20. Everything Must Go
I was surprised by just how much Dan Rush's directorial debut moved me. The trailers made the film look like a middling series of indie-movie quirks; a slightly lower-key platform for Will Ferrell's antics. However, the film itself turned out to be something considerably deeper and sadder. Everything Must Go strikes a memorable tone which lingers with you: a spare matter-of-factness laced with weary humor. The film beautifully captures Raymond Carver's writing style; it's even stronger in this area than Robert Altman's masterful Short Cuts, which was a great movie but far more Altman than Carver. It's also one of the most effective portraits of alcoholism I've seen. Gone are the Oscar-bait histrionics of The Lost Weekend, Days of Wine and Roses and Leaving Las Vegas. Ferrell's alcoholism doesn't turn him into a raging tragedy, but rather quietly debilitates him. He's just drunk enough to prevent himself from doing anything well. Ferrell's performance is one of his best, and the relationships he develops with a neighbor (Rebecca Hall), a local kid (Christopher Jordan Wallace) and an old high school classmate (Laura Dern) feel atypically authentic. The movie has its share of flaws (some ill-advised gags, a couple of uncomfortable tonal shifts and a score which feels slightly off), yet its accomplishments have really lingered with me. Like A Single Man, it's one of those movies which is so much better than it really is.
19. The Adventures of Tintin
Among its many other accomplishments, Steven Spielberg's The Adventures of Tintin serves as a sharp reminder that our present-day golden age of animation has only begun to tap into the medium's potential. There are breathtaking shots and scene transitions in Tintin which gleefully inform the audience, "since it's animated, we can pretty much do anything we want." The movie is an adaptation of the popular comics by the beloved French artist Herge, whose sense of whimsy hasn't been diluted by Spielberg's delightfully frantic, idiosyncratic picture. Like Spielberg's Indiana Jones movies, the film is largely a callback to adventures of yesteryear (the comical manner in which it treats alcoholism is definitely a charming relic of the past) which transcends its inspirations with the aid of cutting-edge modern technology. It's just about as much fun as an Indy adventure too, though it's quite possibly the most weightless film Spielberg has directed to date (even 1941 had more heft that Tintin). That's not an insult, just a basic description: Tintin is designed to be an easily digested popcorn flick brimming over with grand jokes, colorful supporting characters and sweeping action set pieces. Sure, the title character is disappointingly thin: Jamie Bell's Tintin is a generic leading man (good-looking, well-mannered, resourceful and energetic) who is generally shoved off the screen by any supporting players he encounters (particularly Andy Serkis' endlessly delightful Captain Haddock, who eventually claims the movie as his own). Still, the film is so effortlessly good at so many things that it's alarmingly easy to overlook its countless virtues. The Adventures of Tintin is another of Spielberg's consummate entertainments.
18. Rango
One of the things I liked most about Gore Verbinski's work on the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise is that as the series progressed, the director began to use the vast resources the franchise granted him as an opportunity to explore the whims of his considerable imagination (the sequels were almost, I dare say, Gilliam-esque at times). In 2011, hired gun Rob Marshall took over the Pirates series and revealed that Verbinski perhaps played an even larger role than Johnny Depp in making that series entertaining and watchable. Meanwhile, Verbinski moved to the realm of animation and tackled Rango, one of the most joyfully liberated animated movies of recent years. Employing a distinctive animation style which fuses cartoonish character design with eye-popping detail and getting exceptional performances out of his actors with imaginatively-staged recording sessions, Verbinski gives us what feels like his purest work to date (though The Weather Man remains his best). Many animated flicks have paid tribute to other movies with visual gags and verbal riffs, but Rango builds the history of cinema into its DNA. The end result is a movie which feels like the strangely wonderful dream one might experience after a drug-enhanced movie marathon consisting of Chinatown, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly and A Bug's Life. Beyond all of that, it's just of lot of fun, delivering a supremely satisfying fish-out-of-water (er, lizard-out-of-terrarium) tale loaded with witty dialogue, clever sight gags and tremendous action sequences (particularly a soaring canyon chase which distinctly recalls Star Wars and Apocalypse Now). As in 2010, many of 2011's finest movies were largely built on an affection for older movies. Even so, Rango is the first one I've encountered which quite literally worships older movies. Its enthusiasm and invention are infectious.
17. Margin Call
2011 gave us numerous impressive directorial debuts (the aforementioned Everything Must Go, Sean Durkin's Marcy Martha May Marlene, John Michael McDonagh's The Guard, James Bobin's The Muppets and Joe Cornish's Attack the Block are among them), but the strongest was writer/director J.C. Chandor's Margin Call. Focusing on a handful of key figures over the course of 24 stressful hours at an investment bank, the film offers a insightful and surprisingly moving account of what went wrong and why. It works tremendously as a number-crunching thriller, but also takes detours into noir both visually and philosophically. Chandor reveals himself as a less self-consciously stylized David Mamet, offering his characters extended monologues which are by turns biting, profound, profane and sobering. The quality of the script must have been evident to nearly everyone who read it, because Chandor managed to get a huge supply of talented actors to chip in (Zachary Quinto, Jeremy Irons, Kevin Spacey, Paul Bettany, Simon Baker, Demi Moore, Stanley Tucci, Mary McDonnell), all of whom bring their A-game to the material. It's an angry movie, but one made more effective by its unwavering level-headedness and its empathy for the devil.
16. 13 Assassins
Takashi Miike has the distinction of being one of the world's most prolific (his IMDb resume makes Clint Eastwood and Woody Allen look lazy) and notoriously controversial filmmakers (his Audition contained some images which still unnerve me, and I don't think I can stomach the idea of sitting through Ichi the Killer ever again). Imagine my surprise when he unleashed 13 Assassins, a film so conventionally polished and classically constructed that it might have been directed by Kurosawa. To be sure, we've seen many films imitate/pay homage to Kurosawa's legendary Seven Samurai, but Miike's is the first I've seen which both respects and debates its inspiration. While a classic samurai thriller in construction, 13 Assassins upends a number of cinematic traditions and questions the notion of unwavering allegiance to the esteemed samurai code - particularly when that code clashes with more basic principles of morality. Beyond of all that, 13 Assassins is a terrific piece of entertainment, boasting well-drawn characters, impressive slow-burn pacing which eventually erupts into a relentless frenzy, a climax which draws a great deal from Leone (who drew a great deal from Kurosawa, making the initially off-kilter homage seem as strangely appropriate as a samurai breaking his sacred code to do the right thing) and a just a pinch of the supernatural. It's yet another recent movie which draws on the history of movies for its power, but it does so in a manner so understated that the casual viewer might not even notice. Miike insists that this represents the start of a new chapter for him as a filmmaker. One can only hope.
15. Jane Eyre
Charlotte Bronte's esteemed classic has been adapted for the big and small screen many times, but Cary Fukanaga's take on Jane Eyre is the most rich and rewarding to date. As with Joe Wright's Pride & Prejudice, the film impresses by infusing a familiar story which is often given the stuffy wax museum treatment with a real sense of passion and atmosphere. The film's use of natural light makes it one of the year's most breathtakingly beautiful visual experiences, and the sublime performances of Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender sell us on an unlikely and potentially creepy romance. Fukanaga quietly highlights the story's tawdry underpinnings without betraying the novel's sense of restraint, makes large cuts without damaging the core of the tale and is willing to allow audiences to pick up on certain things for themselves rather than spoon-feeding it to them via awkward exposition. Best of all, it's a period movie which feels very present (something which can't be said about so many adaptations of classic literature). Jane Eyre is a movie capable of stirring even the hearts of those who might ordinarily dismiss this sort of thing.
14. The Ides of March
There's a complaint I kept hearing about The Ides of March which bothered me a great deal: "It doesn't tell us anything we don't already know." Critics (even many who liked it) complained that the movie was delivering old news, but they completely failed to recognize that The Ides of March isn't supposed to be a wake-up call. It's a movie about the sad necessity of cynicism in today's political arena; a modern fable which puts many of our political system's most exasperating problems in dynamic, well-presented context. George Clooney's movie isn't intended as an informative experience so much as an empathetic one. The actor's liberal political inclinations are well-known, but his direction is unwaveringly classy and even-handed. This is a movie which avoids needless cheap shots for the sake of keeping the focus where it needs to be. The crisp direction, no-nonsense bustle and emphasis on character gives The Ides of March the air of being a present-day All the President's Men; though in this case the villain is simply too large and deep-rooted to be destroyed by something as laughably disposable as truth. It plays like a wake for idealism.
13. Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol
The first three Mission: Impossible films are strangely disconnected experiences; fairly self-contained exercises in style which contain little continuity outside the fact that the main character is played by Tom Cruise in all three outings (and even that's a little suspect, as Ethan Hunt seems to change dramatically from installment to installment). As such, it's a surprise to discover that Brad Bird's Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol is the first film in the series which actually seems to have an awareness of the movies which preceded it. Bird actually brings a sense of playful history to the table, and creates a movie which fuses the strongest elements of the earlier installments into an exhilarating piece of action-movie machinery. Bird's Mission: Impossible is a relentlessly exciting flick, hurtling from one massive set piece to the next with gleefully nimble wit and invention. After so many recent blockbusters which simply attempt to beat us into submission with noise and expensive-looking explosions, Ghost Protocol responds in thrilling fashion by actually constructing a great action movie rather than merely buying one. Though he had proven himself as one of the giants in the field of animation, Bird makes a surprisingly seamless transition to live-action filmmaking as he deftly juggles savory bits of humor, heart-pounding suspense, involving character development, rich locations and entertaining plot turns. From the Dean Martin-enhanced prison break to the unexpectedly resonant finale, Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol keeps us hooked. The series has always been entertaining, but Bird takes it to a new level of exhilaration. There were many rewarding movies in 2011, but my viewing of Ghost Protocol was the most fun I had in a theatre all year.
12. War Horse
Throughout War Horse, there were moments in which I began to grit my teeth and prepare myself for the worst. "Okay," I would think to myself, "This upcoming scene has been telegraphed to death, and I know exactly how it's going to play out and what sort of emotions it will attempt to inspire." Then, the movie would proceed to play out more or less as I had envisioned, and I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my face. There's no question that War Horse is a film which wears its heart on its sleeve, but Steven Spielberg's achingly sincere direction once again elevates material which might have seemed cheap in lesser hands. As with Schindler's List and The Color Purple, we aren't brought to tears by horrific tragedy but rather by moments of goodness and humanity in the midst of that tragedy. War Horse uses its title character as a vehicle through which we witness the worst and best of humanity; the presence of the innocent beast inspires small-scale dramas which make human conflict of all sorts seem petty (whether it's one country going to war against another or a poor farmer locked in a struggle with his landlord). Time after time, the director goes for broke and succeeds against all odds (particularly in a concluding series of shots which distinctively recall the warm, dusky, sprawling vistas of John Ford - in fact, Ford's influence can be felt all over the place), delivering a humanist fable which once again reminds us that Spielberg is unparalleled when it comes to finding truthful, resonant hope in the midst of horror.
11. Moneyball
Even if football has officially taken hold as America's obsession, baseball will always be America's pastime. Though we live in an age of steroids, frenzied trading and high-profile salary disputes, there's something undeniably romantic about the game. One of the most affecting elements of Bennett Miller's Moneyball - a movie largely devoted to taking us behind the curtain and giving us a look at the hard, cold, finance-driven world of baseball's upper management - is that it just can't bring itself to completely deny or suppress baseball's raw beauty. Billy Beane (played in persuasive, understated fashion by the increasingly mature Brad Pitt) is a General Manager who's been so thoroughly burned by baseball that he can't even bring himself to actually watch the games in person. Perhaps it's that distance which enables him to accept the idea of dispensing with conventional thinking, hiring a young number cruncher (Jonah Hill) fresh out of Yale to replace seasoned scouts and attempting to figure out how to build a capable team on one of the smallest budgets in the major leagues. Moneyball is alternately smart, inspirational and melancholy, though it's consistently subtle no matter which shade it employs. You smile even as your heart sinks; you sigh with admiration at baseball's elegant beauty even as you objectively observe what a cruel mistress the game can be. Though it's been suggested that Moneyball focuses on business rather than baseball to such a degree that it might not even be a sports movie, it most assuredly captures something truthful about the game in the midst of all the surprisingly engaging mathematical drama.
Any thoughts? Stay tuned for the top ten.
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