The Best Films of 2015

Caren Pistorius in Slow West

 

 

 

There’s a tendency among people who watch a lot of films to boost ones that stand out rather than ones that are good. This can lead to some perverse choices in the “best of” lists that proliferate at this time of year. So that probably explains the rogue nature of the list below – ha ha. If you’re expecting to find Spectre (not at all bad) or the latest Marvel movie or Jurassic World, look elsewhere. These are just the films, of the maybe 350 films or so that I’ve watched in the past 12 months, that jumped out and grabbed me. Some of them are 2014 releases.

 

 

 

 

Ten Best

 

 

Paddington (dir: Paul King)

Operating in Mary Poppins territory, this adaptation of Michael Bond’s books is charming, funny and clever, has jokes for kids and some more thoughtful though never intrusive observations for adults, integrates the animated bear from darkest Peru with the live action brilliantly and there’s even an action-star gag by support-playing baddie Nicole Kidman that’s aimed at ex-husband Tom Cruise.

 

Wild (dir: Jean-Marc Vallée)

The redemptive drama is a hard sell, but this one about a broken woman’s long trek to self-realisation works in every way. Reese Witherspoon is believably frail as the wee girl dwarfed by her huge rucksack (metaphor), director Jean-Marc Vallée uses music perfectly and does something many directors have forgotten all about – he structures his film visually, using the editing suite to full advantage. His compositional work is remarkable.

 

Ex Machina (dir: Alex Garland)

Just as we are realising that technology’s grip is icy, and Google might not be our friend, along comes Alex Garland’s directorial debut, a dystopian slab of hard sci-fi in which geeky Domhnall Gleeson falls for robot Alicia Vikander while hipster tech uberlord Oscar Isaac looks on. A three-hander – give or take – getting perfect performances from all concerned, and it glistens like a tiny, beautifully cut gem.

 

Kajaki (dir: Paul Katis)

A gaggle of British squaddies with names like Tug, Spud and Smudge wander into a minefield and suddenly their casually homophobic banter is replaced by focused professionalism and a sharp interest in staying alive. Gruesomely tense, horrific in its depiction of the damage inflicted by IEDs, is this the best British war film since Ice Cold in Alex? It’s a great war film by any standards.

 

It Follows (dir: David Robert Mitchell)

Sexual intercourse as an engine of death isn’t new in horror films, but It Follows finds a simple and brilliant new way of telling the story all over again – zombies who are “slow but not dumb” and might appear any time, any place, anywhere, dressed in nightwear or perhaps not very much at all. A lurchingly subjective camera, expressionistic framing and Disasterpeace’s Wendy Carlos-alike score help rack up the intensity even further.

 

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (dir: Ana Lily Amirpour)

The Muslim jilbab as a kind of vampire’s cape – what a brilliantly observed idea that is in one of the strangest horror films of recent times, which combines something of the mass-observation aesthetic of photographer Sebastião Salgado with the disjointed cool of early Jim Jarmusch. Shot entirely in California, yet clearly a film about and for Iran, it’s a fascinating, Middle Eastern take on the Let the Right One In “innocent vampire” genre.

 

Slow West (dir: John Maclean)

Michael Fassbender’s astonishing run continues with this out-of-nowhere debut by John Maclean, an exquisitely wrought western making clear its debt to old pulp novels and their love of hard-tack glamour and salty danger. Tense as hell, in fact the whole film is one long, slow build towards a great finale. And it looks the business too.

 

Aferim! (dir: Radu Jude)

There hasn’t been a great Romanian film for about ten minutes, but here’s a slightly different sort than what we’re used to – a historical picaresque following an 1830s cop and his son as they seek to capture a Gypsy and return him to his owner, a rich boyar whose wife has been too free with her favours. Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon inspires some of the look and pace of it, and Don Quixote is clearly also a reference, though Cervantes didn’t finish on as gruesomely gripping a high as this does.

 

Theeb (dir: Naji Abu Nowar)

It takes a while for it to sink in, but what we have in Theeb – as we follow the exploits of the youngest son of a Bedouin tribe in the Laurence of Arabia-era desert – is a story straight out of Rider Haggard territory. It’s the sort of ripping adventure that once upon a time emboldened Spielberg and Lucas to make Indiana Jones but is done without a cocked eyebrow here, with genuine danger, tough decisions, cruel fate and a bit of socio-economic background (the collapse of the Ottoman Empire) all adding spice.

 

Mommy (dir: Xavier Dolan)

With Tom at the Farm it became clear that Xavier Dolan was something of a genius. Mommy is further proof, a tough drama about the stumbling relationship of a flaky mother (Anne Dorval), her aggressive, firecracker ADHD teenage son (Antoine-Olivier Pilon) and their nervous neighbour (Suzanne Clément). It wears its emotions out there on a selfie stick – “fuck off” in this film often means “I love you” – and there are at least two scenes so powerful you might have to remind yourself to breathe.

 

 

 

Honourable Mentions

 

Victoria Almeida in What's Left of Us
Victoria Almeida drives the boys crazy in What’s Left of Us

 

 

Appropriate Behaviour (dir: Desiree Akhavan)

The life and times of a second generation Iranian, or of a confused bisexual, or of a girl in the big city, or of a struggling 20something – Desiree Akhavan gets it all just right in this through-the-fingers New York comedy.

 

Maps to the Stars (dir: David Cronenberg)

Still Alice won her the acting accolades, but Julianne Moore is actually better in this return to nightmarishness for David Cronenberg, as a fading star and member of a family for whom the term fucked really doesn’t cover it. The Player meets Sunset Boulevard.

 

Life After Beth (dir: Jeff Baena)

Aubrey Plaza gives it her absolute all as a newly dead zombie trying to have a relationship with old boyfriend Dane DeHaan – who finds her a whole lot more into him than she used to be – in a genuinely inventive comedy made all the better by the presence of John C Reilly and Molly Shannon as Plaza’s concerned parents. Dead funny.

The Tribe (dir: Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy)

Shot entirely in Lithuanian sign language, acted by first-timers and set in a school for the deaf where a new boy finds that the descriptor “sex and violence” barely covers what’s going on, this film sounds like a stunt – and it obviously is to some extent – but it’s a stunt that works. And the lack of dialogue is no bar to understanding when emotion this direct and action this unambiguous is concerned.

The Babadook (dir: Jennifer Kent)

There’s a touch of The Innocents in this highly atmospheric Aussie horror about a mother driven to desperation by her needy child. Or is it the child we need to feel worried for? Sure, it goes slack in the middle, and becomes over-focused on telling us that writer/director Jennifer Kent has seen a whole load of old horror movies, but wait for the finale – barking, scary and brilliant.

 

The Book of Life (dir: Jorge R Gutierrez)

A Mexican flavoured animation with a Day of the Dead theme and a plot with a distinct Orpheus and Eurydice flavour – she’s dead and he goes after her into the underworld (ish). The visuals are spaghetti western meets Ren and Stimpy, the songs are jaunty and mariachi-flavoured and the voicework (Ice Cube in particular) is exemplary.

 

Pictures of the Old World (dir: Dusan Hanák)

“The best Slovak film ever made”, the reputation of Dusan Hanák’s disarmingly simple documentary from the early 1970s – about the dirt poor lives of ancient peasants up in the back of beyond – is entirely deserved. “I’m going to die this year, I can feel it,” says one old timer. And that’s what it’s about – quite starkly. Death.

 

Two Night Stand (dir: Max Nichols)

Breakfast at Tiffany’s, The Pink Panther, It Happened One Night and The Dick Van Dyke Show are all in the mix in this subversive comedy about a girl (Analeigh Tipton) who has hook-up sex with a stranger (Miles Teller) and then gets stuck in his apartment. Old-school screwball romance follows, charmingly, smartly and at speed.

 

Predestination (dir: Michael and Peter Spierig)

Robert Heinlein’s sci-fi story All You Zombies provides the backbone for the Spierig brothers’ follow-up to the similarly idea-crammed Daybreakers, a “guy walks into a bar” tale of a hermaphrodite (Sarah Snook) who walks into Ethan Hawke’s bar and tells him a story about time travel and the paradoxes that erupt from it. Refreshingly hard sci-fi.

 

Frequencies aka OXV: The Manual (dir: Darren Paul Fisher)

Strip away the romance and what is human courtship about? Status, clearly, according to this lo-fi, highly fascinating film about “what happens when a high frequency meets a low frequency” – hot, smart girl meets average guy, in other words. It’s patchily acted and a bit speechy towards the end, but there are enough ideas in this bizarre film for about 12 Hollywood blockbusters.

Turned towards the Sun (dir: Greg Olliver)

A simple and revelatory documentary about 90-something poet and Second World War hero Micky Burn, a long-form visual version of a Daily Telegraph obituary whose power lies in the richness of Burn’s Zelig-like life. He was – just one for-instance – the guy in the secret radio room at Colditz.

 

What’s Left of Us aka El Desierto (dir: Christoph Behl)

A simple but powerful Argentinian zombie movie about a girl, a boy and another boy all locked up together in a house while the world goes to hell in a handcart outside. And inside, it turns out, once sexual dynamics and the fallout of a fetid love triangle start to exert themselves. Victoria Almeida is a powerful and provocative lead, the sexy counterweight to the hothouse atmosphere of death.

 

Tusk (dir: Kevin Smith)

Kevin Smith reminds us how good he can be with a film about a guy (Justin Long) being turned into a walrus by a demented surgeon (Michael Parks) while his much-cheated-on girlfriend (Genesis Rodriguez) searches for him. A simple film, it somehow manages to be funny and appallingly gruesome at the same time.

 

Face of an Angel (dir: Michael Winterbottom)

Michael Winterbottom’s drama takes the bones of the Meredith Kercher/Amanda Knox case and constructs a brilliant meditation on the modus operandi of the media, as well as a modern-day Dante and Beatrice tale in which film-maker Daniel Brühl is smitten by virginal Cara Delevingne, as anyone watching probably will be too.

 

While We’re Young (dir: Noah Baumbach)

Not-as-young-as-they-once-were couple Ben Stiller and Naomi Watts try to keep up with hipsters Adam Horovitz and Amanda Seyfried in a very Jewish New York comedy – smart, dry, a touch bitter – about the importance of being not just true to yourself, but of doing this absolutely and totally properly.

White God aka Fehér Isten (dir: Kornél Mudruczó)

Kicking off with a quote by Rilke, this unique Hungarian film is like a Disney animal flick about the adventures of a mongrel, except done as existential sci-fi – what exactly would happen if dogs had the same degree of consciousness that humans have?

 

The Salvation (dir: Kristian Levring)

Director Kristian Levring used to be a Dogme man, but shouts “I’m so over all that now” with this remarkable western that’s like a fusion of Sergio Leone, John Ford, Sam Peckinpah and Robert Aldrich, with a perfectly cast Mads Mikkelsen as a Clint Eastwood-alike quester after vengeance. If looks could kill…

 

Run All Night (dir: Jaume Collet-Serra)

Another of Liam Neeson’s geri-actioners, though this time he’s back with director Jaume Collet-Serra for a deliberately retro dash for the finish in which strong, silent Neeson takes on the good guys, the bad guys and eventually the whole of New York. Hugely overwrought, entirely satisfying, it’s genre done properly.

 

Still the Water aka Tutatsume no mado (dir: Naomi Kawase)

If Douglas Sirk had been Japanese he might have come up with this overheated love story about teenage lovers hedging towards full penetrative sex as the waves crash, storms rage and their families conspire against them. Leisurely, beautiful, lusty and lovely, an unusual mix of the entirely natural and the gigantically metaphorical.

 

Phoenix (dir: Christian Petzold)

The latest of a string of dark, intelligent films that director Christian Petzold and actor Nina Hoss have made together is a revenge drama set in the aftermath of the Second World War where Hoss, just released from a death camp, is recruited by her own husband to play his dead wife – he doesn’t recognise her, obviously – and she plays along. Oh deary deary me.

Marshland aka La Isla Mínima (dir: Alberto Rodriguez)

Stunningly good-looking policier about an ageing Franco-supporting cop and his younger more democratic sidekick investigating a murder out in the photogenic Guadalquivir marshes in 1980. Brilliantly acted and shot, with locations and music to match, it’s even got does a car chase in an entirely new way. Did I mention how good it looks?

 

Little Accidents (dir: Sara Colangelo)

Old school 1970s-style humane ensemble drama with a standout Boyd Holbrook as a survivor of a terrible mining disaster whose testimony about the event at an upcoming hearing are going to decide the futures of a whole lot of people in town. An ambling drawl of a movie, with Elizabeth Banks and Jacob Lofland almost as good as Holbrook, surely a star of 2016.

Turbo Kid (dir: François Simard, Anouk Whissell, Yoan-Karl Whissell)

Utterly on-the-nail pastiche of 1980s straight-to-VHS movie-making, a post-apocalyptic Total Recall meets Mad Max story of a BMX-riding kid, called Kid, gaining special powers, falling for a special girl (a special Laurence Leboeuf) and saving the world. Funny and gory, with in-jokes for nerds, and a fabulous John Carpenter-like soundtrack by Le Matos.

 

Mad Max: Fury Road (dir: George Miller)

Pedal-to-the-metal furious punk-funk madness, with a barely speaking Tom Hardy as Max, the road warrior on the road with badass Charlize Theron (the film’s real star) while director George Miller obsessively choreographs the relentless chase/action mayhem around them.

 

Tomorrowland (dir: Brad Bird)

Whatever happened to the futurism of jet packs and flying cars? Brad Bird answers the question with jaw-dropping visuals in a modern-day Wizard of Oz quest-adventure coolly received by critics with ass/elbow disassociation disorder.

 

Cop Car (dir: Jon Watts)

Another of those great Kevin Bacon movies he comes up with every few years, with our guy as a really bad cop on the trail of a couple of kids who have nicked his car, unaware there’s something in the boot they really don’t want to be discovering. A high-concept B movie of real distinction, lean, simple and with smart, believable dialogue, especially for the kids.

 

Palio (dir: Cosima Spender)

A remarkable documentary about the Palio, a horse race run in Siena, Italy, twice a year, which takes such pains to introduce us to its characters – chiefly, the young buck hoping to steal the grizzled champion’s crown – that when the race kicks off, you’re really in the medieval square with the riders.

Minions (dir: Kyle Balda, Pierre Coffin)

After the boring Despicable Me 2, who’d have thought that a spin-off – the backstory of Gru’s little yellow helpers – would have worked this well. Brilliantly animated and written, it’s a breathless, idea-packed, funny, inventive animated comedy.

 

I Believe in Miracles (dir: Jonny Owen)

Even if you have no interest in the 1970s, or British football, or managerial legend Brian Clough, this documentary about his astonishing success and idiosyncratic style will have you hooked. “The most charismatic man I ever met,” says one former player, part of the team of underdogs he willed to European Cup success, twice.

 

 

And if you want to watch or buy any of the films, this Amazon link will allow you to do just that – enjoy!

 

 

© Steve Morrissey 2015

 

18 May 2015-05-18

Alicia Vikander in Ex Machina

 

Out This Week

 

 

Ex Machina (Universal, cert 15)

Joining Gravity and Interstellar, as well as a host of lower budget films, Ex Machina shows we’re in a golden age of sci-fi, this film’s theme being consciousness and whether the Turing Test has been passed: that a robot has become intellectually indistinguishable from a human. Or is it the Test itself that’s being tested?

Domhnall Gleeson is the geek brought in by his messianic megatech wizard boss (Oscar Isaac) to give the yay or nay, Alicia Vikander is the robot he clearly falls for the very first second he claps eyes on her – and with face, breasts and buttocks Vikander’s own, while the rest of her is a cyborgian chrome and perspex geeknip, you don’t wonder why.

A degrunged Blade Runner, a hi-tech Pinocchio, this is a “becoming human” story, with Alex Garland showing he’s as adept at directing as he is at knocking out his thriller-tinged novels.

Sensibly, for a debut, much of the action takes place in the simple, aseptic environment of Isaac’s Bond villain lair. Isaac again overacts but in a good cause here as the hipster-bearded, beer-chugging bad guy, while Vikander (all sibilant Abba esses) and Gleeson are far more nuanced, she letting us know that this is a robot who might be a lot more aware and self-aware than even Alan Turing could imagine possible, he a collation of lovability, nerdiness, decency and perpetual alertness – the underdog as puppy dog.

The soundtrack by Ben Salisbury and Portishead’s Geoff Barrow adds another layer to the modernist visuals – deep synth rumble with bright spangles jangling over the top. It’s well worth cranking up.

Ex Machina – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

 

 

 

Whiplash (Sony, cert 15)

What to do when extreme teaching become outright bullying?

In the story of drumming wannabe Miles Teller and his brutal tutor (deservedly Oscar-winning tutor JK Simmons), the transaction swerves the discourse of abuse and is instead couched almost in commercial terms – with caveat emptor as the throughline.

But enough of the bollocks, let’s get to the plot. A scant one. Teller is the Buddy Rich fan at a music conservatory trying to bag a place on the school’s jazz orchestra. Simmons is the tough nut asking a high price of anyone who wants to join: total commitment.

And that’s it. In scene after scene Teller applies shoulder to wheel, and Simmons pushes back, most spectacularly. Not since R Lee Ermey berated his soldiers in Full Metal Jacket has there been a better demonstration of aggressive mentoring, and the dialogue is similarly salty – “you weepy willow shitsack” “you pathetic pansy-assed fruitfuck” – and so on. And Teller sucks it up.

It is the traditional “follow your dream” Hollywood film, dirtied up almost beyond the point of recognisability, and it also delivers some absolutely archetypal Hollywood thrills, the big finale finish being the standout.

Why it doesn’t feel formulaic is because Simmons is just coy enough to keep the true nature of his personality guarded to the end – is he a sadist who’s somehow been given charge of callow young minds, or a good guy who can’t let on that this is tough love, but love all the same? He’s fantastic. Teller’s great too.

Whiplash – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

 

 

 

Altman (Soda, cert 15)

Robert Altman’s naturalistic style has become part of the language of cinema – the overlapping dialogue in particular – so it’s hard now to see how revolutionary he was. But Ron Mann’s admirable and informative documentary does it, giving us on the way a lot of footage that’s otherwise probably never going to be seen – Altman’s early years in industrial films, then directing for TV, both of which meant he knew how to shoot cheap and fast. “I became one of the top TV directors” says Altman in an extract of the archive interviews which are used well to give a flavour of the man.

Mann also drops in slightly arch declarations to camera from people who worked with Altman (James Caan, Elliott Gould, Robin Williams and Julianne Moore among them) explaining in bullshit terms what “Altmanesque” means (courageous, noble, revolutionary, godlike etc etc).

Otherwise this documentary is full of great stuff – how Altman quit when the sponsors of a TV series he was working on wouldn’t let him cast a black actor; how Jack Warner fired him for letting the actors talk over each other’s lines; how Altman’s film about pot smoking got him the gig on Mash (he was something like 18th choice). And how, even after this point, when he was one of the big names of the early 1970s, he struggled to work because he didn’t want the back office messing with his films. “I make gloves and they sell shoes,” declares Altman.

If you’re a fan, this is must-watch stuff. If not, shouldn’t you be?

Altman – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

 

 

 

A Most Violent Year (Icon, cert 15)

JC Chandor has given us two marvels so far – Margin Call, an ensemble piece which made the financial crash not only sexy but also vaguely comprehensible, then All Is Lost, a 180 degree about-turn of a drama about a lone yachtsman’s in peril on the high seas.

In A Most Violent Year he reaches back a few decades ambitiously trying to invoke Sidney Lumet, Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola in a thriller (Lumet), set in New York (Scorsese) about a businessman about to make his dynastic (Coppola) leap.

It is all a bit self-conscious, though Chandor puts enough flare in the lens and Marvin Gaye on the soundtrack to almost convince us we’re in the 1970s.

Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain are the Lord and Lady Macbeth (Morales, in fact) of local oil distribution, and Chandor follows them as they negotiate an extremely onerous deal on some new storage with a local Hasidic Jew, the catch in the Shylockian contract being that if Morales can’t come up with the rest of the payment, he will forfeit a deposit so huge it will destroy him. And then Chandor throws everything in the way of the Morales duo to make this eventuality increasingly likely – accounting irregularity, union trouble, rival businesses, gangsters, the law, even a wobble in the marriage.

Oscar Isaac plays Abel Morales (that name… c’mon) as a young Pacino, Chastain goes for Jessica Lawrence in her portrayal of the brassy wife, while cinematographer Bradford Young slaps on a lot of nicotine filtration, even in his barely lit interiors.

If there were a tragic flaw in Abel Morales’s character, it might all add up to something epic. As it is, it’s all very plausible, though never entirely credible. Nice to see Albert Brooks again, though, out-acting Isaac in every scene he’s in.

A Most Violent Year – Buy it/watch it at Amazon

 

 

 

American Sniper (Warner, cert 15)

What with Clint Eastwood’s dead-chairing of President Obama at the Republican National Convention in 2012, a war film from him with the title of American Sniper (against the more Democrat-leaning American Gigolo, American Beauty, American Graffiti, American Psycho and American Hustle, maybe?) does look like a provocation.

In fact the film is an admirably cool and remarkably standard “war is hell” affair, Clint deciding to take the Kathryn Bigelow Hurt Locker route of loving the man but hating the conflict, or at least saying very little about it. That’s wise. After all, 50 per cent of the audience probably aren’t Republican. Factor in the demographics of moviegoers/viewers and it’s probably more than that.

So, business matters out of the way, what do we have? A rather good movie, actually, Bradley Cooper resting his smirk to play real-life hotshot Chris Kyle, the naturally gifted marksman, rodeo toughie, straightforward but not stupid all-American guy who became a crack sniper out in Iraq, where he becomes known simply as “the Legend”.

As said, the arc is surprisingly familiar, though Eastwood shows you can teach an old dog new tricks – his direction is fresh, raw, tight, often handheld, and Cooper is in a lock-step with a focused, obsessive performance as a man whose interior life is very very interior indeed.

Working against them is Jason Hall’s screenplay, which starts bright and fast but then gets repetitive as one scene about Kyle’s deteriorating mental state follows another, things coming to a bit of a sorry finish when the film seems to just stop, rather than conclude… but, hey, that’s real life, I suppose.

Round the edges there is another brilliant performance by Sienna Miller as Kyle’s increasingly desperate wife. Nice to see her back (Foxcatcher was so fleeting it barely registered).

American Sniper – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

 

 

 

Into the Woods (Disney, cert PG)

I pause before Sondheim, because I simply don’t get him.

The words, yes, those I love – his facility with a rhyme and a rapper’s ability to swing a rhythm. But the tunes, which to me often sound as if he’s taken a song from a proper musical such as Oklahoma!, thrown away the melody and kept the counterpoint, then set another, even more distant counterpoint against that. Again and again. Running up and down a modal scale is not what I’d call a tune.

This minor impediment apart, I actually rather enjoyed Into the Woods. I think it was the performances – Meryl Streep as the witch (largely borrowed from The Wizard of Oz) instructing a baker (James Corden) and his wife (Emily Blunt) to collect talismanic items from various fairytale characters – Jack the Beanstalk’s cow, Red Riding Hood’s cape, Rapunzel’s hair, Cinderella’s glass slipper – their reward being a bun in the oven for her.

The singing and acting is almost universally fine, particularly Corden and Blunt, though I could have done without the Broadway honk of Red Riding Hood (Lilla Crawford) and the latest dressing-up-box turn from Johnny Depp as the Big Bad Wolf.

Director Rob Marshall (of Chicago) resists the urge to make things cinematic, doing a lot with theatrical smoke and lights, throwing the emphasis back on Sondheim’s words and melodies, which are largely winning the battle to have the fairytale cake and eat it.

Into the Woods – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

 

 

 

© Steve Morrissey 2015