evidence, I humbly submit the 90s as the best decade for the film industry. Now then: what did I miss? I know there are hundreds of other movies that would back up that claim. Lay some of them on me!
10. The Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont, 1994)
The Shawshank Redemption is a bizarre phenomenon of a movie, in that it seems to be all things to all people. Currently, it sits at #1 on IMDB's "best of all time" list. That may be taking it too far in the superlative department, but I can't deny this film its rewards. The Shawshank Redemption sticks out in my mind as one of the more inspirational films in recent memory. I admire it for its pacing: Frank Darabont makes time feel real and tangible, as if the audience is in prison right along with Andy Dufresne. This isn't to say that the film is interminable, of course. Despite its moments of occasional violence, Shawshank's overall tone is one of hope and dignity in the face of adversity. Morgan Freeman, in, if not his best role, his most famous, provides a steady, weatherbeaten rock to which the audience anchors. His final monologue (Hint: it involves the phrase "I hope") is one of the cinematic highlights of the decade.
9. Titanic (James Cameron, 1997)
This movie is one of my greatest guilty pleasures. Perhaps it's because this is the first "adult" movie I remember seeing in theaters; at the tender age of 7, it seemed like nothing as good as Titanic had ever happened, nor would ever happen again. Now that I'm older and wiser, I'll be the first to admit that the first half of the film is uneven melodrama that is hokily written and clumsily acted. The last half, aka the sinking, is some of the most intense and proficient filmmaking ever to grace the silver screen. I have to respect James Cameron for his single-minded dedication: for the film, they literally created a near-scale model of the actual Titanic, and then proceeded to sink it. I'm a sucker for Big Movies that earn those capital letters, and Titanic is the biggest movie since Gone With the Wind. At the very least, Titanic earns its spot on this list for having the balls to go for old-fashioned epic filmmaking in a decidedly anti-epic modern cinemascape.
8. Saving Private Ryan (Steven Spielberg, 1998)
Saving Private Ryan might not be the best WW2 movie of 1998 (that one you'll meet in a minute), but it's certainly the loudest. ...That might not sound like a compliment. What I mean to say is that Saving Private Ryan is completely unsurpassed in its depiction of battle. The opening Normandy sequence is, for my money, the best battle scene ever committed to film--not to sell short the other fantastic set pieces in this blood-soaked film. With Saving Private Ryan, Steven Spielberg almost achieves the completely impossible: he sets out to make an anti-war film about the futility and dehumanizing nature of conflict set entirely within the confines of a conflict-driven film. As I said, he almost succeeds. I'm not sure I approve of the ending (SPOILER WARNING: jump to the end of the parentheses if you haven't seen it. Had I made this film, I would have ended it as Tom Hanks was shooting his pistol at the tank bearing down on him; the perfect metaphor for the futility of men trying to halt the machines of politically driven combat. But then, the deux ex machina comes, and we get the present-day framing, and the film loses a little power. SPOILERS ARE OVER...) If the ending were altered slightly, this film might be higher on the list. Still, I can't deny its extraordinary power and technical acumen.
Warning: I might not be able to control my enthusiasm for the remaining seven films on this list. Act accordingly.
7. The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)
I really don't have words to describe this movie. Let the movie's title try: it's mysterious, yearning, secretive, sad, lonely, troubled, confused, loving, musical, gifted, intelligent, beautiful, tender, sensitive, haunted, and passionate (that's the full title of adjectives, as it were). It's also creepy, ugly, strange, angry, bitter, and cynical. So many adjectives, yet I still feel no closer to solving the mystery that is this movie. It's just like its main character. Matt Damon's performance as a social climber who'll do anything to remain on top is downright chilling. Normally Damon is so likable: here, he inspires feelings that crawl under my skin and promptly die there. The Talented Mr. Ripley's stylistic and thematic beauty and flippancy is constantly overturned by moments of brutal violence whenever the film seems to come up for air. It drags the viewer down into the Stygian depths of its madness, and doesn't allow respite until the credits begin to roll. This is a bromance, of sorts. No, I take this back. This is a tale of male-on-male infatuation that ends in the worst way possible. Nothing like a kind-of-sort-of-not-really-but-still gay serial killer to start off one's week, is there?
6. Fargo (Joel Coen, 1996)
Here's another movie that's nearly impossible to describe in conventional terms. I told a friend recently that Fargo was a movie "in which terrible things happen to good people in cringe-inducingly funny ways." Fargo is like a comedy of errors in which every error results in some form of grisly carnage. This Coen tale of a planned kidnapping gone terribly wrong is completely unique; I've never seen another film like it. Most of it is as cold, heartless, and unflinching as the Minnesota winterscape in which it occurs. The scenes involving Frances MacDormand's Marge Gunderson, however, are filled to the brim with warmth, humor and love. It's a bizarre juxtaposition, even more so when the heavily pregnant Gunderson finally crosses paths with the kidnappers-turned-murderers on the make. Fargo makes for incredibly absorbing filmmaking. Watch for Gunderson's monologue at the end of the film; its almost religious in its simplicity and depth (hint: it's the "there's more to life than money, ya know" speech).
5. Good Will Hunting (Gus Van Sant, 1997)
Who knew math could be so enthralling? Sorry, I jest. Good Will Hunting is a fascinating piece of work, not for its math (what the hell is an Advanced Fourier proof, anyway? ...not sure I spelled that right), but for its examination of the reluctance to depart from routine for fear of something new. Matt Damon and Robin Williams have never been better as a JD genius and his therapist, respectively. Conversations that could fall into tired cliche stay constantly insightful and interesting, thanks to the absolutely fantastic script written by Damon and co-star Ben Affleck. That this was their first screenplay is completely astounding, as this is, in my opinion, one of the most intelligently written films in recent memory. Yes the movie is intelligent, but it's also very moving. There are moments of dramatic intensity ('it's not your fault,' anyone?) that are nearly unparalleled in recent cinema. And all this from two kids in South Boston. Good Will Hunting isn't just a great movie: it's definitive proof of miracles.
4. The Thin Red Line (Terence Malick, 1998)
What a beautiful, beautiful film; the best war movie of 1998, regardless of what Steven Spielberg would like you to believe. Make no mistake: The Thin Red Line is not entertainment: it's work. Malick's film is a three-hour long visual poem with little in the way of conventional storytelling, plot, or even characters. The one real character in the film is Charlie Company; the men in it are pushed in and out of the spotlight, doing their bit and then receding into the background. The Thin Red Line is hardly about warfare as much as it is between man's conflict with nature, and the balance of good and evil in the soul of the individual. This is not to say that the film doesn't offer moments of violence: indeed, the assault on the Japanese entrenchment halfway through the film is almost overwhelming in its cruelness and intensity. Most of the film, however is devoted to long, bittersweet monologues concerning the world, eternity, morality, and what one man can do to cope with the infinite. The cinematography must be mentioned: this is one of the most beautiful movies you'll ever see. Every frame is stuffed with enough gorgeousity (shut up, it's a word) to make a grown man cry. This, coupled with the underlying thematic power and the completely unique directorial style, makes The Thin Red Line one of the most unforgettable cinematic experiences of my life.
3. The Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme, 1991)
Man, it hurts to put this movie as low as #3, but them's the breaks. This movie is a rare gem, a near perfect cinematic confection. I have to start by saying that: there has never been a better villain on film than Dr. Hannibal Lecter. You kids can have your joker, I'm sticking with Anthony Hopkins. Hell, not only is this the best villain ever captured, it's one of the best performances in general. There aren't words to describe how perfect and spot-on Hopkins' character is. I don't want to undersell Jodie Foster, however. It must have been intimidating just to breathe in the same room as this man, but somehow, she found untapped resources of dramatic integrity, creating a foil for Dr. Lecter that is every bit as convincing as he. As for the screenplay: were it not for another movie that you'll be hearing about directly, I would call it my favorite screenplay of all time. It's a rare tribute to a film when, in a movie containing serial killers, cannibalism, and a race-for-time-against-a-deranged-killer, that the most riveting parts of the film are discussions between two characters. It's true, though. The skull sessions that Agent Starling shares with Dr. Lecter are absolutely spellbinding in their intensity. This movie is all about building up to tension: though there are few moments of violence, when those few moments do occur, they seem more shocking than anything the viewer could have imagined. This is filmmaking at its most intense.
2. Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
Ah yes, here we are: the best movie screenplay ever written. As a wise friend recently told me after watching this: the art of interesting conversation has been lost. Right you are, wise friend (anonymity be damned: Nick, I agree). Consider the first scene, in which Jules and Vincent travel to their hit. They discuss Amsterdam, burgers, Samoans, and foot massages, but never once do they discuss who they are or what they do. Still, by the end of the scene, we realize that they're hit-men on their way to commit a crime. How many other movies have you seen that set up their exposition entirely in inferences and incidentals? And that's just the beginning. Pulp Fiction is never silent: it's over two hours of someone or another talking constantly. The miracle is that it never gets old, it never gets annoying, and you never find yourself wishing for less talking and more action. Thus far, I've made it out as if the dialogue is the film's only redeeming factor. Not true: the acting is great, particularly Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman, and the plot is endlessly inventive. This film is great fun, but they're also something a little heartbreaking about it: a search for redemption. It shows us all these people at the bottom of the barrel, thrashing around, attempting to rise out of their situation, but with no idea how to do so. Samuel L. Jackson's Ezekiel 25:17 speech to Ringo at the end of the film goes down in my book as the best monologue in movie history, and Uma Thurman's "do you still wanna hear my joke?" has got to be one of the most heartbreaking.
1. American Beauty (Sam Mendes, 1999)
And it comes down to this: maybe American Beauty isn't the greatest film on the list, but it certainly connects with me the most. So there it is: emotional impact gets preference over technical proficiency. Not to say that American Beauty isn't technically proficient: its acting is magnificent all around, delivered by one of the most involving ensembles in recent history. It's beautifully shot, with moments of real, eye-opening wonder, it's evocative score finds all the right emotional keystones, and it's all put together so that the film never loses its balance. To endorse all of its surface qualities, however, is to neglect the sheer weight of its emotional impact. The film is, improbably, about hope and change. Its message implies that the catalyst and the end result aren't nearly as important as the desire to rescue oneself from mental and emotional death. It's about beauty: how the world is full of perfect moments hiding under the surface, waiting to flower for anyone willing to look. It's about love: love isn't neat, it isn't obvious, but it's full of those moments of beauty that make life worth living. In the end, it's about feeling gratitude for every minute of your stupid little life. And you know what? It works.
There we are. All finished. Based on this evidence, I humbly submit the 90s as the best decade for the film industry. Now then: what did I miss? I know there are hundreds of other movies that would back up that claim. Lay some of them on me!
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"I tell ya, there...there were two old guys ranched up together, down home. Earl and Rich. And they was the joke of the town, even though they were pretty tough old birds. Anyway, they...they found Earl dead in the irrigation ditch. Took a tire iron to him. Spurred him up, drug him round by his dick 'til it pulled off. I was nine years old. My daddy, he made sure me and my brother seen it. Hell, for all I know, he done the job."
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"There will be no rescue, no intervention for us. We can only save ourselves. Many of you know influential people abroad; you must call these people. You must tell them what will happen to us. Say goodbye. But when you say goodbye, say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand. Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die. We must shame them into sending help."
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Best (favorite?) of the 90s, Part 1
I set out to compile a list of the "greatest" films of the 90s, but quickly came to a realization: I can't do it. I'm far, far too biased. So, instead I offer you a list of my favorite films of the 90s. Are they "the greatest?" Some of them, maybe. There are some glaring omissions, however, most notably Hoop Dreams and GoodFellas. But that's what makes list-making so much fun--20 different people can be asked this question, and you'll get 20 different answers. The following list is by no means definitive, and will almost definitely change from day to day. Today, however, these are what I feel to be the best (aka my favorite) movies of the 1990s. The first 10 are today. I'll wrap the list up tomorrow.
20. Heat (Michael Mann, 1995)
Most of you are probably more familiar with Mann's 2004 crime hit Collateral. Before Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx ever taxied the streets of LA, however, Al Pacino and Robert De Niro played cat and mouse through the streets of the City of Angels. And what a game it is. Mann's masterstroke is the balance he displays: We, as an audience, can root for the cop, Al Pacino, in his quest to for justice, just as easily as we can root for Robert De Niro's criminal as he attempts to pull off one last heist in an attempt to disappear. While Heat is a fantastic action film, it also serves as a dark meditation on personalities lost in their job, and the actions people are willing to take, the things they're willing to sacrifice in order to satisfy their obsessions. This film also marks the last time Al Pacino and Robert De Niro were in anything worth watching.
19. Boys Don't Cry (Kimberly Pierce, 1999)
This searing little film seemed to get lost in the rush of other 1999 greats, but I've never forgotten Kimberly Pierce's treatise on identity and acceptance. Boys Don't Cry chronicles the true story of Brandon Teena, a Nebraska youth who falls into a dangerous lifestyle, all while concealing the fact that Brandon Teena is actually Teena Brandon, a man living as a woman. Most who see this film remember it best for its horrific, painful ending, but to do so is to ignore all the tender, sweet moments that proceed it. Yes, Pierce's film is angry at the crimes it depicts, but it also takes the time to tell a quiet coming-of-age story in the face of the worst kinds of adversity. Hilary Swank rightfully won an Oscar for her depiction of Brandon. Chloe Sevigny provides a strong performance for Swank to anchor herself on.
18. Before Sunrise (Richard Linklater, 1995)
Admittedly, without its companion piece, Before Sunset, Before Sunrise loses a bit of its power. It remains, however, a singularly intelligent film that attempts to, in the course of one night, dissect love, fate, chance, and free will. Before Sunrise follows two strangers who decide to spend one night in Vienna together on a whim. The film consists of the two characters talking. And that's it. Rarely does a film have the courage to take characters, drop them in a location, and force them to be honest. Even more rarely does one find a film this entertaining that relies 100% on the power of its dialogue. Yet Before Sunrise is both of these things, and is incredibly effective. Its screenplay is one of the most witty, literate, insightful pieces you will hear (especially when viewed with Before Sunset).
17. Schindler's List (Steven Spielberg, 1993)
This is one of those rare films that bestows me with an inordinate amount of warm-fuzzies. Madden's film is a gigantic ball of joy, with the perfect balance of comedic elements, romance, and occasional drama. It succeeds in one of the most endangered genres in cinema: the "sophisticated comedy." While all this is well and good, the film's ending provides the masterstroke that makes this film the cinematic gem that it is: Madden chooses realism over poetry. What was before an involving romance becomes a bittersweet meditation on the transience and impermanence of happiness. It's a gorgeous piece of work.
15. American History X (Tony Kaye, 1998)
I'll be the first to admit that American History X is a little uneven. To focus on this, however, is to deny the raw, visceral power that so much of the film demonstrates. Tony Kaye's examination of the consequences of unbridled hate remains, for all its admitted faults, one of the most unflinching, searing experiences in recent cinema. Of special note is Edward Norton: this film rides almost entirely on his shoulders, and he more than rises to the challenge. Norton's Derek Vinyard is a revelation; one of the more memorably characters of the 90s. Not to undersell Edward Furlong's performance, of course: Furlong provides the perfect foil for Norton, and the two are never better than when they're acting together. The whole may be greater than the sum of its parts, but its whole is unforgettable.
14. Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1997)
I'm legitimately confused. This movie should not, by any stretch of the imagination, be this good. Boogie Nights is a three-hour epic about the porn industry in the 70s and 80s. That's not exactly a film premise one hears everyday. Yet somehow, inexplicably, Boogie Nights is one of the most memorably cinematic experiences of the 90s. Perhaps its the acting: Julianne Moore turns in what might be the most spectacular supporting turn I've ever seen, and she is joined in greatness by Heather Graham, Burt Reynolds, Don Cheadle, John C. Reilly, and Mark Wahlberg, all turning in the performance of their careers. Maybe it's the screenplay: Anderson's film pops with tension, insight, and startling originality. Whatever the cause, the end result is undeniably powerful. The film captures the full scope of its twenty year timeline, all while retaining the smallest moments of human drama in between. It's quite the balancing act.
13. Seven (David Fincher, 1999)
Director David Fincher is best known for Fight Club, but Seven demonstrates what Fincher can do when he really works at it. This film is one of the best thrillers in recent memory. Seven is dark, quiet, and, in places, almost unbearably gruesome, but manages to stay afloat. More than that; the film becomes an analysis of good men trying to live in a world designed to destroy good men. What I admire this film for most is its restraint: at any time, Fincher could have thrown in blaring music, quick editing, car chases, gratuitous sex and violence, like every other director who falls into the conventions of the thriller genre, but he doesn't. He approaches the film much like the senior detective in the film approaches a case--quiet, methodical, and unwavering. His dedication to this ideal elevates Seven from the pack of stereotypical thrillers and turns it into a piece of art.
12. Dead Man Walking (Tim Robbins, 1995)
Dead Man Walking is an angry film. It has an ax to grind; an anti-capital punishment agenda. This, in and of itself, is no revelation. Many films have some sort of ideal to further, and do nothing for their cause. Dead Man Walking, however, sets out to do the impossible and succeeds with flying colors. The film presents us with a monster, a rapist and murderer, a bigoted, racist, white-trash scumbag, and dares us to see the humanity in him. The film challenges its audience to find empathy for a despicable individual, and, thanks to the immense power of the film, the challenge is answered. The execution scene remains, as far as I'm concerned, one of the most powerful scenes committed to celluloid in recent memory. And all this about a murderer. Robbins' film is the very definition of fair and balanced: it sees that everyone, regardless of their actions, is still a human being.
11. The Piano (Jane Campion, 1993)
God, what a odd, quiet, unique, beautiful movie. The Piano is unlike any other film you'll see. It is best described at visual poetry: the film is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and tells its story primarily through images, not words. And Lord, what memorable images they are. On the surface, The Piano is a romance about a by-choice mute woman who enters into an arranged marriage with a man in New Zealand that she's never met, and the uneducated neighbor who is attracted by her beauty, her mystery, and, above all, the skill with which she plays the piano. While images are the most important part of the film, the music takes a close second: the soundtrack is provided by the main character, whose only means of communication is through her piano. Michael Nyman's compositions for her are as haunting as they are eloquent. A completely unique cinema experience not to be missed.
There's the first half. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to tell me what movies I missed, but for now, any predictions? What movies are you hoping to see pop up in the top 10?
20. Heat (Michael Mann, 1995)
Most of you are probably more familiar with Mann's 2004 crime hit Collateral. Before Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx ever taxied the streets of LA, however, Al Pacino and Robert De Niro played cat and mouse through the streets of the City of Angels. And what a game it is. Mann's masterstroke is the balance he displays: We, as an audience, can root for the cop, Al Pacino, in his quest to for justice, just as easily as we can root for Robert De Niro's criminal as he attempts to pull off one last heist in an attempt to disappear. While Heat is a fantastic action film, it also serves as a dark meditation on personalities lost in their job, and the actions people are willing to take, the things they're willing to sacrifice in order to satisfy their obsessions. This film also marks the last time Al Pacino and Robert De Niro were in anything worth watching.
19. Boys Don't Cry (Kimberly Pierce, 1999)
This searing little film seemed to get lost in the rush of other 1999 greats, but I've never forgotten Kimberly Pierce's treatise on identity and acceptance. Boys Don't Cry chronicles the true story of Brandon Teena, a Nebraska youth who falls into a dangerous lifestyle, all while concealing the fact that Brandon Teena is actually Teena Brandon, a man living as a woman. Most who see this film remember it best for its horrific, painful ending, but to do so is to ignore all the tender, sweet moments that proceed it. Yes, Pierce's film is angry at the crimes it depicts, but it also takes the time to tell a quiet coming-of-age story in the face of the worst kinds of adversity. Hilary Swank rightfully won an Oscar for her depiction of Brandon. Chloe Sevigny provides a strong performance for Swank to anchor herself on.
18. Before Sunrise (Richard Linklater, 1995)
Admittedly, without its companion piece, Before Sunset, Before Sunrise loses a bit of its power. It remains, however, a singularly intelligent film that attempts to, in the course of one night, dissect love, fate, chance, and free will. Before Sunrise follows two strangers who decide to spend one night in Vienna together on a whim. The film consists of the two characters talking. And that's it. Rarely does a film have the courage to take characters, drop them in a location, and force them to be honest. Even more rarely does one find a film this entertaining that relies 100% on the power of its dialogue. Yet Before Sunrise is both of these things, and is incredibly effective. Its screenplay is one of the most witty, literate, insightful pieces you will hear (especially when viewed with Before Sunset).
17. Schindler's List (Steven Spielberg, 1993)
I can hear you already: "How is this only #17 on the list?" The answer is simple--this is a list of favorites, not a list of bests. Yes, Steven Spielberg's Holocaust film is a technical marvel, stunningly well-acted, and achingly powerful. Is it, however a movie to grow old with? A movie to love, a movie that loves you back? A movie that becomes a friend over the years? No. I have nothing but respect for this film, but that's just it. I have nothing but respect for this film, which is why it only makes it to #17. Respect without love can only climb so high. That being said, the film is a staggering piece of work: Spielberg takes a subject that should be completely unfilmable, and turns it into a piece of art that has the ability to affect almost every demographic. This is quite commendable. In particular, I appreciate the expressive cinematography, the mournful John Williams score, and Ralph Fiennes: his Nazi commander is, in my opinion, perhaps the most chilling, effective villain ever committed to screen (...with the exception of Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter, whom no one can top).
16. Shakespeare in Love (John Madden, 1995)This is one of those rare films that bestows me with an inordinate amount of warm-fuzzies. Madden's film is a gigantic ball of joy, with the perfect balance of comedic elements, romance, and occasional drama. It succeeds in one of the most endangered genres in cinema: the "sophisticated comedy." While all this is well and good, the film's ending provides the masterstroke that makes this film the cinematic gem that it is: Madden chooses realism over poetry. What was before an involving romance becomes a bittersweet meditation on the transience and impermanence of happiness. It's a gorgeous piece of work.
15. American History X (Tony Kaye, 1998)
I'll be the first to admit that American History X is a little uneven. To focus on this, however, is to deny the raw, visceral power that so much of the film demonstrates. Tony Kaye's examination of the consequences of unbridled hate remains, for all its admitted faults, one of the most unflinching, searing experiences in recent cinema. Of special note is Edward Norton: this film rides almost entirely on his shoulders, and he more than rises to the challenge. Norton's Derek Vinyard is a revelation; one of the more memorably characters of the 90s. Not to undersell Edward Furlong's performance, of course: Furlong provides the perfect foil for Norton, and the two are never better than when they're acting together. The whole may be greater than the sum of its parts, but its whole is unforgettable.
14. Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1997)
I'm legitimately confused. This movie should not, by any stretch of the imagination, be this good. Boogie Nights is a three-hour epic about the porn industry in the 70s and 80s. That's not exactly a film premise one hears everyday. Yet somehow, inexplicably, Boogie Nights is one of the most memorably cinematic experiences of the 90s. Perhaps its the acting: Julianne Moore turns in what might be the most spectacular supporting turn I've ever seen, and she is joined in greatness by Heather Graham, Burt Reynolds, Don Cheadle, John C. Reilly, and Mark Wahlberg, all turning in the performance of their careers. Maybe it's the screenplay: Anderson's film pops with tension, insight, and startling originality. Whatever the cause, the end result is undeniably powerful. The film captures the full scope of its twenty year timeline, all while retaining the smallest moments of human drama in between. It's quite the balancing act.
13. Seven (David Fincher, 1999)
Director David Fincher is best known for Fight Club, but Seven demonstrates what Fincher can do when he really works at it. This film is one of the best thrillers in recent memory. Seven is dark, quiet, and, in places, almost unbearably gruesome, but manages to stay afloat. More than that; the film becomes an analysis of good men trying to live in a world designed to destroy good men. What I admire this film for most is its restraint: at any time, Fincher could have thrown in blaring music, quick editing, car chases, gratuitous sex and violence, like every other director who falls into the conventions of the thriller genre, but he doesn't. He approaches the film much like the senior detective in the film approaches a case--quiet, methodical, and unwavering. His dedication to this ideal elevates Seven from the pack of stereotypical thrillers and turns it into a piece of art.
12. Dead Man Walking (Tim Robbins, 1995)
Dead Man Walking is an angry film. It has an ax to grind; an anti-capital punishment agenda. This, in and of itself, is no revelation. Many films have some sort of ideal to further, and do nothing for their cause. Dead Man Walking, however, sets out to do the impossible and succeeds with flying colors. The film presents us with a monster, a rapist and murderer, a bigoted, racist, white-trash scumbag, and dares us to see the humanity in him. The film challenges its audience to find empathy for a despicable individual, and, thanks to the immense power of the film, the challenge is answered. The execution scene remains, as far as I'm concerned, one of the most powerful scenes committed to celluloid in recent memory. And all this about a murderer. Robbins' film is the very definition of fair and balanced: it sees that everyone, regardless of their actions, is still a human being.
11. The Piano (Jane Campion, 1993)
God, what a odd, quiet, unique, beautiful movie. The Piano is unlike any other film you'll see. It is best described at visual poetry: the film is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and tells its story primarily through images, not words. And Lord, what memorable images they are. On the surface, The Piano is a romance about a by-choice mute woman who enters into an arranged marriage with a man in New Zealand that she's never met, and the uneducated neighbor who is attracted by her beauty, her mystery, and, above all, the skill with which she plays the piano. While images are the most important part of the film, the music takes a close second: the soundtrack is provided by the main character, whose only means of communication is through her piano. Michael Nyman's compositions for her are as haunting as they are eloquent. A completely unique cinema experience not to be missed.
There's the first half. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to tell me what movies I missed, but for now, any predictions? What movies are you hoping to see pop up in the top 10?
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"I ask this: If there should be an assassination, I would hope that five, ten, one hundred, one thousand would rise. I would like to see every gay lawyer, every gay architect come out. If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door, and that's all. I ask for the movement to continue. Because it's not about personal gain, not about ego, not about power. It's about the 'us's' out there. Not only gays, but the Blacks, the Asians, the disabled, the seniors, the us's, Without hope, the us's give up. I know you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. So you, and you, and you...You gotta give 'em hope. You gotta give 'em hope.
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