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

25 May 2015-05-25

Michael Parks and Justin Long in Tusk


Out This Week


Tusk (Sony, cert 15)

After the wobble of Red State, Kevin Smith seems to have got his midlife crisis out of the way and now roars back to form with a brilliant, and brilliantly discomfiting, grotesque comedy that sees shock podcaster Justin Long surgically turned into a human walrus by mad Michael Parks. The fact that Long has it coming is signified by his douchebag cheating on his superhot girlfriend, played by superhot Genesis Rodriguez, but nothing can really prepare us for the sense of pathos that Long conjures when he cries big walrus tears from out of his big brown eyes on realising his old human form has been irrevocably altered. It’s a heartbreaking film, absolutely fucking ridiculous and gruesome as hell all at the same time, and it’s only over the end credits that we hear the podcast (Smodcast) which sparked it all off, as Smith and fellow podcaster Scott Mosier goad each other with “top this” high concepts for the film. They are both crying with laughter.

Tusk – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Life of Riley (Eureka, cert 12)

Alan Ayckbourn’s farces typically feature middle aged, middle class married people getting themselves into emotional pickles. Very British. The great (and now late, this being his last film) Alain Resnais, having seen Life of Riley in Scarborough, where most of Ayckbourn’s plays have debuted, realised that, with little more than a translation, an Ayckbourn would work very nicely as the basis for the sort of witty sophisticated film that the French seem to be able to knock off effortlessly. And as if to prove the point, Resnais leaves a lot of theatricality intact in his production – actors walk through curtains, scene changes are flagged with sketches of different locales, backdrops are often painted. The actors (Sabine Azéma, Caroline Sihol and Sandrine Kiberlain are the women, Hippolyte Girardot, Michel Vuillermoz, André Dusollier the men) are no less theatrical, since they’re all playing bourgeois Brits who intersperse their gossiping about each other with rehearsals for an am-dram production, that’s when they’re not speculating on the latest amorous adventure of the terminally ill Riley, who has clearly had all three women in his time. And the women all want him to have them again before he shuffles off. It’s a sweet film, though the theatricality of the whole thing is a double bluff – this really is a stage play banged up onto the screen, and there’s far less of that intensely layered, disruptive, drama-versus-reality meta approach you’d expect if you’d recently seen Resnais’s previous film, You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet. But it is there, beneath the Yorkshire stone and the pints of flat warm beer. A slight, sweet farewell.

Life of Riley – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Big Hero 6 (Disney, cert PG)

Big Hero 6 is a Disney animated reworking of a little known Japanese-flavoured Marvel property. Disney have taken some liberties with the characters, hurting the professionally outraged by ditching the Japanese accents of the film’s human characters – Hiro, the bot-fighting kid with no interest in studying, until he discovers that his older college-going brother is part of some ubercool clique of savants who design and build bleeding-edge tech. Among which is Baymax, a big white marshmallow-y medical bot designed to heal, protect and serve. A National Health Service in android form, who can be persuaded to fight, if asked nicely. And once a dastardly villain arrives on the scene, riding a wave of endlessly reformable nanobots, off they go, Hiro, the dread dude, the skater geek, the hot girl, and so on, on a perky adventure. It’s a strangely uncharming film, with a Transformers-like insistence on movement and incident, humour that falls flat, earnest statements, calls to arms. The animation is sensational, though, and individual scenes are brilliantly done. But there’s little to hold the attention, no sense of threat, and the characters, even Hiro, are barely there at all. Without Baymax, a Gromit-like silent fount of wry wisdom, it would be unbearable.

Big Hero 6 – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Stretch (Universal, cert 15)

With films like Narc, Smokin’ Aces and The A Team on the resume, Joe Carnahan’s oeuvre (I’m sure he’d laugh at the use of the word) can look like the work of a man who went out on a lot of heady cocaine-blizzard nights in the 1990s, and never quite came back. This latest in the same vein is a “night from hell” affair for Patrick Wilson, ideally cast for once, as a bit of a chump and acting wannabe who makes ends meet by driving a stretch limo. To Wilson driving all over town, Carnahan adds an unnecessary voiceover, a redundant dead limo-driver buddy offering advice, a couple of fairly pointless deadbeat Russians, a distracting eccentric billionaire (uncredited Chris Pine overacting exuberantly), an irrelevant undercover cop team, a superfluous white homeboy and his bitches, and so on, a sticky tower of chaos, the filmic equivalent of a knickerbocker glory, with extra nuts and sauce and a flake stuck on the top. If life is what happens while you’re making other plans, Carnahan’s film is a case of same/same. There’s no big plot – something about one limo company stealing clients from another – just a series of unlovable, unlikely and improbable people piling on top of each other and having schlocky conversations. It’s Smokin’ Aces in the back of a car, pretty much. Most of the major food groups are missing. It’s great fun. Juliette Binoche is not in it.

Stretch – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Dream Home (Network, cert 18)

It’s taken five years for this Hong Kong shocker about a meek call centre miss murdering her way towards her preferred apartment – one with a harbour view – to arrive in this country. Maybe London’s overheated property market has prompted its arrival. The film itself doesn’t actually say much about property, though it’s keen to lay the blame for displaced people and the general anxiety about accommodation at the door of capitalism, and the film’s temporal setting, between the handover of Hong Kong to the Chinese in 1997 and the economic crash of 2007, reinforces that. But mostly it’s keen to show us gory stuff, the whole thing kicking off nicely with our heroine (Josie Ho) popping a plastic bag over a sleeping man’s head, then securing it with a zip tie, the camera going in close as he tries to cut the thing off with a badly wielded craft knife. Oh dear, blood everywhere. Later on we have a man stabbed in the neck with a broken bong, and a woman with a jagged plank of wood rammed right through her open mouth and into her brain cavity. I think it was the brain cavity, but to be quite honest when a barely dressed woman is staggering about with about four foot of wood sticking straight out of her gaping maw, you don’t always take everything in. Enough detail. You get the point. This isn’t a great film in terms of plot – too much backstory about this poor murderous woman being turned to the dark side by her family’s mistreatment by rapacious property speculators. As if we need to understand the exact motivation of a mad death-dealer in a slasher movie. But, I will say this, director Pang Ho-Cheung knows how to choreograph gore, understands that small trigger points are as squirm-inducing as showpiece stuntorama (the slicing of the webby membrane that separates thumb from forefinger, for instance), and has a keen appreciation for gruesome sounds. There are awful bloody gurgles that will keep a lot of people awake at night.

Dream Home – Watch it/buy it at Amazon




Kingsman: The Secret Service (Fox, cert 15)

The trailer makes it look great – a light-fingered street kid taken in hand by a suave gent, played by Colin Firth, a member of a secret spy organisation headed by a guy called Arthur, everyone else being named after a knight of the Round Table. Michael Caine, Mark Strong and Samuel L Jackson stoke up the anticipation too, as does Mark Hamill’s amusing turn early on as a bumbling old professor, about as far from Luke Skywalker as it’s possible to get. And for vintage gents like me, Firth’s use of a brolly as a weapon, and the use of Savile Row, St James’s and so on all lend a certain John Steed of The Avengers flavour (British 1960s Avengers) which is all rather jolly. And Matthew Vaughan directs, Jane Goldman writes – and they’ve had their moments, Kick-Ass, notably. But The Kingsman just isn’t good enough in pretty much every department – it’s underwritten and has an idiot plot, the music takes us places we’ve already arrived, the hero (Taron Egerton) is bland and irritating and his street gear is mysteriously 1990s. And it just hasn’t had enough money spent where it matters – even the wood panelling in the Savile Row tailors looks like a paint effect. Samuel L, again dressed in outlandish clothes, does another of his mad villain turns, as the megalomaniac handing out a sim card free to everyone in the world, a sim card that will, at the pull of this lever, render them all… end of sentence lost in the sound of mad cackling and moustache rustling. You can take issue with its underlying worldview – that it’s so much better to be posh than not – but that would be to dignify a film that isn’t worth spending any real time on, one that can’t decide whether it’s James Bond or Austin Powers.

Kingsman: The Secret Service – Watch it/buy it at Amazon





© Steve Morrissey 2015