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 even 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 is 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!

I am an Amazon affiliate

© Steve Morrissey 2015

17 August 2015-08-17

Tessa Thompson in Dear White People



Out This Week


Dear White People (Signature, cert 15)

A sharp, smart and almost breathless satire on race, racism, post-racism and the whole damn thing, set in an American university where an all-black college asks the question that all black people are asked in some way… integrate or segregate? This basic question – hard enough – is further complicated by the people it’s being asked of: the entitled, preppy student president (Brandon P Bell), the chippy mixed race DJ (Tessa Thompson) whose Dear White People radio show offers snarky advice on the state of current racial politics (“Dear white people, the minimum number of black friends needed to not seem racist has just been raised to two. Sorry, but your weed man, Tyrone, does not count”), the Afro-sporting kid (Lionel Higgins, a star) asking himself what mainstream black culture actually has to offer a gay nerd such as himself, and Coco (Teyonah Parris), the girl from the hood who wants fame, money, bling, – economic rather than racial freedom. Writer/director Justin Simien takes a similar balls-out approach to Spike Lee in Bamboozled. That also asked questions rather than sought answers, and turned over a few stones to reveal ugliness beneath. “Black people can’t be racist,” says Thompson’s Sam at one point, making a point that can be argued till the end of time, and simultaneously exposing this film’s one flaw – there’s so much contentious material, so densely packed, that you long for a bit of air. It’s certainly not coming from either of the potential sources of ventilation – the cabal of privileged white kids who run the satirical campus magazine, and the black reality-show TV producer looking for a firebrand of controversy to appear on his show. That flaw is a niggle. This is a brilliantly conceived, brilliantly written, funny, serious film.

Dear White People – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Still the Water (Soda, cert 15)

A swanlike film of extreme grace, though it’s thrashing away beneath the surface, Naomi Kawase’s coming-of-ager follows two cusping-teenage Japanese kids into the world of first love. If you’re not a fan of the pathetic fallacy, whereby interior emotions are signified by exterior events, stay away. Because waves crash and winds howl, rain falls in torrents, and out on the ocean the typhoon builds as the beautiful and precocious Kyoko tries to persuade bicycle-riding Kaito to be her guy. She’s even got sex on the agenda, something, Kawase suggests, this girl might have learned off an abusive relative. Kaito has sex on the agenda too – he’s pissed off because dad’s no longer around and his mother is shagging around – “at your age it’s disgusting”. This sounds – the unruly weather, the sexual agenda, generational discord – like the recipe for something brutish and unsubtle, but in fact the wonder of this almost Malickian film is how subtle and gorgeous it is. Kawase flows scenes together fluidly, interspersing dramatic encounters with the dynamic equivalent of pillow shots – water gushing, traffic teaming, crowds rushing. To the languor of Malick, the poetry of Ozu, the unfettered emotion of Douglas Sirk, I’m going to add one more – the subliminal manipulation of Claire Denis. By which I mean that by the time this quite wonderful film has ended, you’ll have experienced something, have been transported somewhere, and you won’t be quite sure just how Kawase did it.

Still the Water – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Love Me Like You Do (Lionsgate, cert 12)

About halfway through this one – about a freedom-loving railroad-riding guitar-toting hobo starting a tentative affair with a now-domesticated former minor music star, I realised I wasn’t watching a film at all. I was watching a rebranding exercise for its two stars. Ben Barnes, all covered in beard to hide the world-beating physiognomy, wants to be taken seriously as an adult actor, not as some himbo striking male-model poses in the company of a talking lion. Katherine Heigl wants to get away from romantic comedy, or possibly just wants a portion of the career potential back that seemed to be there after Knocked Up propelled her up the charts, and then 27 Dresses and a run of other duds took her down again. Barnes’s Ryan is a surprisingly clean singer just passing through Middle America en route for Portland; Heigl’s Jackie is in the middle of a messy divorce, is hurting inside and could do with a guy to put his arms around her. Aimed squarely at white-picket America and with made-for-TV looks, it’s got the unrequited longing of a Nicholas Sparks romance, the homespun folksiness of The Waltons and the musical style of Mumford and Sons, whose facial hair Barnes also borrows. Heigl, easy to hate, is actually very good at playing wounded women. Barnes… well he’s got a good singing voice but I’m not convinced he’s so great at psychological depth, though towards the end, after fairy dust has been sprinkled all around, he does tidy up the beard a bit to give us a squint at those cheekbones.

Love Me Like You Do aka Jackie & Ryan – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Pickup on South Street (Eureka, cert PG)

A sparkly restoration of Sam Fuller’s 1953 Noo Yoick crime drama starring Richard Widmark as a pickpocket and Jean Peters as the dame heading to a rendezvous with the Soviets, in her purse a microfilm of nuclear secrets. Of course he steals them, thinking they’re something much more easily tradable. The secrets are a McGuffin – this is the story of a man from the wrong side of the tracks and a woman who’s made the wrong choices. They’re destined for each other – if the various cops and spying agencies can be sidestepped – but along the way he’s going to smack her in the mush and she’s going to respond with a purr, Thelma Ritter is going to turn up as a stool pigeon and the word “Commie” is going to be bandied about a lot. Meanwhile the camera is swinging about on TV studio cranes, cops are drinking whisky while they’re doing the filing, the men are all wearing hats and the women are winking suggestively (to the audience as much as to the man they’re with) to indicate sexual congress is about to take place. It’s all immensely theatrical, nothing wrong with that, though Fuller tends to overdo the declamatory speeches, and the jazzy Ellingtonesque score helps give it exactly the sort of feel you want from something bearing the names Fuller, Widmark, Peters and Ritter. Peters is particularly good – a wounded toughie halfway between a film noir femme fatale and a more modern woman – one with agency. And she’s got a face that can take a close-up. Those eyes. And hasn’t Fuller spotted them? A classic B movie crime drama now polished so its blacks hum and its whites ping.

Pickup on South Street – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




A Funny Kind of Love (Kaleidoscope, cert 18)

A Funny Kind of Love is a compendium film pretending not to be, looking at sexual fetishism and how suburban it generally is. “I want you to rape me,” says wife Maeve to husband Paul, kicking off the first story. We cut to Richard and Rowena, whose sex lives are jazzed up when Rowena discovers she is turned on by crying. Cut to Phil and Maureen, whose sex lives revolve around a big fat zero until he discovers his penchant for fucking her while she’s asleep. And pinging about between these three couples is Steve, the new local resident who is obliged by law to apprise his neighbours of the fact that he’s a paedophile, which he does with a smile and a “nice to meet you” gift – some golliwog gingerbread men. Writer/director Josh Lawson pushes all these characters a satisfying extra comedic mile, apart from Sex-Offender Steve (who’s gone far enough already), in sketches that betray his background as a TV comedy writer. And right at the end, as if to confound that impression, he drops in an entirely unrelated story about a telephone operator who works at a signing relay for deaf callers – she speaks to them in sign language in vision over Skype then vocally relays the message on to its intended non-deaf receiver. Routine work, until she gets a call from a deaf man who wants to have phone sex and asks her to be the go-between. And what a great little story this is – of shifting powerplays at one level, genuine social discomfort (and comedy) at another, as the focus swings from horny Sam, to embarrassed Monica to practical Sonya. This comes to a head when Sonya has to momentarily take a break to feed her demented elderly mother and asks Monica to fill in. But I’m telling you the plot when I should be telling you to check out the film. The earlier stuff… funny. That last bit… inspired.

A Funny Kind of Love – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




The Town That Dreaded Sundown (Metrodome, cert 15)

A competent remake of the 1976 slasher whose referencing stretches to inclusion of actual footage from the original. So you get the infamous “death by trombone” sequence. The original film was based on a genuine series of murders carried out by a masked killer who worked by night, and director Alfonso-Gomez-Rejon also refers back to this original 1940s period too, to keep things more meta than meta. Refreshingly, he also keeps the “you fuck, you die” 1970s slasher morality of the original film, so as soon as you see a pair of panties slip or a head bobbing in the front seat of a car, you know that the masked man can’t be far away. So old school it’s new school, if you’re being generous. Gomez-Rejon also goes for a half-hearted discussion of whether horror films about real incidents are prurient – Bible thumpers shouting “real people died here” outside the drive-in where the 1976 film is shown once a year in the town where the actual murders happened (am I losing you?). It’s all very clever, though the film itself works perhaps best at this academic level, not so much because of this meta-approach, but because Gomez-Rejon is too keen to use it as a showreel. His lighting, camera and editing skills are all shown to great effect, but they’re in the service of the films he’d like to make in the future, not the one we’re watching now.

The Town That Dreaded Sundown – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




She’s Funny That Way (Lionsgate, cert 15)

Playing into and out of his film with Fred Astaire signing different Irving Berlin songs, the eternally nostalgic Peter Bogdanovich’s deliberately old-fashioned screwball comedy reminds us that he once directed What’s Up, Doc. Taking what might be described as the Barbra Streisand role here is Imogen Poots, her horrible Brooklyn accent the only real flaw in her performance as a call girl who bangs a theatre director (Owen Wilson), only to bump into him later at an audition after she’s decided she wants to pursue her dream and act. He’s with his wife, an actress (Kathryn Hahn). Who is being pursued by a fellow actor and ex-lover Rhys Ifans. Who saw Poots leaving Wilson’s room on the fornicatory evening in question. Poots is also being pursued by an elderly judge and his private detective, and is soon also being courted by the play’s writer, whose girlfriend (Jennifer Aniston) is an entirely unempathetic therapist, one of whose clients is the judge. And so on. In the best sort of screwball comedy these characters would dovetail neatly. They don’t quite here. But the actors are on their game, and get laughs where the script doesn’t have any, while Bogdanovich works hard at spinning all his elements into something resembling a froth. Enjoyable, if hardly essential.

She’s Funny That Way – Watch it/buy it at Amazon





© Steve Morrissey 2015