With the Golden Globes just behind us and the Oscars in front of us, it's time for Exclaim!'s learned film council to weigh in on the standout celluloid exploits of the cinematic year that was 2011. From stripped-down embodiments of cool driven by revenge, to drama that felt as if the world was ending turned world-ending drama, to existentialist imagery spanning the whole of creation and evolution, to raunchy bridesmaids but never the brides, the themes of 2011 unquestionably reflected the anxiety, confusion, isolation, optimism and desperation of these troubled times. But, of course, with poop jokes. You know: the human condition.
Exclaim!'s Top 10 Films of 2011:
10. The Guard
(Directed by John Michael McDonagh)
The most underrated movie of the year, The Guard is another one of those "bad cop" comedies that milks laughs out of the ridiculous misbehaviour of a supposed authority figure. Sure, we've seen it before, but The Guard stands out from the pack thanks to cultural specificity and a towering, hilarious performance from Brendan Gleeson. The debut film from writer/director John Michael McDonagh (whose brother and award-winning playwright, Martin McDonagh, made the fantastic crime/comedy In Bruges in 2008) tells the tale of international drug smuggling coming to a small, isolated Irish community. Paired with an American FBI agent (ably portrayed by the always excellent Don Cheadle), Gleeson plays a confrontational, unorthodox policeman with almost as many vices as the criminals he's catching. The film is ultimately little more than dirty, R-rated, "did he just say that?" comedy, but it's executed with such style by such talented collaborators that it feels like more. The dialogue is exquisitely crafted by McDonagh and spat out with such flair by Gleeson that it practically becomes vulgar poetry. The characters are fully fleshed out, the narrative carefully constructed to find surprises in clichés and the humour is both endless and cripplingly funny. For anyone with a dark sense of humour, The Guard offers 90 minutes of filthy delight. It's not easy to find originality in well-worn crime movie conventions, so McDonagh deserves praise for finding a fresh spin on an old game. You'll never look at roly-poly police officers the same again, even if you already harboured suspicions about their off hours. (Alliance)
Phil Brown
9. Bridesmaids
(Directed by Paul Feig)
The excitement and high expectations that accompanied Bridesmaids on its release were tempered only by an occasional dismay that, again, we are presented with a typically "feminine" theme for a film full of, and created by, women. But that theme was only incidental in light of Bridesmaids' incredibly sharp comedic writing, standout performances by Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy (oh, and don't forget Jon Hamm as an excellent asshole), and a remarkable, emotionally raw and touching centre to the otherwise consistently hilarious film. Wiig's protagonist is a woman down on her luck in so many ways, and yet, her painfully awkward attempts to deal with her troubles are somehow effortlessly combined with genuine, and big, laughs (witness her insult-trading with a spoiled teenager or her strange relationship with her manipulative, yet idiotic, roommates). At the centre of Bridesmaids is a remarkably thorough exploration of the relationships that grow among a diverse and hardly "normal" group of women as they gather for a friend's wedding. McCarthy's character's paranoia, self-assuredness and swagger are combined with her unapologetically frank approach to her gastro-intestinal problems, to pitch-perfect effect. Indeed, the film's greatest contribution to both comedy and feminism is that it refuses to "pin down" any one character, relationship or plotline. The women posing on the film's poster says it all: deal with it. For such a flawlessly hilarious film, Bridesmaids packs in an impressive amount of detailed character development and emotional drama. (Universal)
Jovana Jankovic
8. The Descendants
(Directed by Alexander Payne)
Early on in Alexander Payne's first film in seven years, The Descendants, someone describes Matt King's (George Clooney) current circumstances as, "one heck of a unique, dramatic situation" and he isn't kidding around either. King's wife is in a coma after a boating accident; his daughter just told him his wife was having an affair prior to her injuries; and, to top it all off, the fate of an entire Hawaiian island rests upon what King's family decides to do with a sizable chunk of land. Fortunately for King, there's nobody better than Payne when it comes to directing characters at distinct and difficult turning points in their lives. And fortunately for the audience, Payne's time away has only made him more adept at his craft. Clooney has never looked more schleppy, as a Hawaiian lawyer and father of two, nor has he ever been quite so vulnerable and sensitive on screen. If the man can pull off one of the most commanding performances of his career in tacky Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops, you know he deserves all the accolades he receives. By bearing the weight of the film on his shoulders, with every dramatic tangent converging in front of him at once, Clooney succeeds in transporting the audience through a journey that not only inspires strength and humility, but also provides a very real sense of joy along the way. The Descendants is not only one of 2011's greatest films, but it is also Payne's finest work to date. (Fox Searchlight)
Joseph Belanger
7. The Artist
(Directed by Michael Hazanavicius)
Nestled among 2011's shield-wielding superheroes, grizzled politicians and explosive bridesmaids, who would have ever dreamt that a film about the dying days of silent cinema would make so much noise? Michel Hazanavicius's largely silent The Artist speaks volumes about a beloved era of Hollywood that may be gone, but is far from forgotten. In 1927, George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), a silent film star, is at the apex of his career in an industry he believes is here to stay. Vehemently opposed to the encroaching trend of "talkies" – films with sound – he only notices his star fading when the silent roles become sparse and, suddenly, no one will hire an actor who won't talk. When the career of Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), a struggling actress Valentin once took under his wing, suddenly takes off, coinciding with the increased demand for talkies, the soon penniless and jaded Valentin must come to terms with the reality of a foundering genre. You won't find 3-D gimmicks or tired plots; The Artist is a true original, and it's not just about the novelty of a silent film in 2011. French actor Dujardin gives the performance of his career as a man forced to change or get left behind – something many of us can relate to in today's economic climate. Paired with Ludovic Bource's buoyant, award-winning score, The Artist is an innovative ode to a bygone era. Fresh from winning the Golden Globe for Best Picture (Comedy or Musical), we'd all do well to enjoy the sound of silence this awards season. (Alliance)
Manori Ravindran
6. Beginners
(Directed By Mike Mills)
Noted mostly for its standout supporting performance from Christopher Plummer, as a 78-year-old man that comes out of the closet just as he's diagnosed with terminal cancer, Beginners is one of those quiet, personal films that sneaks up unexpectedly and packs a profound emotional punch. More than a story of Oliver (Ewan McGregor) coming to terms with the death of his father, this dramatic comedy of human doubt and contradiction links annihilation anxiety to personal signifiers, relating fears of rejection and inevitable complacency to the whimsy and excitement of a nascent romance. Why should Oliver commit his future to the intelligent and free-spirited Anna (Mélanie Laurent) when all he has to draw from is past relationship failures and a marriage of convenience between his parents? It's not an unreasonable question, which writer/direct Mike Mills handles with complex acuity, making an idiosyncratic, yet entirely accessible, film about how the past relates to projections of the future, ultimately grounding the present in assumptions and personal ideologies. He even manages to integrate stock footage of past cultural events, drawing this context comically into the narrative through the trajectory of historical graffiti factoids, making Oliver's struggle with hope somewhat universal. Of course, since this intimate depiction of what it means to be alive draws on issues of an individual and personal nature, rather than those that are political or global, its quiet significance and power can be easily overlooked. But that would be a mistake, since so few films manage to capture the pains of being human with such beauty and honesty. (Alliance)
Robert Bell
5. Take Shelter
(Directed by Jeff Nicholas)
For cineastes turned off by the divisiveness of Tree of Life and Melancholia, just look to Take Shelter for an easier to digest take on cinematic existentialism. It's a film transplanted from the '90s, an ambitious, rigorous domestic drama about paranoid psychosis, with brain-teasing philosophical themes, full of creepy imagery and genre-defying narrative twists, imbued with the power to broaden the mind as deep as Malick or Von Trier's exercises. Michael Shannon, who is becoming this generation's Christopher Walken, again turns in another deranged, but inspired, performance, as off kilter family man Curtis La Forche, whose nagging nightmares seem to invade his physical reality. As Curtis goes through the process of diagnosing paranoid schizophrenia, his delusions of building a storm shelter threaten to bankrupt his family. Jeff Nichols shows some brawny skills in scare cinema, generating some of the freakiest, most terrifying moments on screen this year – none more startling than the storm sequence where Curtis and his daughter, in their home, find themselves in the heart of a raging tornado, a storm so violent it lifts the furniture into the air for an extended moment of pure shock. But the most frightening aspect of the film is Curtis's real-world descent into paranoid schizophrenia, treated delicately, with realism, and without any genre-based superficiality. The warmth of Jessica Chastain, also motherly to the point of saintly in Tree of Life, is a comforting presence; her eventual commitment to Curtis's insane endeavour is the heart and soul of the film, and representative of its prevailing theme – a spiritual obligation to something intangible and a feeling that you are doing the right thing. Despite comparisons to Tree of Life and Melancholia tonally, Take Shelter compares best to M. Night Shyamalan's Unbreakable. Nichols' carefully paced narrative simmers before paying off the tension with some superlative dramatic scenes, then blindsides with the mind blowing finale scene. (Mongrel Media)
Alan Bacchus
4. Shame
(Directed by Steve McQueen)
Towards the end of Steve McQueen's second feature film, Shame, we watch Michael Fassbender's Brandon engage in a threesome. The long, quiet scene is quite possibly the most un-erotic threesome ever filmed, but it's not meant to be sexy. Brandon looks less like a human being engaged in pleasure and more like a dying skeleton trying to purge his sins via ejaculation. The result is melancholic, and if you'll forgive the pun, a mind-fuck. Shame haunts the neuroses of the audience long after they've left the cinema for these very reasons. The sex addiction portrayed is beyond the societal laws of morality, and is all the more meaningful, potent and gloriously pungent for it. Brandon's relationship with his sister, Sissy (played by a somewhat miscast Carey Mulligan), introduces further psychological poison into the Shame cauldron, as their relationship screams incestuous undertones that are never fully addressed. As we fill in the gaps, the seats we occupy become all the more uncomfortable; the mirror is suddenly turned inward and our personal shames are illuminated. The film, with its green tint (indicating a deathly decay), gut-rumbling musical score (by Harry Escott, which is put to good use, particularly during scenes on the dark NYC subway) and McQueen's penchant for long, unbroken sequences establish a psycho-sexual trickery that far surpasses predecessors Last Tango In Paris or the more recent Lie With Me. The line between pornography and genuine intimacy may have been crossed long ago, but Shame exquisitely reminds us that we may never be released from those talons. It is all the more likely we will die in their clutch. And if you're going to die, might as well go out with a "bang." (Alliance)
Christine Estima
3. Melancholia
(Directed by Lars von Trier)
It's 2012, and as apocalyptic thoughts seep into the collective unconscious, some of our cinematically elected representatives have chosen to explore the strange meaning of existence. While the metaphysically-inclined Terrence Malick earned raves for his new age obscurantism in Tree of Life, aging enfant terrible Lars von Trier returned with another gut-wrenching melodrama that stayed closer to home and hit harder. Beginning with an elaborate marriage and ending with the end of the world, Melancholia is largely the story of two sisters: Justine (Kristen Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Entering a marriage she can't handle, Justine eventually succumbs to depression and enters into the care of Claire and her workaholic husband, John (Kiefer Sutherland), which coincides with the passing of a planet named "Melancholia" through the Earth's orbit. The antidote to Malick's cosmological navel-gaze, with Melancholia, Von Trier remains as confrontational as ever, violently swinging his camera, Dogme-style, zooming in so close it burrows into his subjects' souls. As is his hallmark, he elicits remarkable performances across the board from his stacked cast, and while Dunst rightfully garnered praise for her mentally and physically naked portrayal of the cracked-up Justine, earning her a spot in the pantheon of great Von Trier tragic heroines, Charlotte Gainsbourg surprisingly owns, subtly moving from sensibly static to shell-shocked as the impending doom becomes apparent. It's a testament to Von Trier's skill that there is such palpable tension for what is essentially a forgone conclusion. Whether or not Von Trier is the finest contemporary filmmaker may be up for debate (hint: he is), but his work remains inarguably rigorous, divisive and always unique. (eOne)
Bjorn Olson
2. The Tree of Life
(Directed by Terrence Malick)
More than any other widely released film in recent memory, Terrence Malick's masterful mediation on the beauty and insignificance of life is an astounding achievement in cinematic art. A traditional drama this is not; it uses the scale of all creation to emphasise the incredible process of evolution, leading to each unique life, and then spins a deeply personal coming-of-age story to depict how those lives are shaped by personal experience. Regardless of its '50s setting, the character-defining moments of a boy traversing the pitfalls of adolescence, learning to question the unyielding attitudes of his domineering father and his mother's passivity hobbled concern are presented with such honesty that they'll resonate across generations. Respecting his audience to make connections without explicit exposition, Malick's poetic philosophizing is imbued with a sense of reverence by the consistently stunning cinematography, special effects that eschew easily dated computer graphics, in favour of microphotography composites depicting the creation of life as we know it, and a rich classical score welling with non-denominational spirituality. The Tree of Life is more an emotional sensory experience than proper narrative, jumping through time and memory to remind us why every moment of our ephemeral existence, from the psychological wounds of growing up and naïve curiosity of exploring the borders of our moral values to the joy of an infant's laughter, a mother's smile, a father's pride and even the bustle of modern industry, is something to be cherished. (eOne)
Scott A. Gray
1. Drive
(Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn)
Yes, Nicholas Winding Refn's Drive is an homage to '80s car-chase cheese like To Live and Die in L.A., but it's more than just nostalgia or empty coolness. This intoxicating, minimalist action film is the type of trance-inducing exercise in style that calls to mind Pauline Kael's appraisal of Band of Outsiders: "It's as if a French poet took a banal American crime novel and told it to us in terms of the romance and beauty he read between the lines." More than anything, Refn finds ways to visually articulate the sensual pleasures of the tacky and mundane without ever crossing into irony. How many other films could make a scorpion-emblazed jacket, a Kavinsky techno song and scraggly character actors like Bryan Cranston and Ron Perlman so beautiful? As an unnamed stuntman-by-day/escape-car-driver-by-night, Ryan Gosling's onscreen persona is distilled to its barest essence of (here comes that dreaded word) cool. Refn's nocturnal Los Angeles, all inky blacks and neon pinks, is as atmospheric and beautiful a depiction of the city as I've ever seen. And then there's Albert Brooks, whose incredible performance as a small-time gang boss isn't just stunt casting; he's so scary and right that he might be better suited for this type of role than the nebbishes he usually plays. Drive is technically a thriller, and its story of a getaway driver double-crossed on assignment provides some conventional thrills. However, the power of Refn's sounds and images, and the magnetism of his ensemble cast, makes Drive a mood piece – an immersive blanket of cool. This isn't simply a case of style over substance: in Drive, style is substance. (Alliance)
Will Sloan
Exclaim!'s Top 10 Films of 2011:
10. The Guard
(Directed by John Michael McDonagh)
The most underrated movie of the year, The Guard is another one of those "bad cop" comedies that milks laughs out of the ridiculous misbehaviour of a supposed authority figure. Sure, we've seen it before, but The Guard stands out from the pack thanks to cultural specificity and a towering, hilarious performance from Brendan Gleeson. The debut film from writer/director John Michael McDonagh (whose brother and award-winning playwright, Martin McDonagh, made the fantastic crime/comedy In Bruges in 2008) tells the tale of international drug smuggling coming to a small, isolated Irish community. Paired with an American FBI agent (ably portrayed by the always excellent Don Cheadle), Gleeson plays a confrontational, unorthodox policeman with almost as many vices as the criminals he's catching. The film is ultimately little more than dirty, R-rated, "did he just say that?" comedy, but it's executed with such style by such talented collaborators that it feels like more. The dialogue is exquisitely crafted by McDonagh and spat out with such flair by Gleeson that it practically becomes vulgar poetry. The characters are fully fleshed out, the narrative carefully constructed to find surprises in clichés and the humour is both endless and cripplingly funny. For anyone with a dark sense of humour, The Guard offers 90 minutes of filthy delight. It's not easy to find originality in well-worn crime movie conventions, so McDonagh deserves praise for finding a fresh spin on an old game. You'll never look at roly-poly police officers the same again, even if you already harboured suspicions about their off hours. (Alliance)
Phil Brown
9. Bridesmaids
(Directed by Paul Feig)
The excitement and high expectations that accompanied Bridesmaids on its release were tempered only by an occasional dismay that, again, we are presented with a typically "feminine" theme for a film full of, and created by, women. But that theme was only incidental in light of Bridesmaids' incredibly sharp comedic writing, standout performances by Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy (oh, and don't forget Jon Hamm as an excellent asshole), and a remarkable, emotionally raw and touching centre to the otherwise consistently hilarious film. Wiig's protagonist is a woman down on her luck in so many ways, and yet, her painfully awkward attempts to deal with her troubles are somehow effortlessly combined with genuine, and big, laughs (witness her insult-trading with a spoiled teenager or her strange relationship with her manipulative, yet idiotic, roommates). At the centre of Bridesmaids is a remarkably thorough exploration of the relationships that grow among a diverse and hardly "normal" group of women as they gather for a friend's wedding. McCarthy's character's paranoia, self-assuredness and swagger are combined with her unapologetically frank approach to her gastro-intestinal problems, to pitch-perfect effect. Indeed, the film's greatest contribution to both comedy and feminism is that it refuses to "pin down" any one character, relationship or plotline. The women posing on the film's poster says it all: deal with it. For such a flawlessly hilarious film, Bridesmaids packs in an impressive amount of detailed character development and emotional drama. (Universal)
Jovana Jankovic
8. The Descendants
(Directed by Alexander Payne)
Early on in Alexander Payne's first film in seven years, The Descendants, someone describes Matt King's (George Clooney) current circumstances as, "one heck of a unique, dramatic situation" and he isn't kidding around either. King's wife is in a coma after a boating accident; his daughter just told him his wife was having an affair prior to her injuries; and, to top it all off, the fate of an entire Hawaiian island rests upon what King's family decides to do with a sizable chunk of land. Fortunately for King, there's nobody better than Payne when it comes to directing characters at distinct and difficult turning points in their lives. And fortunately for the audience, Payne's time away has only made him more adept at his craft. Clooney has never looked more schleppy, as a Hawaiian lawyer and father of two, nor has he ever been quite so vulnerable and sensitive on screen. If the man can pull off one of the most commanding performances of his career in tacky Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops, you know he deserves all the accolades he receives. By bearing the weight of the film on his shoulders, with every dramatic tangent converging in front of him at once, Clooney succeeds in transporting the audience through a journey that not only inspires strength and humility, but also provides a very real sense of joy along the way. The Descendants is not only one of 2011's greatest films, but it is also Payne's finest work to date. (Fox Searchlight)
Joseph Belanger
7. The Artist
(Directed by Michael Hazanavicius)
Nestled among 2011's shield-wielding superheroes, grizzled politicians and explosive bridesmaids, who would have ever dreamt that a film about the dying days of silent cinema would make so much noise? Michel Hazanavicius's largely silent The Artist speaks volumes about a beloved era of Hollywood that may be gone, but is far from forgotten. In 1927, George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), a silent film star, is at the apex of his career in an industry he believes is here to stay. Vehemently opposed to the encroaching trend of "talkies" – films with sound – he only notices his star fading when the silent roles become sparse and, suddenly, no one will hire an actor who won't talk. When the career of Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), a struggling actress Valentin once took under his wing, suddenly takes off, coinciding with the increased demand for talkies, the soon penniless and jaded Valentin must come to terms with the reality of a foundering genre. You won't find 3-D gimmicks or tired plots; The Artist is a true original, and it's not just about the novelty of a silent film in 2011. French actor Dujardin gives the performance of his career as a man forced to change or get left behind – something many of us can relate to in today's economic climate. Paired with Ludovic Bource's buoyant, award-winning score, The Artist is an innovative ode to a bygone era. Fresh from winning the Golden Globe for Best Picture (Comedy or Musical), we'd all do well to enjoy the sound of silence this awards season. (Alliance)
Manori Ravindran
6. Beginners
(Directed By Mike Mills)
Noted mostly for its standout supporting performance from Christopher Plummer, as a 78-year-old man that comes out of the closet just as he's diagnosed with terminal cancer, Beginners is one of those quiet, personal films that sneaks up unexpectedly and packs a profound emotional punch. More than a story of Oliver (Ewan McGregor) coming to terms with the death of his father, this dramatic comedy of human doubt and contradiction links annihilation anxiety to personal signifiers, relating fears of rejection and inevitable complacency to the whimsy and excitement of a nascent romance. Why should Oliver commit his future to the intelligent and free-spirited Anna (Mélanie Laurent) when all he has to draw from is past relationship failures and a marriage of convenience between his parents? It's not an unreasonable question, which writer/direct Mike Mills handles with complex acuity, making an idiosyncratic, yet entirely accessible, film about how the past relates to projections of the future, ultimately grounding the present in assumptions and personal ideologies. He even manages to integrate stock footage of past cultural events, drawing this context comically into the narrative through the trajectory of historical graffiti factoids, making Oliver's struggle with hope somewhat universal. Of course, since this intimate depiction of what it means to be alive draws on issues of an individual and personal nature, rather than those that are political or global, its quiet significance and power can be easily overlooked. But that would be a mistake, since so few films manage to capture the pains of being human with such beauty and honesty. (Alliance)
Robert Bell
5. Take Shelter
(Directed by Jeff Nicholas)
For cineastes turned off by the divisiveness of Tree of Life and Melancholia, just look to Take Shelter for an easier to digest take on cinematic existentialism. It's a film transplanted from the '90s, an ambitious, rigorous domestic drama about paranoid psychosis, with brain-teasing philosophical themes, full of creepy imagery and genre-defying narrative twists, imbued with the power to broaden the mind as deep as Malick or Von Trier's exercises. Michael Shannon, who is becoming this generation's Christopher Walken, again turns in another deranged, but inspired, performance, as off kilter family man Curtis La Forche, whose nagging nightmares seem to invade his physical reality. As Curtis goes through the process of diagnosing paranoid schizophrenia, his delusions of building a storm shelter threaten to bankrupt his family. Jeff Nichols shows some brawny skills in scare cinema, generating some of the freakiest, most terrifying moments on screen this year – none more startling than the storm sequence where Curtis and his daughter, in their home, find themselves in the heart of a raging tornado, a storm so violent it lifts the furniture into the air for an extended moment of pure shock. But the most frightening aspect of the film is Curtis's real-world descent into paranoid schizophrenia, treated delicately, with realism, and without any genre-based superficiality. The warmth of Jessica Chastain, also motherly to the point of saintly in Tree of Life, is a comforting presence; her eventual commitment to Curtis's insane endeavour is the heart and soul of the film, and representative of its prevailing theme – a spiritual obligation to something intangible and a feeling that you are doing the right thing. Despite comparisons to Tree of Life and Melancholia tonally, Take Shelter compares best to M. Night Shyamalan's Unbreakable. Nichols' carefully paced narrative simmers before paying off the tension with some superlative dramatic scenes, then blindsides with the mind blowing finale scene. (Mongrel Media)
Alan Bacchus
4. Shame
(Directed by Steve McQueen)
Towards the end of Steve McQueen's second feature film, Shame, we watch Michael Fassbender's Brandon engage in a threesome. The long, quiet scene is quite possibly the most un-erotic threesome ever filmed, but it's not meant to be sexy. Brandon looks less like a human being engaged in pleasure and more like a dying skeleton trying to purge his sins via ejaculation. The result is melancholic, and if you'll forgive the pun, a mind-fuck. Shame haunts the neuroses of the audience long after they've left the cinema for these very reasons. The sex addiction portrayed is beyond the societal laws of morality, and is all the more meaningful, potent and gloriously pungent for it. Brandon's relationship with his sister, Sissy (played by a somewhat miscast Carey Mulligan), introduces further psychological poison into the Shame cauldron, as their relationship screams incestuous undertones that are never fully addressed. As we fill in the gaps, the seats we occupy become all the more uncomfortable; the mirror is suddenly turned inward and our personal shames are illuminated. The film, with its green tint (indicating a deathly decay), gut-rumbling musical score (by Harry Escott, which is put to good use, particularly during scenes on the dark NYC subway) and McQueen's penchant for long, unbroken sequences establish a psycho-sexual trickery that far surpasses predecessors Last Tango In Paris or the more recent Lie With Me. The line between pornography and genuine intimacy may have been crossed long ago, but Shame exquisitely reminds us that we may never be released from those talons. It is all the more likely we will die in their clutch. And if you're going to die, might as well go out with a "bang." (Alliance)
Christine Estima
3. Melancholia
(Directed by Lars von Trier)
It's 2012, and as apocalyptic thoughts seep into the collective unconscious, some of our cinematically elected representatives have chosen to explore the strange meaning of existence. While the metaphysically-inclined Terrence Malick earned raves for his new age obscurantism in Tree of Life, aging enfant terrible Lars von Trier returned with another gut-wrenching melodrama that stayed closer to home and hit harder. Beginning with an elaborate marriage and ending with the end of the world, Melancholia is largely the story of two sisters: Justine (Kristen Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Entering a marriage she can't handle, Justine eventually succumbs to depression and enters into the care of Claire and her workaholic husband, John (Kiefer Sutherland), which coincides with the passing of a planet named "Melancholia" through the Earth's orbit. The antidote to Malick's cosmological navel-gaze, with Melancholia, Von Trier remains as confrontational as ever, violently swinging his camera, Dogme-style, zooming in so close it burrows into his subjects' souls. As is his hallmark, he elicits remarkable performances across the board from his stacked cast, and while Dunst rightfully garnered praise for her mentally and physically naked portrayal of the cracked-up Justine, earning her a spot in the pantheon of great Von Trier tragic heroines, Charlotte Gainsbourg surprisingly owns, subtly moving from sensibly static to shell-shocked as the impending doom becomes apparent. It's a testament to Von Trier's skill that there is such palpable tension for what is essentially a forgone conclusion. Whether or not Von Trier is the finest contemporary filmmaker may be up for debate (hint: he is), but his work remains inarguably rigorous, divisive and always unique. (eOne)
Bjorn Olson
2. The Tree of Life
(Directed by Terrence Malick)
More than any other widely released film in recent memory, Terrence Malick's masterful mediation on the beauty and insignificance of life is an astounding achievement in cinematic art. A traditional drama this is not; it uses the scale of all creation to emphasise the incredible process of evolution, leading to each unique life, and then spins a deeply personal coming-of-age story to depict how those lives are shaped by personal experience. Regardless of its '50s setting, the character-defining moments of a boy traversing the pitfalls of adolescence, learning to question the unyielding attitudes of his domineering father and his mother's passivity hobbled concern are presented with such honesty that they'll resonate across generations. Respecting his audience to make connections without explicit exposition, Malick's poetic philosophizing is imbued with a sense of reverence by the consistently stunning cinematography, special effects that eschew easily dated computer graphics, in favour of microphotography composites depicting the creation of life as we know it, and a rich classical score welling with non-denominational spirituality. The Tree of Life is more an emotional sensory experience than proper narrative, jumping through time and memory to remind us why every moment of our ephemeral existence, from the psychological wounds of growing up and naïve curiosity of exploring the borders of our moral values to the joy of an infant's laughter, a mother's smile, a father's pride and even the bustle of modern industry, is something to be cherished. (eOne)
Scott A. Gray
1. Drive
(Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn)
Yes, Nicholas Winding Refn's Drive is an homage to '80s car-chase cheese like To Live and Die in L.A., but it's more than just nostalgia or empty coolness. This intoxicating, minimalist action film is the type of trance-inducing exercise in style that calls to mind Pauline Kael's appraisal of Band of Outsiders: "It's as if a French poet took a banal American crime novel and told it to us in terms of the romance and beauty he read between the lines." More than anything, Refn finds ways to visually articulate the sensual pleasures of the tacky and mundane without ever crossing into irony. How many other films could make a scorpion-emblazed jacket, a Kavinsky techno song and scraggly character actors like Bryan Cranston and Ron Perlman so beautiful? As an unnamed stuntman-by-day/escape-car-driver-by-night, Ryan Gosling's onscreen persona is distilled to its barest essence of (here comes that dreaded word) cool. Refn's nocturnal Los Angeles, all inky blacks and neon pinks, is as atmospheric and beautiful a depiction of the city as I've ever seen. And then there's Albert Brooks, whose incredible performance as a small-time gang boss isn't just stunt casting; he's so scary and right that he might be better suited for this type of role than the nebbishes he usually plays. Drive is technically a thriller, and its story of a getaway driver double-crossed on assignment provides some conventional thrills. However, the power of Refn's sounds and images, and the magnetism of his ensemble cast, makes Drive a mood piece – an immersive blanket of cool. This isn't simply a case of style over substance: in Drive, style is substance. (Alliance)
Will Sloan
