Best Movies of 2008

This... is it.

It's right here. This is, hands down, the best film of 2008. Among everything terrible, bad, okay, good and extraordinary I have seen all year, there is no other picture to even come close to how terrific and deeply affecting Entre les Murs is.

I am not in any way exaggerating how powerful this film is. It is, to me, a revolutionary piece of work that DOES push the limits of the seventh art, in the sense that it succeeds by both presenting & analyzing a reality that would make most flinch. It is art as a magnifying glass. There is no sentimentality, no segment that feels fabricated to pass a point, no nothing. It trades any commercial compromise possible for a raw, disturbing but nevertheless uplifting dissection of the french educational system. Beyond that, there is also a message on any educational system. Beyond that, there is a poignant study on adult-teenager dialogue, too. And beyond that, there is a brilliant take on the human condition.

First things first : I have never seen a film sneak up on me like that. Fueled by rave reviews, I knew this film was going to be somewhat excellent before I even entered the theater. But its greatness is not at all how I expected it to land, not by a long shot : there is not a trace of pretense, no elaborate directorial adjustment to highlight every point that is made, nor the manipulation of a film score-- hell, the tense, revealing and sometimes chaotic sound design of the titular classroom provides better music than any skillful composer could have brought. The film is, to put it plainly, alive. It breathes the crushing ambiguity of the face-offs between teachers and students-- that is, when the doors are open for a confrontation. Otherwise, the harshness of having to deal with young individuals that dispiritingly refuse to settle is painted. It's nothing less than suffocating : I admit I was more than uncomfortable watching a great deal of scenes. It brings us back to a fundamental question : is it possible for the right to dialogue with the wrong if there exists no will to do so on the latter's side?

Beneath what first seem as an anecdotal collection of extremely realistic (or one might just say as well authentic) classroom scenes, a crescendo is slowly installed. As the year progresses (and as we get further insight on most of the coldly insubordinate students), a crisis becomes more and more apparent. Teachers meet, discuss and argue about certain cases of rough behaviors, and then find temporary solutions (read : punishment) to deal with those types of kids. Eventually, a moral conflict is more than apparent, thanks to the possible outcome of expelling an extremely troublesome student. By that point, the film has reached an almost thirty-minute long climax that opposes drastically different perceptions on education. The dilemma is deeply discomforting. One of the teachers on the radical side even suggests his method might be comparable to 'buying social peace'-- so what if the headstrong but alarmingly refractory student is sent away? The school will benefit from it. His surrounding shouldn't have to pay for his indiscipline, right? Some of the observations Francois' colleagues bring are just as thought provoking, if not more.

There is no line drawn. There is no answer.

Without the disarming naturalism of its performers, Entre les Murs would be a remarkable exercise. But the realness and spontaneity among the actors, from Francois Begaudeau to his students to his fellow teachers, is just jaw-dropping. It lifts the picture to a whole other level, where it is disquieting to observe so many real people interact without having any of them put on a 'performance' (i.e. knowing a camera is placed on them). I repeat : there is not a single moment in the entire 129-minute running time where a feeling appears simulated.

The recurring use of handheld camera perfectly captures the bleak, unnerving atmosphere of classroom exchanges-- its cinema verite look is on par with the similarly humane drama Rachel Getting Married. Like that film, what drives the story is not a conventional connect-the-dots narrative, but rather a frighteningly well-chosen depiction of the moments scattered across a given period of time.

This, my friends, is heavy stuff. I came out of Entre les Murs severely shaken-- in one of the final scenes, where Francois asks his students what they have learned through the year, an emotional wrecking ball is swung right into our face. While its american counterparts like the thoroughly bland Freedom Writers mistake dramatic impact with easy-as-fuck maudlinism, this one refuses to give us relief by the time it's over. There is no happy ending, but there is no sad ending either-- in fact, the only thing that ends is the school year. The machinery rests for a whole summer, and it will start working again. The absence of a cinematic, audience-friendly 'closure' brings this masterpiece scarily closer to reality... again.

Run see this film. Bring your children, friends, family-- it doesn't matter if they find it boring or slow-moving. I am convinced this phenomenal achievement is going to be looked back on, and probably understood well after the credits have rolled. Maybe much later in their life. Maybe not. But they will still have been exposed to an indescribably brilliant film.

Run see Entre les Murs.

If there is a film that deserves your hard-earned money, it's this one.

Run.

Strangely enough, if someone asked me what's so wondrous and terrific about Happy-Go-Lucky, I couldn't answer quite clearly. I don't know what made me like this film so much-- there dozens of answers, but none of them are particular standouts.

Scratch that : Sally Hawkins is a standout. I usually don't start reviewing a film by judging the performances, but this, my friend, is a mighty fine exception. Her Poppy is exceptionnally well-written, and combined with the very organic approach she brings to her, it results into one of the most exhilaratingly alive film characters I have ever seen in all my moviegoing years. Here, we see that her constant bounciness and cheer are just a matter of disguising something much, much deeper. She's a genuinely complex character, not a trope or a symbol, and her relationships with her roommate Zoe and her two younger sisters hint at a rich shared history. It's not like we, as viewers, are ever going to know something else about her than what's happening in the very present, but as character studies go, this one hits the right mark in every scene. We understand why they love her, then why she bugs them.

There is a chance Happy-Go-Lucky will be received as an amusing trifle by moviegoers and critics who equate nihilism with significance, but there's something in the movie that feels profound. In a Hollywood film, Poppy would be treated as a simp or a hypocrite or (worst of all) a kind of radiant idiot. She is not that here; she's a woman about whom we can worry, a brave yet vulnerable creature with a neurotic laugh who has decided to be open to experience, to life's various and risky little thrills, like trampolines and flamenco dancing and lonely homeless men who constantly mutter.

And then there is Eddie Marsan, who turns a character that could have been a one-joke affair into a fully-fleshed frustrated soul. He is grating at first, but the more screentime he gets, the more we get to know him-- but not understanding him. His ticks and line-readings are perfect-- he nearly steals the show in the scenes he is in. But with a force as mighty as Hawkins, he does not.

Either way, Leigh directs the film with much, much vitality, from the opening biking to the closing paddleboat. There's not a single shot that feels phony nor superficial, and when we understand that there is no real plot, the snappy but oh-so-authentic dialogue carries the film just by itself. And yet, I didn't laugh all that much, nor did I cry (but I did feel a vague melancholy hitting me once the film finished). I also don't think I could bear Poppy for more than twenty-four hours. The narrative is not built to climax or go anywhere truly important, and that wasn't a problem for me... but still. What made me like this film so much?

It has be because, down the line, it speaks to the human condition more than anything else. There is little to no movie bullshit here-- this is the real deal. Happy-go-Lucky reached out to me, and made me think about about how being persistently happy isn't a way to deny all the crap out there in the world-- it's a way to deal with said crap.

See it.

I deeply, deeply love this film. Reichardt has crafted a masterful meditation on solitude and the emotional cost of living close to the bottom of the social pyramid. Excised of all miserabilism and self-pity, Wendy's quest in accessing her own liberty is nothing less than deeply affecting, especially during these harsh economical times. It's a dramatic, minimalist film that demands both patience and appreciation for what's not immediate, but for those that enjoy quiet and slowly revealing cinema, there is much to be adored in this one. It's refreshing to have a reminder that we often let the plot and narrative drive stand between us viewers and the character. Reichardt also spares us the gritty, worn-out look that usually passes for 'realism' these days and coats her film with beautiful (though not showy) photography and long, expressive silent takes. Capped with a magnetic and beautifully internalized performance by Williams, Wendy and Lucy might perhaps be one of the most powerful offerings of the year.

My full review in French at :
http://www.panorama-cinema.com/html/critiques/wendyandlucy.htm

An excellent film, nothing less. Rachel Getting Married oozes passion and sincerity; its shape matches its content so perfectly it becomes way, way more than the sum of its parts.

First and foremost, it's backed by a superb screenplay that gives us a tremendous insight on each major character. Written with absolutely no 'MovieLand' edge, the human beings on display have an incredibly truthful ring. The result of their study is exponentially stronger because all of them act and interact freely instead of being placed into merely functional shots. Demme's camera, which becomes our eye for a nearly two-hour duration, embraces the point of view of both a wedding guest and the character framed him/herself-- there is something extremely rewarding in letting his intuition guide us wherever he needs to take us.

And boy, does he take us deep. Whether Demme plunges into tense moral abysses or homely celebration, there is always, always enormous generosity of spirit in the film, just like in the family that's presented to us. It is wonderfully diverse, with African-Americans and a wide assortment of friends and family. The music that surrounds them is especially inspiring. The joy it lifts is at once beautiful, surreal and never, ever phony.

And yet, even if Rachel Getting Married does not freefall into Greek tragedy, there is also enormous pain as we come to understand what is choking the dynamics of that family so incessantly. Massive gratitude needs to be aimed towards every member of the cast for committing to roles that are difficult because they are not 'performance' meat-- except, of course, for Hathaway's brilliant portrayal of Kym, no one is required to externalize everything they feel, resulting in a maelstrom of actors playing the subtlety card with mesmerizing results. And so, Hathaway, Irwin, DeWitt and especially Winger hold our attention anytime their are onscreen, which brings me to highlighting four of the best performances this year has given us moviegoers.

This masterful film is a quiet treasure. It proves us a film does not need to be highly ambitious and massive to bury itself deep into our mind and make an impact.

It's funny. While Twilight is out there raking gazillions of money, an infinitely better love story and profoundly more disturbing vampire film seeps in a few arthouse theaters, and well, it's just earned over one million. Actually... come to think of it, it's not funny. Both are not even close : one is art, the other is a product. Simple as that.

Evocative, disquieting and unique, Let the Right One In is the kind of film that is absolutely going to end on year-end lists for best feature-- and while the whole planet pays for glossy Hollywood crap, a few of us sit here, and marvel at how unusually striking this one is. Director Tomas Alfredson refuses to merely 'assemble' genre elements to string his story together : what we have here is a fable of isolation and longing, directed with triumphant flair for the lonely and a gruesome elegance.

The screenplay is less interesting in giving viewers the jollies than in setting a deeply unsettling mood-- and from frame one, we are sucked into an everlasting tragedy, one that features both jolts of unnerving violence and tiny moments of warmth. That said, I don't know how Alfredson managed it, but he shot one of the most erotic scenes in a long time with just a touch, and that scene features two children. Yeah. He's that kind of good. His approach is not an excuse for a 'scary atmosphere', nor is his character development used to deepen an emotional impact. To stuff it into the genre-hood would be criminally reductive, but as a horrific stories go, this one speaks to the human condition, and by my standards of art, it is exactly what successful filmmaking is.

Frankly, I could go on and praise just how right every is done here : the sublime night photography, the two young lead's hypnotic performances, the effective stage direction, the subtle sound design, the dialogue which is only used sparingly, the supporting performers' natural acting and the shocking poolside climax. But it wouldn't do the film any justice.

Right now, all that matters is that you see the film as soon as possible. No indie theaters near you? DVD is out March tenth. But, yes. It is extremely important that you view it, and like vampire stories or not, I'm sure the terrific Let the Right One In has something to impress everyone.

It's only a matter of time before the dumbed-down remake hits theaters, and it saddens me much to know that most audiences will only discover that one. But you, dear reader, can overcome that. You can watch one of the best films of the year, and surely one of the best vampire films ever made before its hideously defanged American clone is put up on your theater marquee.

There is something deeply affecting about Aronofsky's stripping down of the layers of a man struggling to regain control over his crumbling life, and for the most part, failing. It's not a subtle film, at least not emotionally-- but there is a certain restraint in the screenplay, and the time it takes to establish what goes on inside its main character's head. It's an exercise that requires patience, but is devoid of the kind of miserabilism that would render the whole thing pretentious, irritating or flat-out boring. Instead, it rewards us with a tremendously complete portrait of loneliness and struggle, and elicits far more compassion and interest than most of 2008's releases. Aronofsky does use that annoying high-grain grittiness that's been used so much in the past, but to good effect here : it really fits the tone of the ensemble, and is never too showy.

There quite an acting show going around here, starting with Rourke's incredible performance. He really does give his heart and soul to a role that might not only serve as an allegory for his own path, but also provides him a deeply nuanced range of feelings to channel, both in and outside. Also very notable is Tomei's rich and inspired take on a role that might just have been 'that naked chick'-- she is able to add much subtlety and inner torment to a frankly routine character. Good, also, is Wood as the man's daughter, an actress intense enough to emote like a hurricane on her very first scene and let you understand what devastating pain inhabits her persona.

The film itself might not be one for the ages, but its sincerity and performances are. Culminating in a finale that is both surreal, touching and ambiguous, The Wrestler might very well be one of the few films that managed to pierce through my shell in a very long while...

It's fantastic; it's extraordinary; it's fantastraordinary.

If it is true that the new wave of filmmaking will be entirely computer-driven (a horrifying thought, but just give it a decade or ten), at least we now have proof that as long as real passion lies behind the 1s and 0s, there is some hope for the future of art. It's so breathtakingly gorgeous-- I have very little doubt that WALL-E is the most visually sophisticated animated narrative film ever produced.

But beyond the fuck-awesome cinematography, there are the characters (robots!). Customarily, the creation of a memorable animated character is the collision of a great vocal performance with sensitive, expressive drawings/renderings/models, but WALL-E the robot is gifted with a full range of instantly recognisable emotions, despite the fact that every element of the character is digital. It's sublime. His eventual love interest, the superfuturistic robot EVE - "Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator" - is voiced by an actual human, Elissa Knight, but she's a triumph of design and animated performance anyway. The couple is pure joy to watch interact. Pure. Joy.

For something very close to half of its running time, WALL-E purrs along as the most sublime visual experience that will play in a movie theater this year.

And then lies the closest the film comes to having a "problem". After a time, as you all know from the trailers, WALL-E hops on a rocket to chase EVE, ending up on the very same ship where all the humans are living, and then the actual plot kicks in. It's a good adventure plot, too, and it would be everything the film needed to stand head and shoulders with the middle of the Pixar pack. But though the adventure is robust, and the social satire is unexpectedly pointed (a more anti-consumerism Disney blockbuster you will never see), it all feels quite... typical after the eye-popping wonders of the first 40 minutes and the blissful cinematic intensity of the opening sequence in particular. The "human half" of WALL-E is not the stuff of legends, it is the stuff of very high-end entertainment.

Nitpicking aside, to me, this is the best Pixar film to ever be released. It's a shining example of the best and bravest work that mainstream filmmaking anywhere in the world could even dream of in this day and age.

Everything, everything you've heard about it is true. The Dark Knight is a masterpiece; Nolan has painted a richly vivid landscape of death and iniquity, capturing our collective anxiety over the resurgent politics of hope in ways very few have done before.

First and foremost, the screenplay : it is planets away from what we've come to expect from superhero films. Ghost Rider is practically dust compared to this : the dramatic tension rises and rises until it becomes practically unbearable, and the sensitive issues and the questions that are raised bring a morally ambiguous turn on themes that are usually strictly black-and-white. It's penned with a remarkable structural strength, too-- scenes move on sharply from one to the next, which is also helped by sure-handed editing that constantly leaves the viewer begging for more.

As for Nolan's directing, it knocks it out of the park. This, my fellow viewers, IS how you film a city in crisis : nothing is overcooked, or comes across as phony or unbelievable. The stage direction is impeccable. The characters are framed in luminous, hollowed-out rooms to an eye-popping effect and the use of ultra modern technology is in the pitch-perfect quantity. The action is devastating, high-wire and realistic, and it serves a purpose instead of being car-crash porn. And while some have accused the big set-pieces of being choppy and disrespectful of spacial relationships, well... what can I say? It worked tremendously well for me.

As for Ledger, well... fuck. I'll be damned. His Joker is simply jaw-dropping-- the actor burns this incarnation of The Joker into our psyche by being terrifying, and unpredictable, and truthful, and symbolic... without ever, ever falling into caricatural territory. A golden man wouldn't reward his work well enough. As for the rest of the cast, which are a bit unlucky, in circumstances, to be called 'the rest of the cast', well, they're also spellbinding. Bale shows even more range that in the previous installment. Caine is spot on, and Gyllenhaal is the perfect replacement for the flat Holmes, showing much more depth and maturity than expected. Oldman injects substance into a role that could very well have been an accessory, and Eckhart, oh, Aaron Eckhart, with your majestic split-chin and mind-blowing charisma, do you own this fucking part like no one could have.

Frankly, The Dark Knight is a very exhausting film, the very opposite of blockbuster escapism. Not because it is so long - for indeed, it feels hardly long enough, and once it ends, it's a dissapointment to know the next installment is soooooo many years away and it's probably going to suffer from threequel-itis. But still... Christopher Nolan had the temerity to give us a nihilistic summer tragedy, and a precious rare thing it is for a populist film to be so emotionally wrenching without being manipulative.

Let's all scream it together now : TRIUMPH.

Inciendiary. Every drop of ink that was spilled for this film does not do justice to the opinion you, dear viewer, must build for yourself after seeing it. This is not a film; this is a slap to the face. And I was slapped in the precise way Haneke wanted me to be slapped. Now, I just feel like saying 'fuck'. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck. What a film unlike any other. What a way to push your acting skills-- because, yeah, it's still (in some sort) a film, and there is cinematic stuff going on besides all of the rage oozing out of the screen. This is not a film I will ever see again-- and yet, I feel like recommending it to everyone on the planet.

It's already been said numerous times : it's a minor piece of work among the Coen brother's filmography. But damn, is it good.

Unlike most lightning-paced comedies dosed with one-joke characters and boring morals, Burn After Reading makes a point : there is absolutely no point, and that is the point. When high-placed idiots meet everyday idiots, one false step and everything goes into the crapper-- and that's exactly what happens.

Sweet baby Jesus, how delirious this gets. From the dramatic music intruding the wacky plot points as thunderous punchlines to the pinches of nihilism scattered all around (the only truly sympathetic figure gets hacked to death with an axe), it's jam-packed with comic ingeniosity. I also give huge credits to the Coens for twisting a massive spy thriller convention-- the character's personal issues are often solely to flesh them out a bit, while here, their insecurities are what fuels the story until it all crashes down.

Naturally, the performers are excellent. Malkovich's tantrums are a source of perpetual hilarity, Clooney inhabits a nice dirty bastard role and his facial expressions are priceless, McDormand creates a cartoonish madam that's both obsessed with the idea of pleasing others and pleasing herself, Swinton oozes snobbish suspicion and Pitt, oh, my dear Brad, have I ever seen you this funny. Your Chad is a relief from ten years of traditionnal movie idiots.

Seeing, however, how the post-viewing buzz among the regular movie watchers is so mixed, I doubt this film is going to shatter records of any sorts. It's a shame, though, because it has so much brillant moments that it completely, totally justifies its existence, despite the crucial pointlessness of it all. I didn't fall in love with this film, mind you, but I believe that in terms of comedy, it beats pretty much everything that's been released in 2008, including Pineapple Express and Tropic Thunder.

Exemplary, heartfelt, inspired and inspiring, Milk is a great film... even if Van Sant's usual poetry is (sadly) amiss.

Built with flash-backs through the recording of an 'in case of...' tape, the film also uses real archive footage to great effect. Dustin Lance Black's screenplay jumps all over the place, but nevertheless appears both sharp and masterful. Story-wise, the seventies are painted with vigor and zero cliches, resulting into a tone that feels very authentic. Once again, though, there is barely any lyricism to be found in the approach, so in the end, some passages felt a bit too didactic for me.

Fortunately, Harvey Milk himself is written very cleverly-- no, Van Sant's movie doesn't try to oversell its hero. As Sean Penn plays him, the pioneering activist remains resolutely life-size: mischievous, committed, emotionally stirred but always, always human. There's not an ounce of pretentiousness in the proceedings.

That goes without saying the performers are also extraordinary-- Penn may be the main attraction, but this is very much an ensemble piece. Emile Hirsch's cheeky Cleve Jones and James Franco's irresistible (and surprisingly sober) Scott add very much to the communal spirit. Josh Brolin invests the creepy but pitiable White with a simmering desperation: his charged encounters with the man he will eventually murder are some of the movie's high points. And then, finally, of course, Penn's pitch-perfect portrayal of Milk will surely gain the top honors. It's a very energetic performance, one that feels very 'actorly', but hits no false notes and never comes across as phony. He does live up to the hype.

Danny Elfman's score had me annoyed, though-- joyous and oddly familiar, the themes pump their way into moments of intimacy without much subtlety, and while I'm sure these pieces are more than fine on their own, Milk is most definitely not the film to carry them. Honestly, I think this is the first Elfman score I've disliked in my entire life.

Still, as much as I wanted it to be completely-batshit-crazy-intense-awesome, Milk ended up a truly great film. The buzz around it was huge, and naturally, it ended up matching expectations without exceeding them. That proves once again Gus Van Sant is not a director to be catalogued so easily-- if you showed me the film without telling who the director is, I think I might not be able to guess.