Archive | Film Matters
2013 Film: An Embarrassment of Riches
I thought I could glide into 2014 without discussing my Indiewire year-end critics poll but if even Michael Corleone couldn’t step out, I sure was some kind of chippie to think I could. (Yep, I’m equating film criticism with Cosa Nostra.) Herein lie my top ten films of 2013—a tremendous year for cinema, and one whose finest projects directly descend from the best of 2004, the last time film was this good. (Think Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I Heart Huckabees, Rois et Reine, Head-On, even The Incredibles).
10. Enough Said
Writer-director Nicole Holofcener has always made full-frontal honesty both her charm and weapon but this exploration of middle-aged dating feels wonderfully truthful even for her. Credit is partly due to Julia Louis-Dreyfus and James Gandolfini (in one of his final performances) who work against type to achieve a sweet, slow melancholy rarely achieved on American screens. If the ending doesn’t entirely satisfy, that’s only in contrast to how well this ensemble otherwise pulls off a premise that could have been more Three’s Company than Billy Wilder in less able hands.
9. The Immigrant
This story of a 1920s brothel in NYC’s Lower East Side costars Oscar winners Joaquin Phoenix and Marion Cotillard, boasts a rich, painterly cinematography, is directed by the terrific James Gray (Two Lovers, We Own the Night), and burrows deeper into the intersection of the American dream, sex, and financial survival than few before it. So why didn’t this film hit movie theaters? Possibly because US distributors didn’t trust audiences would buy nookie served up with this level of moral complexity. When it crosses your path, prove them wrong.
8. Short Term 12
Starring the uncanny Brie Larson as a 20something supervising a fostercare facility for at-risk teens, this is a hopeful film about seemingly hopeless lives. Its sometimes too-tidy plot is trumped by a powerful emotional truth: that even the worst traumas can be trumped by our ability to heal, possibly the most urgent biological impulse of all injured beings. Carefully drawn and edited, it introduces desperate stories that already seem permanently written, and then reminds us revisions are always possible.
7. Concussion
The snarky synopsis would be “a lesbian Belle D’Jour,” and this gorgeously shot indie about a bored housewife (Deadwood’s Robin Weigert) who works as a prostitute while her wife is off making the big bucks does directly echo Luis Buñuel’s 1967 Catherine Deneuve vehicle. But it is also a hypnotically singular (and sensuous) investigation of how traditional romantic mores may no longer suit anyone though they’ve become increasingly available to everyone.
6. Gravity
Now this is a movie! Director Alfonso Cuarón (Children of Men, Y Tu Mamá También) makes use of the possibilities of 3D filmmaking like no one before—or likely after—without sacrificing any of his sweeping soulfulness in this (often literally) breathless account of a medical engineer (Sandra Bullock) struggling on her first space mission to return to Earth after her ship and shipmates are destroyed. Continue Reading →
Hot French Film, Wintry Climes, and Soup
In my house, November is soup month. I have it at least once a day and often twice. On Sunday I ate it for breakfast and dinner (Saltie’s mulligatawny and my miso-dumpling, respectively). On Monday I ate it for lunch and dinner (Fairway’s chicken matzoh ball, both times). On Tuesday, a friend and I ate fish stew and oyster bisque codependently at Chelsea Market’s Cull & Pistol.
The weather is not even that bad yet—temperatures are mostly in the 30s and 40s—but New York buildings have yet to adequately kick in their central heating. And since a wintry clime always creeps up with all the insidiousness of an unwanted neighbor, none of us have had a chance to develop our thick skins, figuratively or literally. Hence: soup, the Earth Mommy of all prepared foods.
Today I bundled up in a big fur hat, two mufflers, fingerless gloves, cashmere tights, and 19th century-style clog boots, and bustled into the city to screen Mauvais Sang at Film Forum. A 1986 Leos Carax neo-New Wave movie set, punnily enough, during a French heat wave, it stars Julie Delpy, Juliette Binoche, and Denis Lavant. This is what it entails: pantomimed fisticuffs and ventriloquized flirtation, silent stares and empty declarations, steamy nights and boiling pavement, teary tough guys and blank beautiful women, dangling cigarettes and smeary lipstick, snow-white and rose-red (not to mention black and blue), and—oh! oh!—David Bowie’s “Modern Love.” In short, it is a sweat lodge of a film, just what the doctor ordered. To collect myself afterward, I ducked into a West Village ramen bar and slurped an enormous bowl of noodles and broth and pickled eggs and cabbage and bamboo shoots and chunks of pork.
I never once took off my big fur hat, let alone my two mufflers.
Tonight I am preparing a split pea soup with a ham hock. In my witchy cauldron I will toss every root and green vegetable in my larder, including a frond of fennel, and I will listen to an audiobook of Chekhov short stories as I do so. Really, I’m doing the best I can, especially given that I resent any weather that demands so much of my attention. Who knows? I eventually may plaster a grin back on my puss, if not on Lady Garbo’s.
Mauvais Sang screens at Film Forum November 29-December 5. It’s sure to warm you up.