If you missed Part 1, check it out here to read
about 20 fantastic films. And now, here are my 10 favorite films of the year.
10) LOLA
Another
excellent film that unfairly slipped under the radar this year is
LOLA,
one of the best and most original science fiction films of the last few years.
The film follows Thom Hanbury (Emma Appleton), a brilliant inventor who lives
with her sister Mars (Stefanie Martini) in the year 1941. Thom has invented a
truly groundbreaking machine (which she calls LOLA) which can intercept
television broadcasts from the future. Mars becomes particularly interested in
the artistic trends of the future, as LOLA allows her a glimpse at defining
artists of the future such as David Bowie and Bob Dylan. Thom, meanwhile, is
primarily interested in using news broadcasts to help the war efforts, and she
and Mars begin to discretely pass along intel to the British government,
causing the course of WWII and the world itself to significantly change. While
not exactly a time travel film,
LOLA is still deeply rooted in familiar
time travel genre tropes, and none of the concepts brought up in the film are
exactly groundbreaking (did you know that if you meddle with the course of
history there might be CONSEQUENCES?!?!). But
LOLA is an immensely
satisfying entry into the canon of time-based science fiction. What makes this
film really stand out are the stylistic choices by director Andrew Legge. The
film is presented as found footage, mainly from film found on the Hanbury
sisters’ personal camera. The details here are perfect, with cinematography and
sound design perfectly setting the time period for the audience. It’s a trick
which allows the past and the future to meld wonderfully, so that
LOLA genuinely
feels like a trip back in time. It’s an utterly charming film, which expertly
balances its dramatic stakes which a genuinely refreshing sense of whimsy.
9) The
Beasts
Let’s
talk a little bit about French actor Denis Ménochet. Several years ago, he
starred as an abusive father in a film called
Custody. One of my
favorite films of that year, I to this day cite
Custody as one of the
scariest non-horror films I’ve ever seen. Well, Ménochet certainly has a type
of film he gravitates towards, because this year he stars in
The Beasts,
which once again isn’t exactly horror, but might be one of the scariest dramas
ever put to film. Ménochet stars as Antoine, a farmer who, with his wife Olga
(Marina Foïs) operates an eco-friendly farm in Galicia. They are peaceful and
well-intentioned, but their mere presence attracts some hostility from brothers
Xan (Luis Zahera) and Lorenzo (Diego Anido), who resent the couples’ presence
due to their presence complicating a local business deal, and a dose of
xenophobia.
The Beasts is a more than apt title—there is a sense of
violence and unease in the film from the get-go, and a volatility to the
characters that is particularly unsettling when contrasted with the idyllic
setting. Director Rodrigo Sorogoyen, who co-wrote the script with Isabel Peña,
keeps the tension high at all times. The hatred displayed by these brothers is
palpable and unrelenting. When local police tell Antoine he should try to work
things out with dialogue, it’s a blatantly foolish suggestion, as both Antoine
and we as an audience understand the power and irrationality of their own
contempt. It’s a bleak perspective, to be sure, and
The Beasts is
certainly not an easy film to watch. But it’s undeniably gripping, and the
performances and unpretentious filmmaking makes
The Beasts compelling
and grounded rather than cartoonish. Ménochet is a physically commanding
performer, and when he plays villains, he’s a truly scary presence on screen.
In this role, however, he’s our victim, and it’s great to see him play a role
with such vulnerability. In Ménochet’s hands, Antoine is sensitive but
forceful—he’s both terrified of the situation he’s in and steadfast in his
resolve to rise above it. As his wife Olga, Foïs is just as strong, and
particularly gets a chance to shine in the final scenes of the film.
The
Beasts is the most harrowing watch of the year, but it’s a deeply powerful
film, and has much to offer if you are able to stick with it through its harsh
depiction of the worst of humanity.
8) American
Fiction
In
American Fiction, things are not going particularly well for author Thelonious
“Monk” Ellison (Jeffrey Wright). He has lost his job, his family is dealing
with several personal tragedies, and while his writing is acclaimed it’s not
particularly popular and his publisher can’t find anyone willing to take on his
most recent book. Intelligent and guided by his own set of principles, Monk is
frustrated by what he perceives to be marketable, and particularly the narrow
expectations placed on Black authors, such as the recent pandering bestseller
from rival author Sintara Golden (Issa Rae). As a joke, he writes what he
believes to be the most offensive “Black” book he can under a pseudonym, only
for it to immediately find success from publishers. It’s a great premise, and
one that is realized to its full potential by debut writer/director Cord
Jefferson. The film has multiple hilarious moments that show how satire doesn't
have to be subtle to be effective (sometimes the obvious joke is worth
making, and the film has more than a few great sight gags based on some
low-hanging fruit). But Jefferson gets away with these more obvious jokes by not
forfeiting more serious and in-depth discussion. He doesn’t just want to poke fun at what he sees as the worst
of Black media, he takes the opportunity to actually examine it—what
makes this sort of entertainment popular, and is there value in it? It prevents the film from feeling like one joke over and over again. While Monk
is clearly brilliant, he’s a much more complex character than he needed to be, and
as the film goes on, his own arrogance gets in the way of his own point. If the
media Monk hates is so wrong, does that make the books he’s writing any good? It’s
an interesting debate that sustains and elevates this film—one that is clear
satire which isn’t afraid to turn the mirror onto itself. Monk himself is a
wonderful protagonist, thanks in no small part to a phenomenal central
performance from Wright. Wright has been one of my favorite actors for quite
some time, and it’s great to see him given the spotlight and finally garner
some well-deserved attention for his work. He’s great when Monk is at his most
indignant and self-righteous, but is even stronger when he gets to be more vulnerable.
While this film is ultimately about the commentary it’s making, the heart of
the story has to do with Monk and his family.
American Fiction succeeds
because, unlike the characters in the fake book Monk writes, everyone comes
across as a real person, and the issues they’re dealing with carry real stakes.
It’s a film that even Monk would approve of, and some of the best satire in
contemporary cinema.
7) The
Blind Man Who Did Not Want to See Titanic
Not
only is the excellently titled Finnish film
The Blind Man Who Did Not Want
to See Titanic one of the best of the year, it’s possibly the most
innovative film of the year when it comes to filmmaking. I’ve truly never seen
another film quite like it. The film is about Jaako (played by Petri
Poikolainen), a movie buff who spends most of his day conversing with his
long-distance girlfriend Sirpa (Marjaana Maijala). When Sirpa receives some bad
news, he decides to travel to meet her in person for the first time. The only
problem is that Jaako (and Poikolainen) is both blind and paralyzed from the
waist down, meaning that the journey to meet Sirpa is not going to be one he
can make without assistance. Even amongst the scant representation of
disability that we typically see on screen, this is a combination of physical
traits I’ve personally never seen portrayed on screen before, let alone by an
actor who shares the same traits. To see Jaako’s life portrayed with such
authenticity is fascinating and powerful on its own. In fact, when the plot
takes a dramatic turn towards the end of the film, it became less interesting
to me and feels manufactured and out of place—I would have happily watched
hours of Jaako simply existing (although, the film does have a perfect ending
that makes up for any plot missteps I may have felt it suffered along the way).
A major part of why this film is so compelling is because of Poikolainen’s
performance. It’s my single favorite performance of the year—utterly
captivating and human. If there is anyone reading this who does not understand
arguments for authenticity in casting, I urge you to watch this film. In an
able-bodied actor’s hands, you can see much of the acting for this type of role
focus on presenting the character’s physical attributes and getting them,
“right.” But since Poikolainen doesn’t have to think about getting those traits
right, he’s allowed to develop a much more interesting and well-rounded
character. In his hands, we get to meet Jaako the cynic, Jaako the scholar,
Jaako the romantic, etc. No actor this year portrayed as full a range of
emotion as Poikolainen does here. It’s an utterly raw performance, filled with
moments of profound joy, intense pain and embarrassment, and everything in
between.
Poikolainen’s great work is
aided by some truly brilliant filmmaking. Director Teemu Nikki and
cinematographer Sari Aaltonen shoot the entire film as a series of extreme
close-ups, pretty much always involving some aspect of Jaako. Usually we see
his face, but sometimes it’s his ear, or the back of his head, or his hand, etc.
Anything in the background—including other characters—is either blurred or not
in frame at all. This choice put a tremendous focus on Poikolainen’s
performance, and allows him to display the vast emotional range that he does.
But it also limits what we as an audience see. We don’t ever get to see Jaako’s
surroundings because, well, he doesn’t either. It’s a simple choice, but an
undeniably effective one—one that is jarring at first but which you ultimately
ease into as a viewer. A perspective that might have felt limiting or closed
off now allows us to see things in a way that is simply different, not worse.
You find yourself picking up on small details that you might have missed
before, such as facial tics or background noises.
The Blind Man Who Did Not
Want to See Titanic is a true marvel—a cinematic experience that is unlike
any other I’ve been lucky enough to experience this or any other year.
6) Past
Lives
The
title of the film Past Lives refers to the Korean concept of In-Yun—the
belief that when we are drawn to people in our own lives, it is because we had
some sort of connection with them in a past life. The very concept implies that
two people can have a relationship that defies the time they’ve spent together,
allowing them to understand each other on a much deeper level. It’s a beautiful
idea, and one that is convincingly brought to life in Celine Song’s debut
feature. Past Lives is about Nora (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo),
two childhood friends from Korea who manage to reconnect as adults after many
years apart. They live very different lives, but are nonetheless drawn to each
other, possibly due to In-Yun. This is an unbelievably romantic film, but it
explores romance more completely than most films in the genre would ever be
able to. In their relationship, we see all of the joy and discovery of a true
romance, but Past Lives also explores the other side of the romantic
spectrum and delves into the genuine potential for grief and hurt that
accompanies the highs that passion brings. Perhaps even more impressively, it
does so in an almost casual way—many of the scenes would feel mundane in
isolation, but when put together in the context of the film as a whole are
utterly devastating. It is almost unbelievable that this is Song’s first
film—it displays a certain confidence in its storytelling that is difficult to
capture even for more accomplished filmmakers. And, of course, she’s helped by
her wonderful cast. John Magaro is really wonderful as Arthur, Nora’s husband,
a role which the character himself acknowledges could have been the villain of
the piece. But thanks to Song’s script and Magaro’s performance, he’s one of
the more surprising characters of the year, and is a sympathetic presence in
what could have been a throwaway role.
But, of course, the reason this film is able to soar is because of the
performances of Lee and Yoo. There’s often talk of “chemistry” between actors
in films, but that almost doesn’t do justice to the work that Lee and Yoo are
doing. There is a simultaneous comfort and awkwardness to their work, and both
performances shine on their own, or when they’re paired together. Past Lives
is a film all about synchronicity, and truly every detail of this film from
the direction to the screenplay to performances coalesces perfectly.
5) Medusa
Deluxe
Despite
being released by A24 (the titan of indie film distribution), Medusa Deluxe
really didn’t get the attention it deserved. But based on the talent he’s
displayed with this debut film, I’m willing to bet director Thomas Hardiman
goes on to have an incredible career, and when that happens, this film is
destined to be revisited as a cult classic. Medusa Deluxe is a murder
mystery set at a hairdressing competition, where the death of one of the
competitors leads to various secrets and resentments amongst the people present
to be revealed. I’ve always loved a good whodunnit—I started reading Agatha
Christie in elementary school and never looked back—but it’s admittedly hard
for modern entries in the whodunnit genre to feel original or necessary. The
mystery at the center of Medusa Deluxe isn’t necessarily groundbreaking,
but the artistry and craft applied to the telling of the story undeniably
elevates it, making it my favorite murder mystery film in years. For one thing,
this film has one of my favorite aesthetics of the year. Hardiman and
Oscar-nominated cinematographer Robbie Ryan (who will likely get another
nomination this year for Poor Things) have filmed the movie to look as
if it is one long shot. This is always an effective trick for me when it is
done well, and ramps up the tension wonderfully. In Medusa Deluxe it
also lends the film a certain dreamlike quality, as the camera weaves in and
out of the action almost ethereally. As much as Medusa Deluxe engages in
traditional whodunnit tropes (mysterious figures, hidden violent pasts, lots
and lots of foreshadowing) there’s an omnipresent surrealism which I’ve never
seen applied to the medium before. It’s incredibly theatrical and really cool. But
the secret weapon in Medusa Deluxe is the cast. A great whodunnit needs
its ensemble of intriguing suspects, and Medusa Deluxe gives us some of
the best characters of the year. This is a true ensemble—each actor feels perfectly
in step with each other, and it’s wonderful to be invited into the world
they’re playing in. Individually, whenever any actor is speaking, you become
convinced that they’re the most interesting character in the film. Whether it’s
the dramatic show organizer Rene (Darrell D’Silva), his even more dramatic
partner Angel (Luke Pasqualino), ambitious and hard-edged contestant Kendra
(Harriet Webb), optimistic and devout contestant Divine (Kayle Meikle), or any
of this colorful cast of characters, you truly become invested in them and
their place in the glorious puzzle at the film’s center. But despite how strong
everyone is, special attention needs to be given to two performers. Heider Ali
plays Gac, a security guard who quickly becomes one of the more suspicious
characters on screen but who ends up bearing the unlikely duty of being the
film’s emotional center. Ali is phenomenal, and gives Gac a sensitivity that justifies
his character’s arc while still keeping him on our radar as a suspect. And,
most of all, there’s Clare Perkins as Cleve—an incredibly angry contestant who
may or may not be a murderer but is certainly capable of great violence. As
amazing as this cast is, Perkins is undeniably the standout, and gives one of
the best performances of the year. The whole film starts off with her giving a
monologue that immediately sets this film up for greatness. Perkins is
magnetic, and takes a role that easily could have become cartoonish and makes
her feel like the most real person on screen. I truly recommend people check
out this overlooked gem, and if you do, be sure to stick around after you think
the movie is done for an unexpected and delightful treat. You’ll need to watch
it to see what I mean, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.
4) Our
Father, The Devil
In
2022, at the Independent Spirit Awards, there was a surprise hidden among the
nominees for Best Feature Film. Alongside Oscar Best Picture contenders Tár,
Women Talking, and eventual Best Picture winner Everything Everywhere
All at Once was an as-yet unreleased film that didn’t even have its own
Wikipedia page (and still doesn’t). That film was called Our Father, The
Devil, a debut film from Cameroonian director Ellie Foumbi. Even by the
Spirit Awards’ standards, this was an obscure pick, and its inclusion felt
especially odd considering it didn’t receive any other nominations at the
ceremony. As someone who follows the world of independent film closely, even I
was going, “What on earth is this movie?” When it was finally given a quiet,
limited release a full eight months later I luckily had it on my radar, but
still didn’t know what to expect. And I was completely blown away by this film,
and can’t understand why it has gotten so little recognition. As great as Anatomy
of a Fall is, this is my favorite morality thriller of the year, and one
that should certainly be on more peoples’ radar. The film follows Marie
(Babetida Sadjo), a Guinean refugee who works at a retirement home in France.
Marie is confronted by the past she had long ago left behind due to the arrival
of the retirement home’s latest employee—a priest named Father Patrick
(Souleymane Sy Savane). While he acts kindly and is immediately beloved by all
of the residents and other employees, his appearance and voice are identical to
a fearsome guerilla soldier who tormented Marie and her family back in
Guinea—one who she believed had died years ago. Marie ultimately decides to
take drastic measures to determine Father Patrick’s identity and possibly enact
revenge for the unforgivable crimes he may have committed. I don’t want to say
much more than that—one of the greatest delights of the film is the way events
unfold, and I’d hate to spoil the surprises that Our Father, The Devil has
in store (especially as several of the film’s developments genuinely caught me
completely off guard). But while the plot twists and reveals are excellent and
satisfying, my favorite thing about Our Father, The Devil is that
they’re ultimately not WHY this film succeeds. As interesting as they are, this
film is ultimately a character study. Surprise revelations not just advance the
plot and intrigue, but ultimately help paint a complex portrait of both Marie
and Father Patrick as characters. Suffice it to say, Foumbi is helped by some
absolutely incredible performances at the film’s center. If this film had
gotten the attention it deserved, Sadjo and Savane would be raking in the
accolades for their dynamic work. It would have been easy for Father Patrick to
be simply an enigma, but Savane makes him fully realized as a person. His work
is vulnerable and confounding—at once demanding sympathy while making one
question his motivations at every turn. But the film undeniably belongs to
Sadjo. Marie is an absolute marvel of a role, and a Sadjo rises to the
challenge triumphantly. There is always a feeling of rage bubbling right below
the surface of the character—it’s a restrained and high-voltage performance
which exquisitely masters the emotional balancing act of fragility and menace.
This is a film that solves every mystery it introduces, but in the process
raises much grander philosophical questions about the nature of forgiveness,
the function of revenge, and just how much we are defined by our own history.
3) Kokomo
City
It’s
unfortunate that documentaries consistently struggle to gain public appeal.
With no shortage of love and attention given to reality TV and true crime, it
feels like documentaries should have an easy audience. And yet, film
distributors and audiences seem stuck in this idea that documentaries are not
for everyone. A film like Kokomo City proves how enjoyable, accessible,
and absolutely vital documentaries are and can be. D. Smith’s brilliant film
features four Black trans women (Daniella Carter, Dominique Silver, Koko Da
Doll, and Liyah Mitchell) as they discuss their lives as sex workers. But this
description doesn’t do justice to what Kokomo City has accomplished.
This film is a vivid portrait of these four women—intimate, thorough, and
engrossing. As can be expected from the subject matter, Kokomo City
already stands out due to its authentic glimpse into stories that have
typically not been shown on film. Smith and her subjects don’t hold back from
talking about the discrimination and the hardships they’ve faced, and it’s
frequently an emotional watch. But Smith isn’t interested in portraying her
subjects as victims. Smith’s gorgeous cinematography shows these women as
goddesses. This isn’t a film that wants you to wallow in the hardships they’ve
faced, but rather wants to shine a light on the joy and magnificence that each
one possesses. Kokomo City’s greatest triumph is in avoiding the
impulses of other documentaries to turn this into a series of sob stories, and
simply allowing these women to be their complete selves is an act that feels
revolutionary. It’s no surprise that such a film came from a director such as
D. Smith; once a Grammy-nominated music producer, she was forced out of the
industry after she transitioned, and eventually ended up homeless. She
considered turning to sex work simply to sustain herself, and became interested
in the stories of the women who had made that choice. Smith started making Kokomo
City during this time, using a single camera and a laptop to do so, and her
passion behind the camera resonates in a way no other filmmaker’s did this
year. Often documentaries fit into two camps: ones where the filmmaker is
directly involved and their presence is known on film, and more “fly on the
wall” films where the camera is never acknowledged. With Kokomo City,
Smith found the best of both worlds. Her absence on screen allows these women
to shine alone, giving a sense of intimacy and vulnerability. But her passion
and style behind the camera still gives us a strong sense of perspective.
One
of the subjects of Kokomo City, Koko Da Doll, was shot and killed mere
months after the film’s premiere at Sundance, and the film has since been
dedicated to her. After the film’s premiere, she posted on Instagram, “I will
be the reason there’s more opportunities and doors opening for transgender
girls…What you’ve done here for me is going to save a lot of lives.” It’s a
beautiful film on its own merits, but it’s a film with the potential for real
life impact. Kokomo City has received numerous accolades all year long,
although it sadly missed out on the shortlist for the Oscars. More than any
other film this year, I hope this film can continue to gain an audience. Any
person will be affected by it, and some might be genuinely saved by it.
2) The
Boy and the Heron
How
lucky are we all to be living during the time that Hayao Miyazaki is making
movies? One of the greatest filmmakers of all time, it’s no surprise at this
point that Miyazaki has turned out another masterpiece. But The Boy and the
Heron surpassed even my incredibly high expectations. It’s a wondrous, epic
adventure fantasy with emotional themes that will resonate with anyone, while
still clearly being a deeply personal film specific to Miyazaki’s own
experience and legacy. The Boy and the Heron tells the story of Mahito
Maki, a young boy who has recently moved to the country following a deep,
personal tragedy in his life. Upon arrival, he has a series of strange
interactions with a mysterious Grey Heron, who eventually guides him to a
magical world, where Mahito is immersed in the secrets of this magical world
and learns of the ways it has affected him and his family.
Possibly
more than any other filmmaker—in animation or otherwise—Miyazaki has tremendous
skill in making the concept of magic on film feel genuine. There is always a
sense of wonder to his work—and more specifically a sense of childlike wonder,
which might be why I have always personally responded best to the films where
the protagonist is a child. It’s a choice that just feels appropriate, and gives
his films a unique perspective. The worlds of Miyazaki’s films are filled with
monsters and danger, but his young protagonists frequently feel separate from
that—seeing the magic of the world around them while feeling impervious to the
dangers that such magic brings. In The Boy and the Heron, Mahito is
slightly different—before anything magical happens, he has already experienced
so much tragedy that The Boy and the Heron feels immediately darker than
most of Miyazaki’s films, and it was a choice that I found fascinating. Mahito
is more skeptical than most—his youth is no longer a protection from the
dangers of the fantasy world around him. In fact, Mahito feels more at home in
the world the stranger it gets—instead of teaching him something completely new,
it instead gives him clarity for what he already knew but never fully understood.
It’s a wonderful trick, and lends the film a certain maturity fitting for such
a late-career entry in Miyazaki’s filmography. The fantasy world here is as
enchanting as ever—like a Studio Ghibli filter being put on top of Pan’s
Labyrinth. And the visuals are utterly gorgeous. While it maintains the
classic aesthetic that has defined Miyazaki’s career, he has adopted new
techniques which allow him to evolve—the sense of motion in this film is truly breathtaking.
It’s one of the most gorgeous films of the year, both literally and
figuratively, and a film that will break your heart and thrill you in equal
measure. It’s a masterpiece, and whether it ends up being Miyazaki’s last film
or not, it is a sign that he still has much more to say and new ways with which
to say it.
1) Wes
Anderson’s series of short films inspired by Roald Dahl
Okay…I’m
cheating a little bit. My pick for my favorite film of the year isn’t just one
film, but a group of four short films. I’m fudging the rules because, hey, it’s
my list and I can ultimately do whatever I’d like with it. But also because
watching these four short films was my single favorite cinematic experience of
the year, and I think that makes them worthy of a mention. This year, Wes
Anderson adapted four separate short stories by Roald Dahl—The Wonderful
Story of Henry Sugar, The Swan, The Rat Catcher, and Poison—to make
a series of short films. While all separate films (and all excellent in their
own right) they are clearly a part of the same series, due to a series of
stylistic choices. For one thing, the same cast of actors—Richard Ayoade,
Benedict Cumberbatch, Ralph Fiennes, Rupert Friend, Ben Kingsley, and Dev
Patel—each appear in two of the four films (not counting Fiennes, who separately
appears in each film as Dahl himself). Additionally, the screenplays are unusual
in that the text is pretty much lifted word-for-word from the page, with
characters narrating directly to the audience as opposed to a more realistic
sort of dialogue. It all feels a bit like an experiment, but one which pays off
bigtime. The result of these stylistic choices means that each film feels like
a storybook come to life. Which, of course, is a perfect brief for a director
like Wes Anderson.
Wes
Anderson occupies an odd cultural place in the land of film discourse. He’s
known for his distinct aesthetic—one which is instantly recognizable yet seems
to be frequently misunderstood. One needs only to look at the number of AI
parodies of Anderson’s work that have been made in the past year to see just
how much people don’t give Anderson credit for his signature style. He’s much
more than “bright colors” and “symmetry,” there’s a handcrafted feeling that the
sterilized look of AI simply can’t capture. And while Anderson certainly has a
bag of tricks he likes to pull from, that bag is much bigger than people give
him credit for. As a screenwriter, Anderson is often philosophical—his characters
are in various forms of crisis, and at his best, Anderson has a lot to say
about life. But by taking the words directly from Dahl’s page, the script becomes
almost important. The film becomes ABOUT the craft itself, and using that craft
to tell a story. As such, this cycle of short films serves as a sort of artistic
statement from Anderson. It’s as if he’s saying, “This is what making movies is
about,” and I found this thesis to be absolutely convincing. These films were transporting
for me. I found them utterly enchanting, and, essentially, perfect. While I don’t
think every adaptation should utilize these techniques, it made me want to see
this method used for more stories down the line.
But
if these films are ABOUT the craft, that doesn’t mean the stories themselves
aren’t good. The centerpiece of this series is clearly The Wonderful Story
of Henry Sugar—of the four, it’s the longest, and the one that Netflix
entered to the Oscars for Best Live Action Short Film. It’s also easily the
most extravagant one, and the only one of these four films that takes place in
more than one setting. It tells the story, of course, of Henry Sugar (Cumberbatch),
a man who figures out a way to see through solid surfaces and sets out to use
this skill to cheat at gambling and make his fortune. It’s a fantastical fable,
and Anderson’s whimsical approach somehow makes the conceit at its center feel
plausible. It’s simply delightful, and I was already enchanted by watching this
film on its own. But I particularly love this film when it is paired with the
others in the cycle. The other three films are still quintessentially Wes
Anderson, but are much simpler and pared down from many of his typical bells
and whistles. They also delve into darker subject matter, and each one arguably
could be considered Anderson’s take on a horror movie. The Rat Catcher centers
around a genuinely disgusting performance from Fiennes, who is clearly having a
lot of fun being as creepy as possible. Poison (which had previously
been adapted into an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, which
Hitchcock himself directed) is a story about the careful efforts to stop a man
from being bitten by a poisonous snake, which turns into a commentary on
colonialism. The commentary isn’t much, but in such a simple story, it’s
undoubtedly effective, thanks in no small part to the performances from Kingsley
and Patel, whose work in the final moments is phenomenal. But my single
standout of these four short films has to be The Swan. One of the most
disturbing stories ever written, it should have been unfilmable, and the fact
that this film succeeds so effectively is nothing short of miraculous. The
Swan is about a young boy who is mercilessly tortured by two bullies, and
the story itself is gut-wrenching. I would personally argue that the story is
actually irresponsible—while Dahl isn’t endorsing the actions of the bullies,
it is an indulgent description of their actions, and for me falls into the category
of torture porn. The film is Wes Anderson at his most pared down. It’s the only
film to feature just one speaking actor (Friend, who acts as the narrator and
speaks the various characters’ dialogue) and features a number of stage hands
who hand him props and make this film particularly theatrical. Hearing the
words of The Swan said directly to you maintains the viciousness of the
words, but the way it is filmed allows us to process such viciousness without being
overwhelmed by it. It’s a telling of this story that is responsible without
watering down the ferocity of the characters’ actions. And as strong as all of
the actors are in this series of films, Friend is truly a standout here—the
calmness of his line delivery belying the sheer emotion he conveys.
This
series of short films is simply unforgettable, and works that I already know I
will return to for years to come. They’re an artistic achievement of the
highest order. There have been many discussions about the magic of movies, and
I can think of no better example of “movie magic” than these films. They’re perfection—and
a display of what happens when a great filmmaker offers the most distilled
version of his art.
And
there you have it. My favorite films of the year. Did your favorite make my
list? If you enjoyed this, be sure to check out my list of 100 favorite performances of the year. Here’s to another year of great movies!
