Listmania ’12: Performances Of The Year

For regular visitors to the Land of Caruso-Shades the realisation that Listmania! isn’t even halfway over yet won’t be too much of a surprise, but for everyone else who stumbles across this, I’ll wager the emotion is something akin to what it would be like if your soul wanted to vomit ectoplasm. Listmania! never ends! As soon as I finish the next ::checks WordPress dashboard:: ::winces:: three to four posts I’ll be thinking about the next series of Listmania! posts, wondering if the movies I see at the start of 2013 will still impress me by the end (fyi The Grey was one of the first films I saw in 2012 and I was still in love with it twelve months later. Good work, @Carnojoe.)

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Of course this list took longer to do than I’d planned, as we were catching up on movies I’d wanted to watch for the main lists. Django! Zero Dark Thirty! The Paperboy! And two of them were very good, while one of them was… ::thousand-yard stare::, but whaddayaknow, I was right to put Avengers at the top of the best list. I honestly thought Django would easily beat it but to do that it would also have to beat Inglourious Basterds, and it doesn’t, at all, and I should have realised that because Basterds is a goddamn masterpiece. I liked Django all right but I didn’t flip for it, even despite the righteous carnage inflicted upon Whitey by the brilliantly realised hero.

In fact I think I liked Zero Dark Thirty more, which I didn’t expect. And yet even that wasn’t better than The Avengers. Yes, Jessica Chastain is very impressive and Kathryn Bigelow’s direction is forensically precise and admirable, and the entire cast is fantastic, full of SoC favourites from supernaturally charismatic Jason Clarke to Chris Pratt (utterly incapable of not giving a funny spin to every line) to Kyle Chandler and his Parted-Hair-of-Efficient-Bureaucracy, but it doesn’t feature the God of Thunder holding his arm out for a scarily long time, summoning Mjolnir through a flying helicarrier’s wall, and then twatting the Hulk with it. Nothing tops that.

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Okay, here are the performances of the year, both good, bad and miscellaneous. I’ve spent way longer than usual on this but as ever I just know I’ve forgotten something. Sorry, whoever you were that I loved / hated. Quick caveat, as ever! When I say “Worst Performance” that is meant to direct my ire at the work in this performance alone, and is not a value judgement on them in general. Some of the people on those lists are actors / actresses I really like, but they were poorly directed or made poor choices and ruined or negatively affected the movie they were in. I’m sure they will understand.

Best Performance by an Actress: Marion Cotillard – Rust and Bone

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Honorable Mentions:

Jennifer Lawrence – The Hunger Games

Andrea Riseborough – Shadow Dancer

Meryl Streep – Hope Springs

Emmanuelle Riva – Amour

Anna Kendrick – Pitch Perfect

Best Performance by an Actor: Joaquin Phoenix – The Master

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Honorable Mentions:

Liam Neeson – The Grey

Denis Lavant – Holy Motors

Toby Jones – Berberian Sound Studio

Michael Fassbender - Prometheus

Tommy Lee Jones – Hope Springs

Best Supporting Performance by an Actress: Dame Judi Dench – Skyfall

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Honorable Mentions: 

Doona Bae (as Sonmi-451) – Cloud Atlas

Olivia Thirlby – Dredd

Linda Bright Clay – Seven Psychopaths

Mia Wasikowska – Lawless

Ann Dowd - Compliance

Best Supporting Performance by an Actor: Christopher Walken – Seven Psychopaths

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Honorable Mentions:

Michael Shannon – Premium Rush

Leonardo DiCaprio – Django Unchained

James Gandolfini – Killing Them Softly

Philip Seymour Hoffman – The Master

Gary Oldman – The Dark Knight Rises

Most Likable Ensemble Cast: The Avengers

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Best Individual Voice Work: Hugh Grant – The Pirates! In An Adventure With Scientists

Best Voice Cast/Direction: Chris Fell / Sam Fell – ParaNorman

Breakthrough Performance by an Actress: Quvenzhané Wallis - Beasts of the Southern Wild

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Breakthrough Performance by an Actor: Ernst Umhauer – Dans La Maison

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Best Performance by a Singer (Female): Kylie Minogue - Holy Motors

Best Performance by a Singer (Male): Tom Waits – Seven Psychopaths

Best Performance by a Film Director: Werner Herzog – Jack Reacher

Best Cameo: Harry Dean Stanton – The Avengers

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Honorable Mention: Vincent Gallo – 2 Days in Paris

Franchise-Saviour of the Year: Josh Brolin – Men in Black III

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Best Recasting of the Year: Edward Norton (a not-quite-convincing Bruce Banner in The Incredible Hulk) becomes Mark Ruffalo (charming but dark, funny but tragic; the definitive Bruce Banner, in The Avengers)

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Most Improved Performance Of The Year, Which Isn’t A Surprise As He Was Working With David Cronenberg And He’s Never Made A Movie That Didn’t Have An Excellent Lead Performance: Robert Pattinson – Cosmopolis

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“I Think You Should Work Exclusively With The Wachowskis And / Or Tom Tykwer From Now On Because They Made You Raise Your Game 1000% For This” Performances of the Year: Halle Berry (as Luisa Rey and Meronym) – Cloud Atlas

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Best Performance That Doesn’t Really Match The Tone Of The Film, Thus Leading To A Weird, Discombobulating Effect Where You Think, “This Is Really Good But I Kinda Hate It”: Tom Cruise - Rock of Ages

“See? I Told You He Could Act, But I Still Kept Getting Pushback Even After I Said He Was Amazing In The Lincoln Lawyer And Bernie Which, I Get It, Nobody Saw, But Now This Year Everyone’s Acting Like They Always Liked Him And I Call Bullshit On That, Cuz I Have A Very Long Memory For Shit Like This, You Have No Idea, So Don’t Come Around Here Acting Like You’re His Biggest Fan When He Starts Getting Oscar Buzz For Jeff Nichols’ Mud, I’m Fucking Serious” Performances of the Year: Matthew McConaughey - Magic Mike / Killer Joe / The Paperboy

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“You’re So Much More Interesting As An Actor When You’re Not Just Shrieking ‘OPTIMUUUUUUUUS’ At A Gaffer Holding A Cardboard Cut-Out Of A Big Robot” Performance Of The Year – Shia LaBoeuf – Lawless

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“You’re So Much More Interesting As An Actress When You’re Not Having To Wastefully Bounce Your Personality Off A Charisma Tar-Pit Like Gerard Butler And You Get To Work With A Director / Writer Who Trusts You And Gives You Funny Material” Performance Of The Year – Jennifer Aniston – Wanderlust

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Honorary McConaughey Award For Being So Much Better Than People Give Him Credit For, Especially In This: Seann William Scott – Goon

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“I Really Hope You Get To Have The Career My Hero Chiwetel Ejiofor Almost Got Before Ending Up Playing Second Fiddle To Actors Significantly Less Talented And Appealing Than Him Because Dammit, You’re Just As Good” Performances of the Year: David Oyelowo – Jack Reacher / The Paperboy (and Lincoln and Red Tails, which I haven’t seen yet)

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“Good Work Making This Undistinguished Movie Seem Better Than It Was, But I Do Hope You Get To Diversify Soon Because Even Though This Incremental Step Away From Your Stock Character Is A Promising Move You Need To Really Push It Now, IMO, Or You’ll End Up Like Ken Jeong, Just Doing The Same Thing Over And Over Again, And Look Where That Got Him, I Mean He’s Been In Two Michael Bay Movies In A Row, And I Don’t Think That’ll Ever Happen To You, Because Bay Only Ever Recognises Women If They’ve Been In Their Smalls In FHM, But Something Similarly Restrictive Might Happen, And We Don’t Want That” Performance of the Year: Aubrey Plaza – Safety Not Guaranteed

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Scenestealing Actress of the Year: Anne Hathaway - The Dark Knight Rises

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Scenestealing Actor of the Year: Bill Nighy – Wrath of the Titans

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Best Career Moves of the Year (Actress): Marion Cotillard - The Dark Knight Rises / Rust and Bone

Honorable Mention: Emily Blunt - Looper / Your Sister’s Sister (and less so, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen / The Five-Year Engagement)

Best Career Moves of the Year (Actor): Channing Tatum - Magic Mike / The Vow / Haywire / 21 Jump Street

Honorable Mention: Scoot McNairy - Argo / Killing Them Softly

Worst Performance by an Actress: Rosamund Pike – Jack Reacher

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Dishonorable Mentions:

Julia Roberts - Mirror, Mirror

Reece Witherspoon – This Means War

Jennifer Westfeldt – Friends With Kids

Milla Jovovich – Resident Evil: Retribution

Katherine Heigl - One For The Money

Worst Performance by an Actor: Tyler Perry – Alex Cross

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Dishonorable Mentions:

Ben Stiller – The Watch

Chris Pine – This Means War

John Cusack – The Raven

Ryan Reynolds – Safe House

Adam Scott – Friends With Kids

Worst Supporting Performance by an Actress: Chelsea Handler – This Means War

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Dishonorable Mentions:

Alice Eve – The Raven

Elizabeth Banks – What To Expect When You’re Expecting

Rebel Wilson – Pitch Perfect

Famke Janssen – Taken 2

Eva Green – Dark Shadows

Worst Supporting Performance by an Actor: Vince Vaughn – The Watch

Dishonorable Mentions:

Ed Burns – Alex Cross

Dev Patel – The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Ben Mendelsohn – The Dark Knight Rises

Rhys Ifans - The Five-Year Engagement

Luke Evans – The Raven

Least Likeable Ensemble Cast: Project X

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Worst Individual Voice Work: Ed Helms – The Lorax

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Worst Voice Cast /Direction: Chris Renaud / Kyle Balda – The Lorax (Bonus fuck-you’s for video linked to Mazda’s YouTube account)

Franchise-Doomer of the Year: Taylor Kitsch – John Carter / Battleship

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Worst Performance by a Singer (Female): Macy Gray – The Paperboy

Worst Performance by a Singer (Male): Ben Drew (aka Planb, whatever the hell that means) – The Sweeney

Worst Performance by a Film Director: Seth McFarlane – Ted

Worst Cameo: Chuck Norris - The Expendables 2

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Most Wasted Actress: Naomie Harris - Skyfall

Most Wasted Actor: Brendan Gleeson - Safe House / The Raven

Most Entertaining Performance by an Actress in a Bad Movie: Erika Sawajiri – Helter Skelter

Honorable Mention: Rosemary DeWitt – The Watch

Most Entertaining Performance by an Actor in a Bad Movie: Nicolas Cage – Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance

Honorable Mention: Will Forte – The Watch

Most Bafflingly Busy Actress of the Year: Maggie Grace (Taken 2 / Lockout / The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2)

Most Bafflingly Busy Actor of the Year: Mark Duplass (Safety Not Guaranteed / People Like Us / Your Sister’s Sister / Zero Dark Thirty)

Oddest Recasting Of The Year, As I Didn’t Know They Had Hair Dye In The Greece Of Ancient Myth: Andromeda in Clash of the Titans (played by brunette Alexa Davalos) becomes Andromeda in Wrath of the Titans (blonde Rosamund Pike)

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Best Accent: Emily Blunt –  Looper

Worst Accent: Alison Brie – The Five-Year Engagement

Worst Accent in Cloud Atlas: Tom Hanks (as Dermot Huggins) - Cloud Atlas

Dishonorable Mention: Jim Sturgess (as “Highlander”) - Cloud Atlas

Other Dishonorable Mentions: Seriously, we could be here all day – Cloud Atlas

Most Offensive Accent / Dodgy Impersonation Of Peter Sellers In The Party: Dev Patel – The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

“Why Australian?” Accent: Quentin Tarantino – Django Unchained

Most Incomprehensible Cast: The Expendables 2

Dishonorable Mention: Lockout (solely due to the presence of Joe Gilgun)

“Where Have You Been?” Actor of the Year: R. Lee Ermey - The Watch

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Best Performance By Hott Sam Rockwell: Seven Psychopaths

Best Performance By Bruce Willis: Moonrise Kingdom

Worst Performance By Bruce Willis: The Cold Light of Day

Best Performance By A Chin: Karl Urban – Dredd

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Good Enough Performance That I Now Have To Forget My Usual Antipathy, Without Which I Feel A Bit Lost: Jim Sturgess (as Adam Ewing and Hae-Joo Chang) –  Cloud Atlas

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“Okay, Everybody Loves You Again Now, So Don’t Fuck It Up This Time” Performance of the Year: Jamie Foxx – Django Unchained

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“More Of This And Less Of This, Please” Actress of the Year: Jessica Biel (More dramas like The Tall Man where she gets to challenge herself, less formulaic actioners like Total Recall which require her to do precisely nothing except be rescued by the male protagonist over and over again.)

“More Of This And Less Of This, Please” Actor of the Year: Chris Rock (More actual attempts at creating a character — or excellent beard growth, whichever makes you happier — in movies like 2 Days in New York, less paycheck-cashing in offensive dogshit like What To Expect When You’re Expecting.)

Hammiest Performance By Michael Sheen: The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part Two

Hammiest Performance By Charlize Theron: Snow White and the Huntsman

Hammiest Performance By Russell Crowe: The Man With The Iron Fists

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Hammiest Performance By Nicole Kidman: The Paperboy

Next up: crew contributions of the year. I’m hesitantly predicting we’re past the halfway mark, and it’s not February yet. This is progress.

Listmania ‘09! The Best Movies Of The Year

For the longest time it seemed like 2009 would be a truly dreadful year in film, perhaps as a consequence of the writers’ strike last year. By the end of it I felt like we’d had a pretty good run, once the summer was over. The early months were a desert with only Coraline making a dent in my memory, but by the time December rolled around with the release of Avatar, it felt like a more rounded experience. Even better, though we had a few horribly delayed releases (such as Up, which was disgracefully held back from UK release for six months), there are only a few movies that have yet to be released over here that have attracted our attention, and even then we’re not that bothered. The most frustrating omissions were our own fault. Jane Campion’s Bright Star came and went so quickly we missed out on seeing it, as did Lone Scherfig’s An Education. Sherlock Holmes came out this week but illness and schedule clashes mean we will be seeing it in 2010. It’s frustrating, but compared to last year’s maddening delays in seeing Rachel Getting Married and Synecdoche, New York, it’s nowhere near as bad.

So anyway, here are my top 25 movies of 2009, in order. Hopefully soon I will get to post my bottom 25. It was depressingly easy to complete that list.

Best Movies of the Year:

25. Adventureland

Greg Mottola’s coming-of-age story is good enough to make me forgive it for being a coming-of-age story (a sub-genre I have little time for). Sensitive performances and a perfectly judged tone set it apart, and I expect second and third viewings will cement it as a favourite in the future.

24. A Christmas Carol

Though Charles Dickens’ novel suffers from being adapted too many times, this version was loyal enough to the source material to stand above the rest. Robert Zemeckis cleverly used his performance capture technology to create a world that looks like a living painting, and — for the most part — his thoughtful direction and stately command of pace are refreshingly old-fashioned.

23. Red Cliff: Part Two

A crushing disappointment after the genius of the first installment, John Woo’s epic finale to the Three Kingdoms story was hobbled by tedious subplots about the horrors of war, as well as an unsatisfying final confrontation with evil Prime Minister Cao Cao. Still, there were enough superb moments to save it, including an enormous conflagration, hardcore badassery from the heroes, and entertaining cunning from Zhuge Liang.

22. White Material

Working as a comment on racial identity, colonialism, and the guilt that attends it, Claire Denis’ movie is a fascinating and thought-provoking experience. It also serves as a fantastic thriller, with its air of imminent collapse building to a nerve-wracking conclusion. Isabelle Huppert is mesmerising as the plantation owner who dooms all around her with her arrogance.

21. Zombieland

While vampires became a singularly obnoxious cinematic plague, zombies went from flavour-of-the-month to pariahs. Nevertheless, Ruben Fleischer’s apocalyptic comedy was a delightful surprise, perfectly cast and thoroughly entertaining. It also featured the cameo appearance of the year, and one best left unspoiled.

20. The Brothers Bloom

For a few minutes Rian Johnson’s con-trick drama seems like a precious and finicky conglomeration of obnoxious post-Anderson tricks and tics, but thankfully it becomes a warm and humane antidote to David Mamet’s cerebral dominance of the sub-genre. The key to its appeal is an endearing central performance from Rachel Weisz, whose enthusiastic embrace of the brothers’ tricksiness grounds the film even while the plot spirals off in unexpected directions and Johnson’s camera flies around with such exuberant unpredictability. Despite faltering slightly in the final act, its ambition and seriousness of purpose were a resounding success.

19. A Serious Man

The Coens excel at taking on unorthodox projects and surprising their fans, but they also rely on a set of narrative tricks that repeat from movie to movie. A Serious Man was no different, with their familiar exploration of our cosmic insignificance coming into play again. Nevertheless, here their tricks felt fresh again, matched as they were to a plot revolving around morality and heavenly punishment. Casting unknown actors was possibly the masterstroke: it certainly made the movie feel like nothing else out there. It ranks as their most entertaining and most challenging film since The Big Lebowski.

18. Ponyo on a Cliff by the Sea

Remarkable to think that Hayao Miyazaki is capable of making movies even lighter and more whimsical than anything he has previously offered us. At times Ponyo can feel too fluffy, and longueurs plague the second half of the film, but these minor errors are easily forgiven in the rush of incredible images. Ponyo’s mid-movie escape from the clutches of her misguided father is among the most visionary and exhilarating setpieces of recent times, aided by the Wagnerian stings of Joe Hisaishi’s beautiful score.

17. Coraline

Henry Selick’s stunning adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s book is a feast for the eyes, as technically impressive as anything committed to film this year by Digital Domain, ILM or BUF. It’s also one of the scariest films of the year, one of those rare childrens’ movies that is unafraid to terrify its audience. Some of the imagery lingers in the memory with the upsetting persistence of the worst nightmares. Also great was the delicate use of Digital 3D. In the year of Avatar, it’s worth remembering that Selick and his team figured out how to use the technology to subtly enhance the viewing experience before anyone else.

16. The Hurt Locker

By the midpoint of 2009, it honestly felt as if the writers’ strike of 2008 had left us in the middle of a drought. Nothing truly exceptional had been released, and so when Kathryn Bigelow’s superb war thriller came out it was leapt upon as if it were a fusion of Paths of Glory and Apocalypse Now. Third act problems drain some of the energy from it, but even so, no other movie about the Iraq war has done so much to capture the futile stupidity of it, nor made such a pointed comment about the deranging effect it has had on our psyche. That it is also a nerve-wracking thriller is a welcome bonus.

15. Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Expectations for Werner Herzog’s crime thriller were low, with only those few of us who revel in the unpredictability of Nicolas Cage holding out any hope. Thankfully Herzog surprised everyone with this demented triumph. Though it could have been turned into a conventional tale of depravity and redemption, Herzog, Cage, and writer William Finkelstein have little interest in following a traditional path, sketching all kinds of entertaining madness in the margins. It helps that Cage was let off the leash. His intense level of commitment to the project is the key to Bad Lieutenant: POCNO‘s success. Welcome back, you mad bastard.

14. Drag Me To Hell

While Sam Raimi’s gleeful homage to EC Comics-style moralising concerned one young woman’s efforts to avoid being sent to hell, this felt like Raimi had escaped from the kind of big-budget purgatory that he had once railed against. Though still obviously made with more money than he had once had at his disposal, Drag Me To Hell was a return to Raimi’s anything-goes ethos. No other movie made this year tried so hard to generate a response in the audience, and it was almost entirely successful. A regression for the genre, maybe, but an incredibly entertaining one.

13. Where The Wild Things Are

It looked like we would never get to see Spike Jonze’s unconventional adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s book. When it finally arrived, critical and popular opinion seemed to split right down the middle. Post-release discussion seemed to focus on subjective accounts of how the movie resurrected very specific memories of childhood, with those who were unmoved by the movie stating that it just didn’t speak to them personally. The vision of Jonze and Dave Eggers is certainly gloomy, repetitive, unfocused and pretty unappealing, but I cannot lie: early scenes brought back horrible memories from my youth, and the unflinching depiction of Max’s confused rage rocked me to my core.

12. District 9

Viewed as an allegory about apartheid-era South Africa, Neill Blomkamp’s low-budget SF action film gets tangled up in clumsy metaphorical dead-ends and ill-judged racial stereotyping that blunts the message. Seen as a misanthropic denunciation of venality across all races and species, it becomes far more palatable. Blomkamp’s exciting and imaginative tale takes the audience down unexpected paths, skillfully building to a finale of surprising emotional resonance. I won’t lie: the final sacrifice of one character made me sob.

11. Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

The most pleasant surprise of 2009. Clone High creators Phil Lord and Chris Miller did the same as Spike Jonze — take a beloved but slight children’s book and adapt it into a new format with a drastic change of tone — but veered off in a different direction. Perhaps Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs accomplished less than Where The Wild Things Are in terms of illuminating the mental turmoil of childhood, but while it “merely” sets out to entertain, it did that with amazing success. Gleefully irreverent, pro-nerd, and willing to poke fun at every awful convention of lazy cookie-cutter filmmaking, it is also arguably the funniest comedy of the year.

10. Up

It’s tempting to leave Up off the list as punishment for manipulating adult audiences into crying miserable tears of mourning for an adorable animated couple and, by extension, ourselves. Nothing else this year moved us as much as that magnificently rendered and utterly devastating opening montage. The level of storytelling talent on display was humbling. The rest of the movie was wonderful too, building on that resonant set-up to deliver a winning adventure, featuring the funniest animal characters of the year. An emotionally exhausting film, but a life-affirming one.

9. Fish Tank

Avoiding the tawdry cultural voyeurism of the works of overrated ghouls such as Mike Leigh or Lee Daniels is the least of Fish Tank‘s many achievements, though one we can be most grateful for. It is also a compelling exploration of youth culture as seen through the eyes of a confused child on the cusp of adulthood. Katie Jarvis’ Mia is a fascinating and sympathetic character, aware that she is trapped in a life that offers her nothing, but eager to escape with her dignity intact. Unfortunately, she’s incapable of avoiding making some terrible mistakes along the way. It also has the grip of a thriller, cleverly changing tone in the final act without sacrificing believability. Yet another classic from Andrea Arnold.

8. Public Enemies

It’s possible to reduce Michael Mann’s adaptation of Bryan Burrough’s exploration of the 1930′s crimewave to just a period retelling of Heat, with Johnny Depp’s Dillinger and Christian Bale’s Melvin Purvis as dapper versions of McCauley and Hanna, but that would miss out on his deft commentary on the narcissism of these criminals and how new technologies increased popular fascination with the outlaw. Mann marks the moment where demand for titillation grew to the extent that public attention began to fuel the events that it demanded, and this fine, exciting crime thriller ends on a memorable moment where popular culture begins to eat itself.

7. Antichrist

Lars Von Trier has finally appeared to let his obnoxious mask of superiority drop long enough to tell a tale informed by his recent nervous breakdown, and the result is one of the most affecting and disturbing horror films of recent times. Conjuring an atmosphere of dread even more upsetting than anything that master of mood Hideo Nakata could create, Von Trier pits man against woman, and humanity against nature. No one wins, except anyone brave enough to endure this remarkable and starkly beautiful nightmare vision of a world — and a grief-stricken mother — gone mad.

6. Fantastic Mr. Fox

How bold of Wes Anderson to take the work of a respected author and bolt his own style of preppy, fussy humour onto it, and your acceptance of this depends fully on your acceptance of his shtick. To those of us in love with that viewpoint — and that obsessive attention to amusing detail — Fantastic Mr. Fox was yet another success, playing with the same themes of redemption and forgiveness as his previous movies while being just as sassy and fleet-of-foot as his non-animated work. It also works as a satire on the habitual anthropomorphism of the usual animated fare, with these characters being both more human and more bestial than anything populating the movies of Disney and Dreamworks.

5. A Prophet

No matter how much Jacques Audiard maintains he was not making a political statement with this movie, his rousing prison thriller proved to be as multi-layered as the best crime movies of recent times. Malik El Djebena’s growth from callow youth to crime kingpin is fascinating and weirdly inspirational, while the world he lives in is filled with detail about identity politics, French correctional failings, and racial tensions in Europe. It’s also nail-biting, beautifully judged, and performed to perfection.

4. Avatar

While armchair critics fall over themselves to dismiss this movie for being too predictable  – a criticism that is being applied with more force than with any other movie released this year – the story is told with enough energy to forgive its clunkiness. James Cameron has always been a master with pace, and here he succeeds in manipulating the audience with a magician’s touch, delivering a groundbreaking visual tour de force into the bargain. Viewing it in Digital 3D IMAX is an unforgettable and thrilling experience.

3. Enter The Void

What James Cameron aimed to do in 3D, Gaspar Noé managed in 2D just months before. His tale of one man’s journey through death is the joint most immersive movie experience of the year, a terrifying and exhilarating cinematic experiment of enormous emotional power, and a technical marvel to boot. Any reservations about its pacing problems are swept away as Noé brings an obsessive rigour to his visual template: a first-person viewpoint that doesn’t falter at any point. That this brave experiment still has no distributor is criminal. If it ever becomes the Midnight Movie phenomenon it deserves to be, make every effort to see it on the biggest screen possible.

2. In The Loop

Armando Iannucci and the Thick of It gang brought their wonderful TV show to the big screen in style, expanding its scope to include the bureaucrats and fools of America, complete with the same venality, paranoia, and incompetence. Funnier even than the original series, it was also densely plotted but lighter than air: a feat of screenwriting to match that of Martin McDonagh with In Bruges last year. None of that would matter if the new cast members were not as talented as the original crew, but the US contingent adapts to the semi-improvisational style with aplomb. A triumph that rewards repeated viewings.

1. Inglourious Basterds

More than any other movie made this year, Inglourious Basterds surprised us all with its piercing intelligence, seriousness of purpose, and deft gameplaying, all of which are applied to an emotionally complex revenge plot that confounds the viewer at every turn. Much has been made of Tarantino’s effort to make a movie in which cinema has the last laugh and reality is forced to bow to its power, but less has been said about his continued facility with character. To the immaculate roll-call that includes Jules Winnfield, Vincent Vega, Jackie Brown, Mr. White, The Bride and Stuntman Mike can be added Shosanna Dreyfus and Hans Landa, the most compelling and haunting characters of the year. Tarantino has every right to be proud of this movie: it is, quite simply, his masterpiece.

Best Documentary: Soul Power

Considered as a sister project to Leon Gast’s When We Were Kings, Jeffrey Levy-Hinte’s documentary about the music festival that ran alongside the Rumble in the Jungle offers up yet more fascinating footage of Muhammad Ali in his prime, sparring with mouthy opportunists and talking about the potential impact of the forthcoming event. It also shows how the festival almost sinks under a tide of ego and bureaucracy. The worst thing that can be said about the movie is that it doesn’t show enough of the festival itself, but even then you still get to see thrilling performances by The Spinners, BB King, Miriam Makeba, and James Brown at the height of his powers. Stingy though the amount of concert footage is, it’s still some of the best music you will ever hear.

Most Embarrassing Admission of the Year: Okay, Soul Power was actually the only documentary I saw this year. Nevertheless, don’t let that put you off seeing it. Even if I’d seen a dozen documentaries this year, I doubt any of them would have been as fun or fulfilling as that one.

No time to dally with small talk: on with the listmaking! More to come when I get the time…

The Last Action Rodent

Shades of Caruso makes no bones about its enjoyment of truly bad movies, and our search for the right kind of cinematic dreck means we watch a lot of movies that are dismissed by critics. This approach has pros and cons. While something that feels like it was made in a kind of mass delirium (e.g. Obsessed, My Sister’s Keeper) can be a real source of pleasure, films that are merely formulaic and boring (e.g. Bangkok Dangerous, The Boat That Rocked) can really defeat us. Nevertheless, while our hunt for something terrible is a pretty cynical way of watching films, there is another reason to do it. Critics watch even more films than we do, and as a kind of cerebral shortcut will make assumptions about movies — especially genre movies — before seeing them.

I’ll happily give any genre movie a chance, hoping to stumble upon something that has been dismissed en masse which contains some purpose or highlight that has been overlooked. Occasionally, we watch a movie that got shortshrift for hiding a greater ambition under generic trappings, and this makes the effort of watching the chaff of cinema worthwhile. That said, though I’m obviously some kind of wonderful saint for doing this, it’s easy to aim my anger at critics who treat childrens’ movies with this kind of frustrated huffing and puffing, as I don’t have to put up with the same amount of cynical, poorly thought-through tripe that clogs multiplexes during holidays. It’s all well and good going to see Pixar movies or my beloved Speed Racer, but what about the rest?

In the interest of fairness, I recently subjected myself to Dragonball Evolution, the caucasian-ised live-action version of Akira Toriyama’s manga. Directed by James Wong of X-Files fame, it tells the hackneyed tale of a nerd boy with a secret past and no parents trying to find a series of MacGuffins before they are claimed by a poorly sketched bad guy who will use the MacGuffins to destroy the world or enslave it or maybe both depending on who is re-telling the expositional bits about evil magicians and aliens and monsters and dragons etc. Much as I try to give every film a fair shake, and will admit that even really terrible movies have some redeeming qualities, when something is lazy and pointless, I’ll grant that. Dragonball Evolution certainly qualifies as the biggest waste of time I’ve subjected myself to in a long while, and even managed to make me temporarily not like Chow Yun Fat. Unacceptable!

Any critic who had just had to see that feeble collection of cliches and cheap effects would have been forgiven for groaning at the thought of an incredibly expensive and aggressively marketed spy movie aimed at kids. Hoyt Yeatman’s guinea-pig spy action epic G-Force has several strikes against it immediately. It’s a kid’s movie not made by Pixar. It has a premise — intelligent guinea pigs working as spies against an evil corporation — that sounds unworkable. It has a starry cast, which is often a way of adding clout to a movie that might otherwise be some cookie-cutter money-making exercise. It’s full of CGI. It’s the sort of movie that’s built to create a line of merchandising to further bankrupt parents everywhere. The trailer is full of awful jokes and crashing explosions. Nic Cage is in it and the received wisdom, lazily trotted out by people who don’t have the time to inspect this claim, is that he’s crap nowadays. What could be more unappealing than this?

Worst of all, it’s produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, who — in the eyes of much of the critical community — is the enemy of good taste and art, a galumphing unsubtle populist who doesn’t care about educating audiences or giving them breathing space between hectic, orange-tinted action scenes. His movies cost millions and make billions, and that lowest-common denominator approach to filmmaking has debased our culture to such an extent that no one learns anything any more. Bruckheimer is a name now automatically attached to any discussion about the soul-deadening dreadfulness of contemporary commercial filmmaking, a one-man blame-magnet. While Michael Bay destroys the art of direction, Bruckheimer destroys the possibility of thought-provoking adult cinema with his roller-coaster ride ethos and relentless tide of tightly plotted fireworks displays. Never forget, he once made a movie based on a theme park ride.

Of course, it’s best we forget that the theme park movie — Pirates of The Caribbean — was enormously entertaining and not to mention made with real skill and love of the swashbuckling movies of old. It’s also best to forget that while it’s undeniable that a lot of Bruckheimer movies are not that great, he has also been responsible for the first Beverly Hills Cop — a pacy comedy-thriller that still holds up well — as well as the excellent Fail-Safe-esque Crimson Tide, prescient surveillance thriller Enemy of the State, and the endearing bombast of The Rock. The ratio of bad movies to good is probably not something I should think about too hard while constructing an argument for his movies, but even though he has delivered some awful, lazy movies, he has also given us some gems. These are never considered when rushing to denounce him as the worst thing to ever happen to popular cinema.

Of his previous movies Con Air might well be my favourite, though this is treated like the absolute bottom of the barrel by many. Those who do praise it usually refer to it as a guilty pleasure movie, “so bad it’s kinda good”. Those who hate it consider it especially tasteless and garish, the dumbest film Bruckheimer has produced. Perhaps it deserves a slot beside Starship Troopers as a satire that many people didn’t get, though Troopers had a higher aspiration than Simon West and Scott Rosenberg’s action comedy. It’s plainly obvious that the movie is making fun of action movie memes and expectations, with a cast of supervillains standing between our whiter-than-white hero (Cameron Poe, played by a hilarious Nicolas Cage) and a reunion with the daughter he has never met.

Very nearly every scene is played for broad laughs, with a nice compliment of sly gags running in the background. It makes fun of movies that fetishise serial killers — Steve Buscemi’s character is awful, but not much worse than the widely-adored Hannibal Lecter — not to mention the moral equivalence of good and bad. For instance, Poe might be a hero, but he’s also a killer himself, as are many “heroes” in action movies. We also get to see an action-liberal (as Bruckheimer is a Republican, it’s amusing to see a sandal-wearing pencil-pusher saving the day several times), and one of the most extreme and hilariously protracted “Bad-Guy-Deaths” ever, as John Malkovich’s Cyrus Grissom is stabbed, thrown through a building, electrocuted, and then has his head crushed. This play on the delightfully ghoulish tradition in action movies to have the villain killed in outrageous fashion might be my favourite moment in all of Bruckheimer’s movies.

This interest in picking apart the conventions of his own movies is similar to that shown by 90s action producer Joel Silver, whose movies were so formulaic he could afford to make fun of that template three times over. The Last Action Hero is exactly the kind of genre deconstruction Shane Black does better than anyone, and the movie managed to pull of the difficult trick of showing its plot machinery while still working as an exciting and hilarious crowd-pleaser. Demolition Man had as much fun playing with action movie tropes as it did with the idea of a joyless politically-correct world gone mad.

More notoriously, Hudson Hawk set those conventions in a deeply absurd world that paid homage to 60s spoofery (e.g. The Pink Panther, the Flint movies) as well as Silver’s actioners. Both movies suffered the same fate as Con Air, their satire missed or ignored by audiences and critics alike. Making fun of these solid conventions is a tough trick to pull off. Trey Parker and Matt Stone had to use puppets to make sure the comedic point of Team America: World Police wasn’t missed.

To this list of action satires can be added G-Force. Though it’s not as successful at making fun of the stable it comes from as the other movies mentioned above, it is still silly and self-lacerating enough to stand alongside them. The film opens with a team of secret agents infiltrating the home of Leonard Saber (Bill Nighy, excellent as usual), the shady owner of electronics and appliances firm Saberling Industries (is this a nod to director Brad Silberling? And if so, why?). Though the mission is successful, their mentor — FBI scientist Ben (a subdued Zach Galafianakis) – has operated without authorisation from the supervisor he is trying to impress (Will Arnett, not given enough to do), and the team is disbanded. Separated from Ben, team leader Darwin (Hott Sam Rockwell) rallies his colleagues and tries to prove the nefariousness of Saber while eluding Arnett’s agent goons, who seek to capture the team to use in experiments.

Bit harsh, but then the team is made up of guinea-pigs (and Nicholas Cage’s mole computer expert Speckles). As you can imagine, a lot of the comedy in the movie comes from the sight of well-animated guinea-pigs wise-cracking and getting into various scrapes involving grappling hooks, skateboards and motorised exercise balls. There are also almost unbearable wisecracks and cultural catchphrases quoted at depressing length as in the worst kind of sub-par cheap-skate animation: if there is anything that made my enjoyment of the movie drop to worrying depths, it was the stream of unfunny puns from Blaster (Tracy Morgan).

The movie is at is funniest when it plays things as straight as possible, with the team of tiny mammals acting like stereotypical covert spies and computer experts, spewing tech-speak as if they were action movie archetypes. Such straight-faced chatter is overused in modern movies and usually bears only a passing resemblance to real life: many of my favourite moments in 24 come from hearing CTU computer experts panicking over opening sockets and tasking satellites. Nevertheless, we take it for granted that this is how these people speak, until these words come out of the mouths of CGI guinea-pigs. Re-contextualised, the absurdity of these action movies — and the oeuvre of Bruckheimer — is exposed to the light of scrutiny.

Better than that is the flirty sparring between Darwin, Blaster, and female guinea pig Juarez (Penélope Cruz). Not only does she rebel against a young girl’s attempts to feminise her with dresses and make-up (a refreshing change to see a female character unsoftened by this kind of brainwashing), she also plays both men off each other in order to win their affection on her terms.  It genuinely sounds like a romantic sub-plot from another movie drafted in without alteration. The effect is discombobulating.

I wasn’t the only person delighted by this playfulness. The Guardian’s David Cox (the only critic working on that paper who seemed to understand what Tarantino was trying to do with Inglourious Basterds) wrote an excellent piece about G-Force‘s satirical bent, while pretty much every other critic waved it away with a bleat about how it was mere summer-movie kids fodder with not a thought in its mind. Tasha Robinson of the AV Club stated:

Pointing out G-Force’s plot holes would be redundant; it’s more hole than plot, and more videogame commercial and exhausted-old-trope clearinghouse than film. Events follow each other with a sublime disregard for coherence or story continuity.

Thus missing the point. Her comments about the plot are especially aggravating as screenwriters Cormac and Marianne Wibberley have done a good job of emulating the tried-and-true action plots of recent times, and from where I was sitting it seemed watertight.

Even more surprising was the considerable emotional charge therein. While I was less invested in the sub-plot involving team leader Darwin and his brother Hurley (Jon Favreau), the final act revelations about the villain and the true reason for his evil plotting is unexpectedly powerful. Though even I would baulk at claiming the movie is some kind of classic, or even one of the year’s best, I cannot lie about the effect the final fifteen minutes had on me. In those moments what had been a fun diversion with a cunning sense of its own absurdity became a real dramatic triumph, helped by first-time director Yeatman’s nifty handling of the final act action scenes. The sight of an enormous robot rising out of Bill Nighy’s estate and raining space debris down on FBI officers is an image I won’t be forgetting any time soon.

I strongly feel a little gem has been ignored in the rush to damn a movie for wasting the time of critics who would much rather be watching L’Avventura. Bruckheimer is man enough to know that the product he churns out has a formula. Here he has given Yeatman and the Wibberleys permission to have fun with that template, and we’re all the better for it. Even the seemingly lazy witticisms could be seen to be digs at the usual macho catchphrases of action heroes, though I’ll admit they truly do test the patience.

Nevertheless, even if that is a satirical dig too far, the voicework is spirited enough to dispel the audience’s annoyance. I’m tempted to say this is worth renting just to listen to an almost unrecognisable Nicolas Cage, channeling his Charlie Bodell voice. His work is almost solely responsible for G-Force‘s most satisfying moments and, along with his turn in Herzog’s Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, signals a real return to form. For that, and for exceeding my expectations so completely, I shall seek to defend G-Force from lazy criticism from now until someone comes up with an equation proving me wrong.

The Bad Lieutenant Is Back, And This Time He’s Got Iguanas

When Werner Herzog’s remake/sequel of Abel Ferrera’s Bad Lieutenant was announced, it gave Internet cynics fodder for an endless stream of articles chuckling over how absurd the whole project was. Was this ridicule triggered by the potential folly of recreating a project as uncompromising as Ferrera’s original? Was it the standard cineaste’s resistance to recycling older movies, or the thought of recycling something made so recently? Or was it that Herzog had cast Nicolas Cage? Without a frame being shot it was already being heralded as a disaster, as if Herzog’s legendary take-no-prisoners attitude had suddenly metamorphosed into some kind of dementia. When the trailer arrived the derisory laughter increased. Cage’s reputation as the bad movie actor du jour has become so entrenched in popular thinking that the obviously intentional humour of the trailer was treated as evidence that Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans was another Wicker-Man-style disaster waiting to happen. The reality is that Herzog’s crime drama will more than likely disappoint those who were hoping for a failure, but thrill everyone else.

Cage portrays Terrence McDonagh, a police detective who inherits the mantle of Bad Lieutenant after injuring himself during a post-Katrina rescue. After this quick origin story we see McDonagh in the grip of an addiction to painkillers and coke, deep in debt and stealing drugs from criminals. The only thing that separates him from the perps he chases is his dedication to the job, especially his determination to bring to justice the drug kingpin Big Fate (Alvin “Xzibit” Joiner) who he suspects is responsible for the murder of an immigrant family. So far, so Keitel. McDonagh, however, is lucky enough to have a girlfriend (Frankie, played by Cage’s Ghost Rider co-star Eva Mendes) who just so happens to be a prostitute on a downward spiral of her own. Though neither of them are particularly admirable people, they seem to care for each other. As they become more absorbed into a depraved world, this connection seems to be the one thing that might save them.

The similarity to Ferrera’s original is obvious, but whereas that movie was harrowing and dark, Herzog brings an unexpected sense of possibility and even joy to this tale. Avoiding the tortured and oppressive air of Catholic guilt that made the original so distinctive, Herzog gives McDonagh a chance at redemption that doesn’t revolve around appeasing an indifferent God, and thus generates a sense of unexpected uplift. Additionally, while Ferrera set his movie in a decaying New York, Herzog takes metaphorical advantage of New Orleans’ recent history and the attempts of the citizens to rebuild their city, efforts that echo McDonagh’s own. Even at its darkest Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is filmed in almost constant brightness, and it helps that Herzog has filled the supporting cast with amusing eccentrics played by terrific character actors like Vondie Curtis Hall, Jennifer Coolidge, Fairuza Balk, Michael Shannon, and Brad Dourif. Also included is a subdued and underused Val Kilmer as a cop lacking even McDonagh’s vanishing moral core.

All act as amusing foils for Cage, but special mention must be made of Shea Whigham as abusive mob goon Justin who appears midway through the film to abuse Frankie. His dopey attitude and woozily delivered threats are sure-fire crowd-pleasers. Perhaps that’s the most surprising thing about Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. Even though the trailer featured a number of amusing moments, the refreshingly breezy tone of the movie is a surprise, even though it features murder, sexual abuse, drug-taking, and old-lady-menacing. While Ferrera was determined to send the viewer to hell with Keitel, Herzog takes a cue from William Finkelstein’s script and makes a movie that does all it can to send the audience home with a smile on its face. The lackadaisical approach does come at the cost of narrative momentum: several scenes in the movie meander without purpose, which is something you wouldn’t expect from a seasoned TV writer who has worked on L.A. Law, NYPD Blue and Murder One, though the demented elements of the movie seem to tally with his work on lost TV classic Cop Rock:

It’s possible Finkelstein was partly responsible for the unconventional plotting, but even so, Herzog has little interest in the usual rhythms of crime dramas, happily chasing diversions or playing genre conventions for absurd laughs. He’s smart enough to keep an eye on the needs of the plot — especially the question of how out of control McDonagh actually is, which leads to some satisfying surprises in the final act — and to make sure we see the depressed human behind the outrageous bad behaviour of our protagonist, but he also has a need to drop in random instances of The Weird, often involving animals. A crocodile gets a memorable cameo, but it’s the iguanas that will stay with you when you leave the cinema. Nothing can prepare you for the already legendary Iguana-Cam. Herzog will be pleased to know that this scene brought the house down at the London Film Festival screening we attended. It is a completely deranged moment, a perfectly timed comedic aside, and impossible to forget. (If you wish to experience this scene in its proper context, avoid this clip until you’ve seen the movie.)

Herzog’s unpredictable take on the genre would not work without a strong performance at the core of it, and he is lucky to have Cage on his side. Herzog has found an actor of almost Kinski-esque intensity to guide his movie, someone who understands exactly what he wants and can collaborate as an equal, if this interview is to be believed. It often feels as if each of these imaginative artists has goaded the other on to greater weirdness. Nevertheless, even when the movie threatens to disappear into a cloud of peculiarity, their intelligence brings us back from the brink. Even the most formally or narratively daring moments in the film feel right, as if the movie couldn’t have been made any other way; eccentricity without the desperate quirkiness of a lesser filmmaker like, say, Richard Kelly. Without Herzog the movie would probably have stayed on a familiar genre path, and without Cage Herzog would have been forced to work with someone lacking in the ability to fuse madness with sincerity. Their collaboration is truly fortuitous.

Much has been made of Cage’s manic scenes, which range in tone from darkly funny to troubling, and sometimes both simultaneously. (Again, skip this if you wish to remain unspoiled.)

Less has been said about the humanity of Cage’s performance. While never having a scene as memorable and cathartic as Keitel’s astonishing breakdown in church from the original movie, Cage litters the movie with panicky moments where we get a glimpse of a man who knows he has gone astray. While Harvey Keitel’s lieutenant seems barely aware of his soul’s need for salvation until he collapses in church, McDonagh seems to know things have gone wrong and tries to correct this. Fans of Ferrera’s movie might complain that the remake loses focus by showing a man consciously scrambling to get back to a state of virtue, but what would Herzog gain from replicating Keitel’s downward trajectory? McDonagh’s desire for absolution generates a tension between his goals and his actions that powers what would otherwise be a fragmented and unsatisfying movie.

Cage brilliantly portrays McDonagh’s regression into a state of adolescent impulsiveness. His colleagues and acquaintances seem baffled or annoyed by his delinquent behaviour — both his unintentional outbursts and the rare moments when he harnesses his weird energy to do good –and only Frankie seems to want to help him. Casting Eva Mendes — a naturally charming actress capable of more than she is usually given to do — is another of Herzog’s masterstrokes. Her chemistry with Cage was one of the few truly great things to come out of Mark Steven Johnson’s terrible Ghost Rider.

This is easily the most layered and entertaining work Cage has done since Adaptation — not to mention his most likeable performance — and is enough to trigger hope of a new great Age of Cage. Even some of his more eccentric choices — such as suddenly imitating Ed Sullivan for about twenty minutes and then stopping with no explanation — make a weird kind of sense by the end of the film. His work here runs the risk of being little more than a series of gimmicky outbursts, but it often transcends mere flash to become something more profound, both comedic and tragic. McDonagh has become possessed by something alien and primal — something so destructive it’s almost a form of demonic possession — and it is thrilling to see him battle against it to reclaim his soul. The final, unexpected image will warm even the hardest heart.

But hey, if that’s not enough to convince you to see the movie, just go for the iguanas. You’ll thank me.

Announcing The Return of the Full-On Cage Experience

Recently I defended Michael Bay (while simultaneously expressing how odious his movies can be), and now I rush to the defense of another man used as a lazy punchline to a billion deeply unfunny jokes about bad cinema: the acting colossus called Nicolas Cage. As with Bay, Cage is treated like a cautionary tale about how that vile, Chthonic monolith called Hollywood can drive people insane with greed, how talented individuals can lose their way and begin a descent from making art to making dross. He is accused of sleepwalking through films, cashing checks, appearing in unworthy crowd-pleasing dreck, and working with anti-cinematic infidels. His personal life is raked over (he keeps impulsively marrying women! He calls his kid a silly name! He buys too much crap!), his eccentricities treated as signs of mental illness, and his success used as example number two in the case against modern culture (example one being the success of Bay). Only Ben Affleck is treated with less respect, a fact that I intend to address in a future post where I defend him too. (I’m serious about that. Affleck is awesome.)

There are millions who seem to love to take a short-cut in thinking and just refer to Cage as a has-been with no understanding of what a joke he has become, though Cage’s most famous critic has been Sean Penn, the former friend who once told the New York Times, “Nic Cage is no longer an actor. He could be again, but now he’s more like a…performer”. This was said around the time that Cage appeared in two Bruckheimer productions — The Rock and Con Air — which seems to be the one thing an artist can do that will sink his credibility. Why did Penn single out Cage for that and not Cage’s co-stars Ed Harris, or Sean Connery, or John Cusack, or John Malkovich? They’re respected actors who have won awards and are considered to be fine actors, but Cage falls into the line of fire for moving from carefully considered character pieces like Leaving Las Vegas to action movies, three of which he did in a row (the third being the classic John Woo SF actioner Face/Off). His wildly broad performances in those movies were almost certainly a factor, but then he has always given broad performances, within which lie subtle moments (see also Wild At Heart, Birdy, Peggy Sue Got Married, etc.). They’re entertaining displays of eye-rolling crowd-pleasing acting pyrotechnics, but there’s a soul there too. This is what I think of as getting The Full-On Cage Experience, with madness and soulfulness tied together. Penn could never pull off anything like that. When he mugs, he ends up wrecking the movie.

By all that’s holy and unholy, how much better was Penn in Milk, or Dead Man Walking (incidentally, that’s one of my favourite screen performances of all time)? It’s not even a fair competition. Besides, this accusation, insinuating that Cage is no longer an actor, is rich coming from someone who appeared in I Am Sam. I’ll take an entertaining and unpretentious actor having fun playing a demonic avenger with a flaming skull than some humourless chide wasting his talent on Oscar-baiting bullshit like that any day of the week. Sadly, Penn’s not the only one who thinks Cage has pissed his talent away. In this little essay, Entertainment Weekly’s Owen Gleiberman compares Cage to Dr. Wesley T. Snipes, which is prescient considering Cage’s current tax woes, but while Snipes has descended into Direct-To-DVD hell, Cage is still working on big-budget movies and smaller curios, still attracting the viewing public, and still cranking out performances that are — at best — thrilling, and — at worst — merely entertaining.

The one argument that genuinely annoys me is the one where Cage is cranking out piss-poor, lazy performances since his last truly astonishing performance in Jonze and Kaufman’s Adaptation. I’ve often said that I think his work in that (along with his work in Leaving Las Vegas and Raising Arizona) deserves a coveted Shades of Caruso Free Pass…

freepass

…but of all the movies he has made since, only three performances really disappointed me: his work as Benjamin Gates in the first National Treasure movie, where he seemed awfully tired; his creepy performance in Next, the empty action thriller adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s clever short story; and his catatonic turn as a greasy-haired loser assassin in the disastrous remake of Bangkok Dangerous, which I suspect he took so he could get a holiday in Thailand. That last one really did give me cause for concern, but Gleiberman likes to make out that Cage is regularly signing on for “grade-Z genre schlockers”, which apparently include Ghost Rider and The Wicker Man. Neither of them are good movies, but they were not developed as low-budget cash-ins. Ghost Rider was obviously meant to be a big comic book adaptation, with a pretty good cast and a $110m budget, and even if it was absolutely dire, it was made with love by fans of the character, of which Cage is one.

The Wicker Man is a dumb-ass movie by any standards, but it’s made by Neil LaBute, who was once a promising director. He could have turned in a thoughtless remake of the excellent original (which would fit under Gleiberman’s umbrella of “genre schlocker”) but instead made something personal, for better or worse. For all its faults it’s obviously of a part with his other movies, dealing with his favourite themes of misanthropy, deceit, misogyny, fear of opening up to others, and gynophobia. I’ve occasionally argued that The Wicker Man is a satire on male fear of impotence and castration, a paranoid comical fantasy about a scheming cabal of exaggerated feminist ballbreakers who are out to destroy the penis, turning all men into drones and semen-donors whose sexuality is merely a sacrifice of power to the almighty womb in order to replenish the earth with children.

Sadly, even if this was LaBute’s intention — and even if Cage was in on this project for that reason alone — it’s still ridiculous and poorly made and filled with wonderfully camp moments. Cage maintains that the comedic aspects of the movie were not lost on him. In an interview with Spike Jonze, Drew McWeeny discusses meeting Cage, and Jonze is full of praise:

Jonze: I love [Cage]. We had the best time working together. He really works and focuses.
McWeeny: His publicist was a little wary of me being there, I guess, because he doesn’t do a lot of press and he doesn’t allow press around a lot, but he really was very accessible once I’d been there for a few days, and he kind of warmed up to me. And he was really just fascinating. I loved chatting with him about stuff.
Jonze: Totally chill.
McWeeny: Yeah. And I think far more self-aware than most people think. Like I think some people think Nic is in this vacuum and doesn’t realize how crazy some of his performances are. I got the feeling he was totally aware of how people perceive things. We were talking about THE WICKER MAN, and he was like, “How do people call that an unintentional comedy? I’m in a bear suit kicking Lelee Sobieski in the throat. I know it’s funny.”
Jonze: He just takes it so seriously that nobody knows how to take him. Like PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED, I was like, “What is that?” Like I was 15 so I didn’t really know.
McWeeny: I just love how you can always count on him to push things further, like VAMPIRE’S KISS. He ate a roach, man.
Jonze: And also just the insanity of that performance, just the balls-out fearlessness.

Is it enough that Cage is aware of the ridiculousness of the movies he is appearing in? For me it is. I strongly suspect Cage is the most easily bored person in the world, and unfortunately that is paired with the ability to get work in movies that pay millions of dollars for him to spend on cars and comics and castles. Some of the films he has been in lately are truly awful, and I would never argue that they weren’t. Neverthless, I watch them for those flashes of manic commitment from Cage — The Partial Cage Experience — that delight me so. Are they valid acting choices, or is he merely trying to entertain himself while he trudges through formulaic populist bilge? As far as I’m concerned, even if he’s merely trying to entertain himself, he succeeding in entertaining me, and surely that’s what counts.

The only other popular actors that delight me as much are Clooney (who can do pathos and comedy equally well), Streep (who is always the best thing about everything she has ever been in), and maybe Jeff Bridges. Even those fine actors have not given me as much pleasure as Cage does, even when you forget about his early, golden years and concentrate on this bizarre stretch of poor movies. Since Adaptation we’ve had the insanity of Not The Bees…

…a literally hysterical fiery transformation…

…a Shout-Off with Rose Byrne (who is utterly overmatched, despite her invention of the word “chuldren”)…

…a run in with an obnoxious know-it-all child (the best part of which is how he treats the kid like an adult for most of the scene)…

…and a frustrating teaser of what could be his finest hour, if ever Rob Zombie got the money to make it…

His willingness to make fun of himself is the thing that keeps his crazy public and professional persona viable, and though many of his actions seem completely deranged, I honestly believe he’s playing a trick on us. Can someone who makes a series of adverts like these really be unintentionally weird?

(N.B. Anyone who has a sense of humour about themselves gets a break from me. Even the reportedly tyrannical and insensitive director Michael Bay gets points for playing up to his image with this commercial for Verizon:)

I’m a fully paid up Cage fan. For entertainment value, he can’t be beat. To see a person with such intelligence, quirkiness, restlessness, fearlessness, and energy do his thing in such big-screen movies is a rare thrill. If I squint I can see why Cage is now considered a hack by critics and film-watchers, because it’s easy to confuse being in a terrible movie and actually being terrible, but I worry that maybe people are also turned off by his intensity and his allegiance to the weird. The odd soporific performance aside, perhaps what baffles people the most is seeing him devote so much energy to projects that they feel don’t deserve it. Personally, I think that’s admirable. He’s getting paid enough, after all. Dance, you fucking monkey! Dance for your millions!

And yet even though I revel in his passionate and unpredictable work in crud, I’ve become concerned that we would never get another performance out of Cage that is as electrifying as his best work (disclaimer: I’ve not seen Lord of War or The Weather Man, and some have said he gives solid, rounded performances in both). Once upon a time he would work with Lynch and Scorsese, and the performances he gave were over-the-top yet grounded in some kind of emotional profundity, but lately those performances — while entertaining, memorable, and stronger than popular wisdom would have you believe — are lacking that extra fire. Well, I’m happy to report the return of The Full-On Cage Experience, as he takes on the task of being the 21st Century Klaus Kinski. More on that tomorrow, when I review Werner Herzog’s excellent Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans.

Love And Violence At The London Film Festival

Though I’ve lived in London for a decade, it was only this year that I finally joined the BFI and made an effort to attend the London Film Festival. Even when a colleague saw the original cut of Miike’s Ichii The Killer (which he maintains is far superior to the really quite tedious UK cut included on this DVD), I was not compelled to try. If the giddy joy I experienced this year is anything to go by, mark me down as a fool for not trying earlier. I’ve not been this excited about a cultural event since 2000, when Scott Walker’s Meltdown festival on London’s Southbank featured Smog, Jim O’Rourke, Elliott Smith, Jarvis Cocker, and the unforgettable Fuckhead, all in the same week.

Perhaps I’m most excited as the movies I saw were, for the most part, extremely good, not to mention impossible to see in the UK any time soon. Enter The Void, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, Les regrets, White Material, Extract, Metropia and Valhalla Rising don’t have release dates yet, and some of the others are coming out slowly. The Men Who Stare At Goats is out now, with The Informant!, Un prophète, We Live in Public, and Up In The Air rolling out over the next couple of months. Getting a jump on some of these was essential, as I plan to spend the rest of the year catching up with as many movies as possible before the traditional end of year Shades of Caruso Listmania! event happens. At the moment I think I have my top ten sorted, though there are still a couple of yet-to-be-released films that could crack the list. We shall see.

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There’s no doubt in my mind that Jacques Audiard’s Un prophète is on my list. Newcomer Tahar Rahim — in one of the performances of the year — plays Malik El Djebena, an Arabic youth with a troubled past who is sent to prison for six years after assaulting a police officer. Though he is intent on keeping his head down, Malik’s stay is complicated by the arrival of an Arab prisoner (Reyeb – Hichem Yacoubi) who is to testify against Corsican gangster César Luciani (played like a kind of corpulent and manipulative spider/crook hybrid by the amazing Niels Arestrup). The Godfather-esque crime boss cannot approach Reyeb, who is surrounded by Arab prisoners, and so enlists Malik upon pain of death. The young boy has no choice but to kill Reyeb, leading to his estrangement from his brethren. Even worse, he is treated like a servant by the Corsican gang. Humiliated, powerless, and haunted by the murder he has committed, Malik begins to plan his revenge, but first he must better himself, consolidating allies and resources during his six year sentence.

After I stumbled from the screening, my jaw scraping along the floor like a broken fender, I found it impossible not to compare Un prophète to De Palma’s Scarface, but please don’t take that as a comment on the quality of Audiard’s film. Even as a fan of early career De Palma, the appeal of Scarface has baffled me for decades — it has struck me as one of his most misjudged films, half deathly serious cautionary tale, half gaudy semi-parodic nonsense. The one or two good setpieces are surrounded by kitsch, madness, and a horribly pitched central performance from some kind of demon who resembles mid-80s Al Pacino but can’t possibly be him because that kind of roaring caricature didn’t show up in his filmography until the 90s. If it was a demon taking Al Pacino’s place in Scarface, I reckon the name of the demon is Hooahhh, and is a distant relative of Pazuzu.

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Nevertheless, the similarities are there. Tony Montana and Malik El Djebena are immigrants who fall foul of the law and find their calling while in “prison” (actual for Malik, symbolic for Montana, who is kept in a camp for Cuban immigrants with criminal backgrounds in Florida). They both kill to get out of their tough situation, and undergo baptisms of blood (Montana in the notorious chainsaw scene, Malik in the soon-to-be-notorious razorblade seduction scene). They start off as enforcers but climb their way to the top using ruthlessness, opportunism, and pluck. There is even a straight homage later in the film, as Malik and his colleague Ryad are given the job of eliminating an associate of Luciani, a job which begins to go wrong almost immediately and ends with Malik taking matters into his own hands. Compare this to a similar scene in Scarface as Montana resists killing a Bolivian anti-government activist with a bomb. Despite being shot in similar styles, there are deviations. Malik’s decisions don’t doom him the way they do Montana, and both films have very different endings: there is no “Say hello to my leetle fren!” craziness in Un prophète. The most dramatic and satisfying moment in the final act is played out silently, and manages to be even more emotionally resonant than Montana’s final stand.

Audiard’s style couldn’t be further from De Palma’s, yet he generates far more cumulative power and tension through careful use of pace and composition. His only concession to stylistic excess comes with Malik’s dreams/hallucinations, as he is visited and advised by the ghost of Reyeb, who gives him glimpses of the future that, at least once, save his life. The fantastical touches are scattered so lightly through the film that they barely register. Compare that to De Palma’s near-insane overkill, all long takes, flashy Hitchcock references, and crash-zooming. In many of his other movies that’s just fine, but Scarface always looked like a red-tinged mess, and now — when compared to the spartan aesthetic of Audiard’s instant classic — it looks even sillier.

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Plus, while De Palma and writer Oliver Stone liked to play up Scarface‘s depiction of the American Dream gone awry in an attempt to add inject profundity into what would be more acceptable as an out-and-out exploitation flick, Audiard and his co-screenwriters (Thomas Bidegain, Abdel Raouf Dafri and Nicolas Peufaillit) touch on enough uncomfortable aspects of modern French life that — as Dafri explained prior to the screening — many politicians have used the movie to score points against their opponents. French prisons are notoriously overcrowded, and relations between French natives and Islamic immigrants are fractious, so a movie which deals so frankly with both issues is bound to be explosive. No matter how much Audiard protests that his movie has no message, the backdrop of his crime drama is portrayed vividly enough that it’s hard not to take the film as an indictment of the system as it stands. Scarface‘s message about the corrupting effect of greed on the human soul was crushed under tons of tacky sludge, and amounts to little. Here, Audiard tells the story of one young man bettering himself (at the expense of others, sadly), and speaks volumes about contemporary racial and economic politics in Europe. Everyone who adores De Palma’s movie should do everything they can to check out Un prophète, because this is how it’s done.

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Attending so many movies in such a short space of time left me greatly fatigued and mildly ill. Like some kind of Vitamin B injection, Audiard’s crime thriller gave me a burst of energy that lasted until I saw Cédric Kahn’s Les regrets. Kahn was responsible for L’ennui, one of my favourite films about sexual obsession. Adapted from a novel by Alberto Moravio, L’ennui depicts a philosophy teacher (Charles Berling) who falls for a young woman (Sophie Guillemin) to such an extent that his life falls apart as he pursues her, oblivious to her dark past. His efforts to stalk her and keep her interested in him become frantic, though as the object of his desire seems utterly unmoved by his devotion, there is a poignancy there too. It’s a memorable portrait of a man made into a fool by his desire.

Sadly, Les regrets feels like a retread of the same themes. Whereas the earlier film is an adaptation, here Kahn directs his own screenplay. Architect Mathieu (Yvan Attal) returns to his childhood home while visiting his dying mother, and accidentally encounters the former love of his life, Maya, played by Valeria Bruni Tedeschi (who spookily resembles Virginia Madsen). Though married to another architect with whom he owns a small company, Mathieu is compelled to sleep with Maya in an attempt to make right what once went wrong. At first Mathieu seems to be fighting against his urges, but it’s not long before his desire for Maya takes control of him, and he jeopardises his marriage and his career. Maya is similarly afflicted, unable to resist her attraction to her former lover, until eventually she realises that Mathieu’s obsession will destroy both of their lives. Though she recovers a little, Mathieu is too far gone, and his actions doom him.

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Les regrets is not without its pleasures. The three leads — Attal, Bruni Tedeschi, and Arly Jover as Mathieu’s neglected wife Lisa — are all wonderful, balancing on a line between absurdity and pathos with skill. Several scenes are simultaneously farcical and gutwrenching, with Mathieu and Maya racing around France to grab brief moments together, their desperate lovemaking becoming more passionate but less intimate. Late in the film Mathieu finally meets Maya’s daughter — a figure who has been mentioned but never seen — and yet this sobering collision does nothing to stop him, so determined is he to reclaim Maya’s love. Those regrets, those lost years, drive both characters to self-destructive lengths, and every so often Kahn captures a moment of panic or lust that perfectly reflects that experience and our own desire to turn back the clock and make things right with those we once loved, all while satirising the awful selfishness of these middle-class idiots who only occasionally give a damn about anyone else in their lives. The final ambiguous scene is especially damning.

Nevertheless, this feels more like a variation on a theme than a movie on its own, and as I’ve only seen once of Kahn’s movies it was especially disappointing. Perhaps if I had seen one of his thrillers (Roberto Succo or Feux rouges) this similarity would have seemed less bothersome, and certainly the stakes aren’t as high as in L’ennui, but the scenes of Attal and Bruni Tedeschi racing around to arrange one of their trysts were too familiar. Plus, I’m sure Kahn intended to make his protagonists so unlikeable, but for much of the movie the tone wavers between romantic tragedy and satire. Daisyhellcakes is convinced the movie is making fun of French erotic cinema, right down to the stolen moments of passion, the agonising and sub-poetic exhortations of love, and the overheated final act with characters passing out from stress and exploding with erotic rage. It certainly has its share of funny moments, but as a cultural visitor and heathen with only a passing knowledge of French cinema, I can’t help but feel that I was laughing at the tragedy and feeling empathy during the comedy.

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These reservations are, of course, entirely subjective. Consider Les regrets recommended, especially if you’ve not yet seen L’ennui, though I’d say that’s still the superior movie. Of course, similarity to other films isn’t really a killing blow. There was one other film we saw that was heavily indebted to another, but this film was inspired enough to add iguanas, abuse of the elderly, and an uncanny — and entirely random —  impression of Ed Sullivan. More to follow…

Adventures In Awesome: Want! Now! (5)

A bunch of fun things happened to me tonight. Seeing a really really good episode of Party Down (essential viewing for all Veronica Mars fans), playing Mario Kart Wii with Canyon (ruined only by the utterly useless driving from Funky Kong. Stupid fucking funky monkey!), seeing this incredible trailer for Werner Herzog’s Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Essential viewing for fans of Nicolas Cage (surely everyone with any sense), Ghost Rider (that would be Canyon), and post-Knight Rider Val Kilmer (probably no one). Even better than that (even though that is pretty damn good), I found out about a TV show I must see immediately. Even though I’m in the UK, I try my best to keep up with whatever interesting shows have come out of the US, but that’s a relatively new thing. Back in 1991, there would have been no way to stumble across the obscure experimental non-comedy Fishing With John, a thoroughly bizarre and lovable idea from the mind of musician and actor John Lurie, who made such an impression on me in a run of 80s independent movies.

This article on the Criterion Collection website will tell you all you need to know about it, and more. Of course, with money being as tight as it is, I shouldn’t be coveting it, as it is readily available on YouTube, but this really is the kind of thing I would love to have in my collection, just so it’s not totally full of Jerry Bruckheimer and Joel Silver movies. Plus, who would want Criterion to go out of business before they get to do a special version of The Island to go with their Armageddon and The Rock DVDs? (Yeah, Ozu, when did you last crash a space rock into Paris? Huh?)

Sci Fi Through Space/Time: The Wild Blue Yonder

A shameful admission before begin. The Wild Blue Yonder is the first movie I have seen by Werner Herzog, even though I have Rescue Dawn somewhere in this house, not to mention a Herzog/Kinski boxset that has been touched by me only to move it from house to house. Pitiful. Until I saw this movie, the only experience I had of Herzog was to experience what Klaus Kinski thought of him, as expressed in his demented, perverse, brilliant autobiography. Apologies for the long quote, but really, if you’re going to quote Kinski, you have to quote a lot:

Herzog is a miserable, hateful, malevolent, avaricious, money-hungry, nasty, sadistic, treacherous, cowardly creep…

He should be thrown alive to the crocodiles! An anaconda should strangle him slowly! A poisonous spider should sting him and paralyze his lungs! The most venomous serpent should bite him and make his brain explode! No panther claws should rip open his throat–that would be much too good for him! Huge red ants should piss into his lying eyes and gobble up his balls and his guts! He should catch the plague! Syphilis! Yellow fever! Leprosy! It’s no use; the more I wish him the most gruesome deaths, the more he haunts me…

His speech is clumsy, with a toadlike indolence, long winded, pedantic, choppy. The words tumble from his mouth in sentence fragments, which he holds back as much as possible, as if they were earning interest. It takes forever and a day for him to push out a clump of hardened brain snot. Then he writhes in painful ecstasy, as if he had sugar on his rotten teeth. A very slow blab machine. An obsolete model with a non-working switch— it can’t be turned off unless you cut off the electric power altogether. So I’d have to smash him in the kisser. No, I’d have to knock him unconscious. But even if he were unconscious he’d keep talking. Even if his vocal cords were sliced through, he’d keep talking like a ventriloquist. Even if his throat were cut and his head were chopped off, speech balloons would still dangle from his mouth like gases emitted by internal decay.

The word on the street is that Kinski’s autobiography was full of exaggeration, obfuscation, and insane bullshit, but even so, that’s the kind of description that makes an impression on you. For some inexplicable and inexcusable reason I never got to see Herzog’s work, but I made an effort for The Wild Blue Yonder, because the idea behind it, of a monologue delivered by an alien played by Brad Dourif, was immensely appealing. Perhaps I should have realised that this was to be one of Herzog’s minor works, and an exercise in audience frustration, rather than his larger projects.


While I say minor works, I’m aware that the documentaries made between his major films are highly regarded, and that what might appear to be dashed off are done with intelligence and enthusiasm. At least, that’s the impression I got from Wild Blue Yonder, which was simultaneously trivial and fascinating, though perhaps more for what it says about filmmaking and storytelling than I says about its subject matter, which is an amusing but slight satire on modern culture, environmental concerns, and the urge to explore our surroundings, with a possible side order of comment on the sci fi genre and its reliance on spectacle.

Made on a shoestring budget, mostly utilising bits of footage found by or donated to Herzog, Wild Blue Yonder is a long tirade delivered by an alien, relating an alternate history of earth. His race, escaping an ice age on their home planet orbiting Andromeda, arrive on earth with the hope of rebuilding their civilisation but instead fail because, in Dourif’s words:

You see aliens as these technologically advanced superbeings who destroy New York city in two minutes flat. Well I hate to say it, but we aliens all suck.


Much of Dourif’s tale is told in a rundown Midwestern town, with deserted streets, dilapidated faux-Grecian buildings, and decrepit trailers, standing in for the aliens’ hubris-wrecked Babylon. The setting, and the tale told, are reminiscent of Nicolas Roeg’s adaptation of Walter Tevis’ The Man Who Fell To Earth, but Roeg didn’t visualise the alien’s arrival on Earth using old stock footage of crashing airplanes.


Herzog’s reliance on found footage to relate his galactic tale is both frugal and, for a while, amusing, cleverly linking shots of NASA scientists examining a probe to the next part of his tale, as an Andromedan virus escapes from the Roswell UFO during its examination at Cape Canaveral, and infects the planet.


A spacecraft orbiting Earth contains the only uninfected humans left, and their fate depends upon leaving Earth’s orbit and finding some way to travel across the galaxy to the home planet of the alien refugees, in the hope that they might find some way to build a new life there, with scientists desperately trying to invent methods of faster-than-light travel in order to speed up the journey.


This section of the movie is possibly the most problematic. Using footage of zero-G shenanigans from the STS 34 Space Shuttle mission, a long stretch of the short running time is taken up with mundane shots of astronauts sitting (well, floating) around, doing very little. The narrative grinds to a halt at these points, possibly to mimic the boredom of the astronauts, forced to play a waiting game while trying to leave Earth’s orbit, but also, maybe, as a pointed antidote to the grandiosity of much sci fi. Just as exotic fantasies of interesting alien cultures are punctured by Dourif’s resolutely unglamorous and self-loathing shlub, the wonder of space travel is presented as a flat, gray, nothing, a life of chores and boredom.


Scattered through these scenes are very entertaining rants from Dourif about the sins of humanity (breeding pigs and climbing mountains. It makes sense in the movie), weird alternate history interludes (Galileo’s launch figures in), and occasional breaks for baffling interviews with astrophysicists discussing theoretical intergalactic space travel methods, including one really awesome one from Martin Lo, explaining his Interplanetary Network theory. Nevertheless, these interruptions, delivered with no concessions to layman speak, are so perplexing that I began to suspect Herzog was making a point about mainstream sci fi, replacing the genre’s meaningless sub-scientific babble with actual science, in all its impenetrable complexity.


Eventually, using Lo’s method of interstellar travel, which he refers to as chaotic transport, the astronauts reach their destination, the ice encrusted planet from which Dourif’s ancestors travelled, and Herzog switches to footage of divers swimming under the ice at Murdo Sound, which was given to him by musician Henry Kaiser. With Dourif’s narration describing his homeworld as one with a frozen blue sky and bizarre alien creatures, we see divers passing under a thick blue crust of ice, surrounded by unfamiliar underwater flora and fauna. Compared to the eventless middle section, this part of the film is fascinating and, again, playful.


The kicker, delivered in the final moments of the film, is that the astronauts, so isolated and harried by their desperate trip through space, return to Earth with good news about the possible relocation spot, only to find that Earth has been deserted long before, making their journey a useless one. Even worse, the remnants of the human race are now living in space and Earth has become a national park for holidays.


This, in turn, makes the entire film seem like an absurd and futile joke, and makes you wonder what the point of it all is. Is it a treatise on humanity’s urge to trivialise the glorious? Some of the photography at the end is so beautiful it seems Herzog might be angered by the thought of his fellow man taking this beauty for granted. Harking back to the start of the film, the aliens’ plans for their stay on Earth, which requires building a city featuring a mall, a court room, a Pentagon, in an effort to replicate Washington DC, all fail. It’s likely this is a metaphor for the death of the American dream, and the way intelligence or wisdom can be ignored by many. One funny moment, with Dourif describing the alien lifeforms and their incomprehensible languages matches up with an image of a floating aquatic blob as a human language, possibly Farsi, bubbles up through the soundtrack. Is this just a silly joke? A comment on Western attitudes to foreigners, with a hint of war-on-terror criticism thrown in for good measure?


By film’s end I was baffled as to what Herzog was aiming for. A lot of the voiceover (and the denouement) is pointedly satirical, especially about humanity’s inability to take responsibility for the consequences of its actions. However, it also ends on a flatly ironic note, a Shaggy Dog tale ending that makes the journey as pointless as the one taken by the astronauts. After that, much of the movie seems purposeless. Long stretches of the film pass with little happening, leaving room for contemplation but it has very little (if any) narrative drive. It also makes you wonder if Dourif’s alien is nothing more than a crank rambling about his conspiracy theories from the wreckage of his trailer park home, which makes the movie even more absurd, as if the faux-documentary is doubly faux. There are layers and layers of falsehood here, which suits a movie that takes existing footage out of context and creates something new from it.


Of course, trying to assign meaning to a film as blank and mischievous as this one is an exercise in futility. All of these interpretations could be correct, but I could theoretically micro-analyse the movie for years. From where I’m sitting it could either be a prank, a critique of a genre I love, or the most profound movie ever made. Of course, obsessively dissecting this movie might still be missing the point. Herzog might have merely been trying to create a poetic experience, a hypnotic fusion of image and sound, but on a subjective level I’d have to say it fails in that respect as well. The imagery in the final third of the movie is beautiful but grainy, and the mid-section is utterly drab, the only colour provided by many out of context displays of blurry cosmic events.


What makes those long narrative-free sequences in the middle bearable is the beautiful soundtrack by German cellist Ernst Reijseger and Senegalese singer Mola Sylla. Recorded prior to making the movie, it lives independently of the film, unlike something like Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi, which is as perfect a melding of abstract vision and non-diegetic sound as is possible. Wild Blue Yonder, perhaps intentionally, splits the visual content almost evenly between mundane and strangely beautiful, and not even the haunting soundtrack Herzog has presided over can make the dull half work as well as the other. If the movie sounds like hard going (and it can be), I recommend the soundtrack CD, Requiem For A Dying Planet, which has been stuck to my iPod for months now.


If the movie doesn’t fully succeed as story or satire, it does make a strong case for cobbling together a narrative out of things that are available to you. Herzog was lucky enough to get hold of Henry Kaiser’s footage (which he also used in his documentary Encounters at the End of the World), and the space shuttle footage, which comprise the majority of the film, and much of the film looks like stock footage from a library, acquired either for free or at least cheaply. The only expenses incurred, other than post-production and research, is getting Brad Dourif into the middle of nowhere for a couple of days, and hiring musicians and studios to record the wonderful soundtrack. For these, Herzog got some funding from Centre National de la Cinématographie, France2 and BBC Films. Well, I say BBC Films, but it was actually Nick Fraser and the Storyville guys, who are currently responsible for 90% of the interesting things coming out of the BBC, including James Marsh’s super Man on Wire. I doubt BBC Films proper would never have any interest in funding Wild Blue Yonder now that they’ve rebranded themselves as The Keira Knightly Period Costume Factory in an effort to emulate the rest of the British Film Industry instead of supporting exciting projects like Morvern Callar and Last Resort [/rant].


As I said recently, the idea of cobbling together the resources to tell a story any way you can and using whatever means necessary to communicate ideas is very alluring. One way, the Michel Gondry way, involves making things and using your imagination to get around problems in a script already written. Herzog’s idea (which is not solely his, but merely one he is using here) is to take found footage and construct a narrative out of it. Using free stock footage (available online), it’s relatively easy to make a film telling a story you want. As I say, this is not a new idea; within the narrow parameters of my experience I’ve greatly enjoyed the work of Chris Morris, Armando Iannucci, and Adam Buxton, all of whom have used found footage for comical purposes, and of course Orson Welles’ last movie, F For Fake, played with truth and falsehood by manipulating the real and unreal until the audience doesn’t know which is which. Herzog has even used this technique before, in his 1992 movie Lessons of Darknesswhich re-edits footage from Operation Desert Storm into a reflection on faith, magic, and madness. Even so, it was not until I saw The Wild Blue Yonder that I realised how easy it could be. It was an exciting moment.


That’s beside the point, though. Wild Blue Yonder, as a film, is not a success, being only sporadically entertaining, narratively simplistic, and thematically jumbled. As a reflective space to let your brain wander in, visually it’s often too murky or drab, though the leisurely pace certainly helps generate a hypnotic state. It’s more successful as a kind of cinematic prank, daring to corral unconnected imagery and playful ranting into a coherent, if ephemeral, whole. Nevertheless, throughout I kept wanting a little bit more; more narrative, more energy, more purpose (or, to make the project more of a joke, less purpose). There’s a strong case that Herzog, seeking to confound audience expectation, has deconstructed the sci fi genre, showing the tedium of real space travel and the lies at the heart of the sci fi movie: they have alien worlds created in the heart of a computer, he has an underwater world that is as real as it is alien, but when seen in the context of the movie is as false as the CGI vision. That’s possibly the most intriguing critique of the movie, but that means the film only works on an intellectual level. Having to sit and watch it is still an occasionally frustrating experience for this ADD afflicted film buff.


Falling between two stools, one of entertainment and the other transcendental art, Wild Blue Yonder ended up leaving me unsatisfied as a movie, even while it made my brain whir with excitement as a creative template. There’s no way I could think ill of it, even if just taking it as a quirky curio starring one of the great character actors of our time in full flow, but I hesitate to recommend it either, simply because even after pondering it for months, I’m not sure what it set out to do or what it achieves. Maybe that was the point of it.