OSCAR TIME = MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF 2022 (Patreon)

As I say every year, lists are stupid. It’s not just impossible to argue that some piece of art is objectively better than another, it’s also pointless. Even though I use the term “favorite” it feels like a hollow bargain. That’s because the specificity of flaws are sometimes the things that make a film distinct. Sometimes it is what makes them fun. And sometimes, those flaws mirror the flaws within the humans that love them. So really, that’s all these lists are: a chance to talk about the inherently imperfect pieces of art that we most connect to. And for you the reader, it’s largely about spotting something you may have missed.

And so, all the following are pretty much all the movies that I enjoyed on some level this year (there’s 37 plus some other stuff). But also! Because this is a small as town I tend to have some friends who worked on stuff so if there’s anyone I know who had a job on these these I’ll mark as conflicts of interest with a “ * ” symbol. Because I want to talk about those movies, too.

Here we go!

THE MOVIES I DIDN’T SEE

Every year I’m so mad I didn’t get to a billion movies and these are the ones I’m so mad at missing this year: After Yang, Marcel the Shell With Shoes On, Armageddon Time, Women Talking, Jhund, The Northman, AmbuLAnce, Return To Seoul, The Woman King, Speak No Evil, Bros, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, Bros, Inu-Oh, Bones and All, Puss and Boots 2, Pompo The Cinephile, Bob’s Burgers, Blonde, The Lost City, Bodies Bodies Bodies, Bullet Train, We’re All Going To The World’s Fair, White Noise, plus a whole bunch of others I’m clearly forgetting.

THE GREAT THINGS THAT ARE NOT MOVIES

The Lehman Trilogy - Let’s hear it for plays, y’all! This Sam Mendes-directed effort is arguably one of the best things I saw all year. It’s just three incredible actors, a rotating stage, and a massive amount of inventiveness as it takes you through the Lehman family’s all too true history and their horrid, dystopian effects on America itself, from slavery to late stage capitalism. There are few three hour diatribes that feel this essential. And Simon Russell Beale’s multiple performances is probably the most jaw dropping acting I saw this year.

Oklahoma That Fucks - Yeah, it does! I finally saw the touring edition in LA and I have all sorts of feelings about certain casting decisions, but it’s a marvelous work of adaptation. Proof pudding of how often it isn’t the words, it’s how you say ‘em. Or sing em. Whatever, you get me.

Elden Ring - Simply put, it’s the undeniable game of the year. I talked about the entire experience over here.

The Rehearsal - I spent a few weeks writing a piece on this show and by the time the show got to the finale it was already verbalizing everything I had to say right there in the text itself. But Nathan Fielder’s “reality show” turned Synecdoche, New York remains one of the most funny, scathing, anxiety-inducing, heartbreaking, and morally-murky-yet-self-scouring efforts in years. I have no idea where it could go from here. But that’s the point.

Okay, let’s get to movies.

THE CROWD PLEASERS THAT DIDN’T GEL FOR ME

Thor: Love and Thunder - I often hate arguments about tone because so often there’s a deeper story engineering reason behind them. Yes, I also don’t like this one as much as Ragnarok and I think there’s massive script problems in it, namely in terms of a handful of things that really needed to be set-up better for those pay-offs. But I think there’s a million lessons to be found in looking at it. Specifically, the reasons it seemed to make some people SO SO angry and honestly, there’s a shit load to unpack there (specifically about how we frame heroes and the degree to which the film so readily undermines masculinity). But what is perhaps most interesting about the “massive” script problems is that I honestly think it’s a few decisions away from working so much better than you might imagine. There’s a deep dive on it all here.

The Batman - It’s probably a bad sign that I literally forgot that I wrote about this movie? And as an extension, often kind of forget it exists? But even then it remains an interesting outlier because there’s aspects I really, really like in it. Reeves has this incredible way of bringing you into a textured, realistic environment and sucking you into the contemplative nature of a moment. But I just can’t help but feel like those moments ultimately tend to pile up in haphazard fashion, undermining a larger sense of flow and purpose. I mean, there’s so many repetitive beats in this one (especially the lack of the decision making at the end, where there were like 10 ending shots in a row). Plus, the mix was so weird that on my first watch I genuinely thought there was a blown speaker the first time I saw it, but turns out that’s just how the mix is?? At the same time I think every single actor in it is doing really great work, so it really is an odd duck. And who even knows what its future is in the new DCU???

Confess, Fletch! - I’m part of the generation that had a weird affinity for Fletch growing up. It’s the one film that managed to find the high status / low status alchemy that made Chevy Chase’s jerk persona actually work on screen (namely, the character’s affinity for the little guy, etc). But rebooting the film been one of those cursed projects forever and now, somehow, someway, Greg Mottola and Jon Hamm have come together to make it happen. Now, From the top I want to say that I love both these people and root for them completely. And I actually love the script for this one. But it’s a movie that seems to be feeling the strains of pressure. As understated as it is, you still see Hamm going so hard to try and make the lines feel quippy and comic and, gah, it doesn’t hit right. The lines are the lines, he just needs to sit back and play them dry. But you see it. There’s the fear it’s not funny enough. And every scene where he brings the responses down and lets the other actors come to him plays so much stronger. In particular, every scene he has between him and Slattery is an utter joy beyond the simple fact it’s a Mad Men reunion. But that’s because you just see how comfortable they are in their dynamic (and to me, it sadly makes me wish that Slattery was playing Fletch with his perfect deadpan delivery). It’s still an enjoyable watch and a weirdly fun Boston movie, but in the end, it’s missing that crucial alchemy of the original that puts it over the top.

THE ARTISTICALLY-AIMED MISFIRES

Babylon - I caught this one late so we’re gonna do a little two paragraph mini-essay if that’s okay? Now, it’s hard to tell people you didn’t like a movie when 1. You understand that some people really like this movie and 2. The film has already become a weird punching bag when it comes to box office and award season. There’s just very little point in piling on. But ignoring all that context, I’m simply going to try and speak for why I did not jibe with it and why you might not have either. And the short version has to do with the overall method of construction. No, I’m not talking about the overall shape of the thing, which so clearly is taking us from the mania of the long opening party right through the exact Boogie Nights structure (complete with mirroring first half / second half scenes in clear ways). No, I’m talking about how the film moves from moment to moment. Because there really isn’t a method in that at all. It’s just compounding chaos. Meaning there’s no set-up, no punch-line, but instead aligning a series of constant crashing distractions as things rush by in a flit of madness and energy. That may seem like it would work, but it really doesn’t. And Weirdly, it reminded me of the same ill-fitted comedy styling of Spielberg’s 1941, which unfortunately means it is an act of desperation and fear that it’s not funny enough. But genuine comedy comes from assuredness. From believing in the deadpan reality and marrying the joke. Instead, the film takes the easy route by constantly deflating things and pointing at itself and going “isn’t this craaaaazy???” And it often does this by having the characters constantly declare “what the fuck?” And instead of ever pairing back the edit for the best gag, it piles up more, more, more! Again, it’s all an act of fear. And the net effect is the same as 1941, the creation of a cacophonous din. I know that may seem harsh, but you really see it. It’s a film that has the tone of comedy, but not an ounce of the practice of execution.

Which is something made all the more challenging by the film’s attempts to transition that to grand seriousness, which are often hampered by literalizing of every point. Where Boogie Nights breaks your heart dramatically right before the gut-punch of the 80’s title card, this is the kind of film where a character will literally pronounce “everything’s about to change!” Hmmm, if only there was some way of showing it? But honestly, it would all be more tolerable if I had a single person to hold onto, but the characters feel like empty ciphers to play at certain archetypes of fame-wanting. But in the end, it barely feels like a story because stories are about relationships and these people barely affect one another. Instead, it’s all the universe of the film’s design that affects them. Now, you could argue all of this the point and that it’s meant to reflect the emptiness of Hollywood and it really seems to want you to go along with that intention. But then you squarely hit the the problem when the film is just the very thing it's criticizing. Right down to the ending’s endless montaging (which happens not just once, but twice). And where the character climatically watches Singing in the Rain as if it’s just a fun, but vapid take on the dawn of the sound era. I’d argue nothing could be further than the truth because that movie cuts to the bone in quiet ways, too. And the dynamic actually reminds me of the old Mike Lawrence bit where he said he saw Spaceballs way before he saw Star Wars, so when he finally did, he thought it was just “not funny Spaceballs.” It’s a great joke because it relies on a person not realizing they’re switching the order of events.. But the problem is that while the narrative of Babylon likes to position itself first in the timeline, the entire audience has probably already seen the film it is so clearly invoking. Which means they’ll like watch this and feel like it’s just “not funny Singing in the Rain.” Granted, I started this column and talked about flaws and all that and I believe still that - along with any number of arguments people could make for this one (if you laughed, you laughed). But for me, I just genuinely didn’t like a single choice within it. And those feelings may overlap with others’ negative responses?

Goodbye, DonGlees! - I was really looking forward to this because I love, love, loved A Place Further Than The Universe with every fiber of my being. But this film is a good example of what happens when an A+ director goes from a project that also had A+ writing to a story that has… not… that. And it shows that all the beautiful animation and texture and emotion will fall short if the story beats constantly repeat themselves and even the basic relationships are confused. I genuinely felt really sad about the end result. Absolutely gorgeous looking though!

MEN - I’m a massive fan of Alex Garland’s work, but here he takes on a storytelling approach that is secretly one of the most tricky things to pull off: a movie where the bluntness and static nature of the conflict is the entire point. To explain, in prior efforts like Ex-Machina, there’s an arc to the way the story reveals the possessive nature of the sexism of the main characters, ultimately drawing a parallel between them. But here, the whole point of Harper’s story is that she lives in a maddening reality where the realistic, everyday sexism of the characters around her is obvious, repetitive, and all-consuming… but that’s the point, of course. As evident in the fact that they’re embodied in different ways by the same archetypal “Adam” figure (all played by Rory Kinnear). Its point is astute - and validating to Harper’s experience - but the dynamic invariably taps into the way so many movies and audiences need some kind of arc to their experience, even if it is their own understanding of what they’re seeing. Men’s ultimate problem is that if you’ve even just seen the trailer, you have all the understanding you’ll ever have, right through the end. And even that is part of the same point, so mileage may vary. Either way, there’s some genuinely striking photography and depending on your interest in horrific visual imagery, the “birthing” scenes are probably worth the price of admission.

Three Thousand Years of Longing - I’m honestly still perplexed by this one? I adore George Miller. I truly do. And yet I feel so weird about my inability to connect to this one on any level that it’s really making me question my own approach. His filmmaking is so vibrant and its thematic intentions are clear (as they often tell you directly), but I keep getting tripped up on everything it’s aiming for anyway. From the big parables, to its shift from the academic to the emotional, to all the outdated ways it’s going for anti-racism, but still ending up in this weird, fetishizing parading way anyway? These feelings are by no means final. And I’m going to watch it again. But right now it sort of sits with a big “?” for me.

NOW THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT!

Prey - This is precisely the kind of film I think is “the barometer of solidness.” Perhaps there’s some part of me that wanted something a bit grimier and more in the series’ fashion, but I like what it’s going for. I like what it’s saying. I like who it’s casting. And all my little druthers are mere quibbles, mostly in terms of how you emphasize X or shift Y in order to better set up Z, etc. But these quibbles are not uniform, nor represent some deeper flaw at the heart of the film. It’s just damn solid. And I can’t help but wish it had a nice run in theaters.

Fire Island - The problem with the duty of representation is it comes with insane pressure. To be clear, those duties are real and often born from decades of ugly stereotyping made by others. But I feel like the last seven years or so has seen this influx of representative media that understands that pressure and is really trying to get the details right, often from a place of personal experience. But I still think artists really feel that pressure acutely, especially from people who want the film to be everything to them. And it’s hard to meet those expectations. Especially because the hardest part of any filmmaking endeavor is not just capturing the meaning details, but, you know, making a great movie on top of that. And it is at these intersections where the highs and lows of Fire Island really live. On one hand, it so exactingly characterizes the details of its world, from the vibrant setting, to the hierarchy of the gay meat market, to the ugly intersections of money and 11 dollar cheeze-it boxes, to even the push-pull of the white male gay-ze (from casually-racist to the fetishistic). It does all this with sensitivity and insight. And yet, the “movie part” gets stuck in a weird stop / start series of mechanics, but that might have to do with the way it's adapting the source material. As much as this setting could seem like it would double for a modern Austen-ite world, the thing about Pride & Prejudice is that it’s not quite a romantic comedy, but lighter a romantic drama with a bit of wry voice. So what might seem a slight matter of categorization actually makes a big difference when it comes to the methodology of social interactions, character wants, and even the tone itself. It’s like it’s always  trying to hit the pre-established beats instead of motivating them. And not to mention the way it often tries to inform conflict as it is happening instead of establishing driving conflicts. I could go on and on about this technical stuff, and I’m sure all of this makes it seem like I’m building up to say I didn’t like it. But I did like it. Which proves that making an honest movie probably means more than making a super proficient one. Plus there’s a handful of jokes that stayed with me and I really, really loved Bowen Yang in it, who has the strongest performance.

Dual* - Riley Stearns’ third feature doubles down on the commitment to its monotone comedic voice so it’s gonna be one of those perfect examples of “you’re either into it or you're not.” But the good news is that if you are into it, this is also one of those good sci-fi stories that takes its premise to its furthest possible logic, both character-wise and in terms of theme. Still, my favorite part remains Aaron Paul’s special request. And it’s fun to see him completely understand the movie he is in, too.

Sonic The Hedgehog 2* - As much as I played the first couple games, I never really had any real affinity for Sonic or the cartoons. But I’ve come to really like these movies. It’s rooted in the fact that they represent a kind of 90’s-kid-aimed PG movie that’s sadly gone by the wayside. Sure, you'll get some kid-friendly groaners, but also you’re also gonna get a bunch of surprise bangers (“Oh they are stairs” is probably my favorite joke of the year). Moreover, they’re weirdly sincere stories. To wit, I can’t believe I came out of this having a genuine affinity for Knuckles?! But that’s the whole point of films like this. It’s so easy to be cynical about them, but you can let yourself be surprised. And in the PG-13-ization of kid and adult entertainment alike, we honestly need more of these PG blockbusters. Really.

Dr. Strange and The Multiverse of Madness - For the first half of this film it’s going along and you’re like okay, Raimi’s on his best behavior and here’s some witchy creepy crawly stuff I guess I can see why he did this and then BOOM Hahahahaha!!!!! It announces itself with authority before the entire second half goes completely ape shit. And look, I get why anyone really steeped in MCU tonal management or wanting some positive arc for Scarlet Witch would be taken aback (to be clear, I blame the lack of set-up from Wandavision, but that’s a whole other covid-schedule related mess). But as someone who loves Raimi and was tired of the same-y-ness of the marvel machine, the sudden puckish bravado felt like a needed shot to the heart. Gross deaths! Mean streaks! Music note fights! Zombie capes! And honestly, I have never seen Cumberbatch have so much fun on screen and I think that’s worth the price of a ticket alone. Deep dive here.

Wakanda Forever - It’s an interesting film to talk about, especially with a few months of hindsight. Because I think there were a lot of unfair expectations put on it and even a lot of best picture assumptions before anyone ever saw a frame. But Blank Panther was part of a singular phenomenon and recreating what made it special - while simultaneously dealing with an impossible situation in Chadwick’s untimely death - made for a much different kind of movie that needed to be made. And I think they did the best they possibly could. I wrote about a lot of it here, but he film is more of eulogy in a lot of ways, albeit one that shows off all the things that Coogler and company do so well (especially when it comes to using real life cultural influences in sci-f and comic-dom). In the end, some of the conflict and plot stale-mates fail to strike a genuine emotional resonance, but as an article of grief and the need to say goodbye? It remains a deeply powerful one.

Kimi* - I really loved this movie and in another, less crowded year it would probably make the top X list. But I’m more putting it here in the “entertainment” section to make a point. Because it really is just a stripped down pandemic thriller that’s chock full of all the stuff Soderbergh is so damn good at. Meaning it’s a lean, mean, story about paranoia, modern tech, and social phobias that still just works as a fun movie (I mean, “Kimi, play Sabotage” ). Soderbergh makes it look so easy, but it’s absolutely a testament to know-how.

Chip ’N Dale’s Rescue Rangers (2022) - I just realized that this is one of the only studio efforts that was made as a pure comedy last year and it’s giving me an existential crisis of sorts. Especially because the film really is a joy. The kind of movie that has love for the past product, but is very squarely about not getting tripped up in a nostalgia fest, while not being cynical about it either. In fact, there’s a genuine emotional streak to the movie that pays off so damn well. And the uncanny valley sequence along with several lines still makes me laugh so hard… I miss movies that do that. And we need more of them in theaters, to have an audience laughing alongside us.

Avatar: The Way of Water - Let’s address the important part first: should the film have cast white people in those clearly-indigenous roles? Nope! Should this be excused in any way shape or form? Also nope! (And again, we have films like Wakanda Forever to show how to handle this stuff thematically) But I don’t think talking about other storytelling merits of this movie is an act of excusing that either. I know that we live in a capitalist society that thus tends to judge our morality on what we consume and whether that is GOOD or BAD, without ever talking about the underlying structural issues that matter just as much (like sayyyyy Weta pay rates). But a film is not a monolith and there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, etc. More importantly, we can hold multiple, competing thoughts in our heads with just as much fervor. And the thing to take away, critically-speaking, is a real understanding of why James Cameron movies are so damn effective with audiences. For one, he really commits to the sense of spectacle. And in a Hollywood world where every artisan is made to rush and half-ass things, his films take the time to make something grander. And they genuinely offer VFX that look so far beyond anything we’ve seen before (the water sequences in this alone were jaw-dropping). And when it comes to the emotional heart? Cameron has the absolute willingness to be dorky, to be broad, and to embrace big sentiment in a way so much Hollywood fare is too cool for school for. And in a society that seems to worship “world building,” he isn’t giving you a wikipedia to memorize. He’s the one who actually takes the time to make you fall in love with the beauty of that world, often by grounding that love through the characters themselves. I joke these movies are at their best when they’re nature documentaries, but that’s actually true. And in the end, I was genuinely surprised at the personal nature of the film and how it reminded me of one of my fishing-centric hometown that’s full of day boats and their ongoing war with big, horrific whaling and commercial fishing industries. But that’s exactly the framing. And hoo boy does that last act pay off like gangbusters. I mean, who would have thought my favorite action hero of the year would be a traumatized whale that speaks in papyrus?

Okay, moving onto the really good art fare…

THE WONDROUS ARTISTIC PURSUITS

Deep Water - I fucking love this movie and, given the tepid response and popular misunderstanding of what it was trying to be in the first place, perhaps it should have been retitled “Super Cuck” or something so the internet would actually have the right expectations and talk about it. While a title like “Deep Water” is apt, it still implies all sorts of murky motive and tension, perhaps even something more in line with Adrian Lyne’s previous work. But no, this is an incredibly silly movie about a snail-breeding drone warfare inventor who is PLAYED BY BEN AFFLECK, who got rich off imperialist casualties and enjoys a fine game of letting his wife sleep around so that he can maybe do or not do murderings. It is WONDERFULLY deranged. Plus, Tracy Letts is having an absolute ball. But you absolutely need to embrace what this one is giving you. It’s still on Hulu.

Decision To Leave - You know we’re getting really close to the top because no one directs like Park Chan-wook. Absolutely, no one. For he has this incredible ability to bring you into a scene the way no one else would. He helps you find these beautiful little details and asymmetries and characterizations that no one else would think of. I mean, this film is full of, like, seven of the most inventive scenes of the year. And it’s kind of playing at a new modern take on Vertigo for Pete’s sake. And yet on the whole, a series of choices near the end leaves me a tad flummoxed. I get the metaphor, I really do. But I can't help, but wish the moment ended with the kind of emotional hammer he's usually so good at. But I simply cannot wait to revisit it.

Tár - Todd Field, we missed you. Seriously, I’m still confused why people took so long to come back to someone who had Kubrick’s blessing, especially because Field’s command remains impeccable. As for the film itself, I have a million competing thoughts, but I love that the film seemed to really strike a rich cultural vein in the world beyond (at least with those who have seen it). Also few films have had three hour run-times that led up to a better joke. But somehow, even that joke became a talking point? I mean, to talk about it vaguely, I say all this LOVING THE PROPERTY IN QUESTION. And I don’t think Field has a single negative thought about it, either. The whole point is that Lydia would. And yet, she needs to feel what she needs to feel.

EO - I wanted to make a joke about how this one is Koyanisqatsi, but with, like, a donkey. But the truth is it is very much a riff on the Bresson classic Au Hasard Balthazar. And in that spirit it’s the kind of film where you start watching and you’re like oh okay I get what they’re doing and fifteen minutes in you’re like “I would die for this Donkey.” But that’s the point. It’s so hard to watch animals be put in jeopardy, but it’s all a metaphor for modern Poland anyway. Riff on a classic or not, in the end, its effect is undeniable.

Crimes of the Future - I will happily acknowledge how disinterested this film is in tension. But that’s okay. Because David Cronenberg’s latest feature is just like the performance art of the world put on screen within it: Theatrical. Ornate. Sterile. Dense with symbolism. But also transfixed on the ugly and unnerving horrors that we’ve come to expect from him. Because in many ways, the film is a perfect summation of all the themes we’ve seen in his career - and ultimately, a beautiful deep dive on what we will need to fix our polluted ecosystem and “eat” the garbage our world has scattered about. You can find the deep dive here.

Memoria - So here we have a genuine “Experimental Art Film!” from Apichatpong Weerasethakul (I had only previously seen Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives), which means we get a largely still, calm, yet unnerving piece about Tilda Swinton trying to figure out what that weird noise is that is keeping her up at night (and in the end, the answer kind of rules). But this isn’t a crackling investigation. As I argued in this piece on Skinamarink, it’s an experimental film that uses silence and stillness to create a reflection space, one where you can effectively have a series of running thoughts in parallel to the movie itself, and may actually help accentuate the feeling. For whatever it’s worth, I strongly connected to this film because I swear it is inspired by a sleep disorder I have called “exploding head syndrome” which is only half as bad as it sounds. But give it a go. Let your mind wander. Be in and around it. This brings mindfulness so deep.

With that, let’s get to the favorites.

THE TOP FIFTEEN

Barbarian - Hahahaha, man what a great horror film. But in all the shifting shenanigans you might miss the fact that this movie is written with surgical precision, delivering the timing of its information with maximum effectiveness to create the kinds of tension that produce both fear and laughs alike. I truly love the script of this film and did a deep dive here.

Glass Onion* - It's a rare occurrence when a movie makes me want to drop Gene Shalit-like pull quotes like, “what a rip roaring blast!” or it’s “a smart and sexy romp!” But the truth is that Rian Johnson and company seem like they are having more fun on these Knives Out adventures than anything else. They take the playful structural spirit of Agatha Christie stories and update them for the modern landscape. And in the end, here they crafted a movie that side-swipes toxic streaming bro culture, mega celebrity pandemic responses, and, of course, that certain Silicon Valley fucker we all have to deal with. In short, I loved it.

Triangle of Sadness - Different brands of awkwardness hit us in different ways. Where some brands of awkwardness want to make me run away and hide, there’s something about the films of Ruben Östlund that just makes me cackle with delight. It’s not just the fact that his stories start off with the stilted Scandinavian equivalents of Seinfeld plots, it’s the way they aim to break down masculine artifice - and how that always seems to lead to the collapse of just about everything. Sure, is Triangle of Sadness working in big, broad archetypes? Of course. But that’s precisely what allows us all to turn it into a fun playground of petty misery along with a deep, inescapable sadness at its core. And as it goes, we get to watch the power structures break down and get rebuilt in the name of a new society… for at least as long as it can last. That said… do not watch while eating.

The Fabelmans - It’s weird to say that Steven Spielberg “feels like he doesn’t get enough credit” considering he’s basically still King of Hollywood and is given all the praise from his venerable Academy peers. But the response to The Fabelmans is kind of like proof pudding of the larger generation divide. Especially because it’s a movie dismissed by those on the onside as wondrous fluff. In reality, it’s a deeply introspective movie about his career, from his need to create as an act of “fixing” and people-pleasing, to all sorts of deeper complexes about Judaism and his relationship to a gentile world. Moreover, it exposes the deeply contradictory reality to the long-held beliefs about his family’s divorce and repaints everything with this new understanding. Which honestly spurred on the best thing I wrote all year, a massive deep dive / mini-book into the three films Spielberg wrote: Close Encounters, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, and The Fabelmans - all of which unveil the evolution of his feelings on parentage and life itself. Put simply, this latest film is an essential work of his career.

ELVIS - I also got to this one late, so here’s another mini two paragraph essay! So, there’s this vague academic idea that’s called “the new myth,” and it sort of has to do with the ongoing cycle of tropes in storytelling. At the start of certain genres we call them “the golden age,” which is where the bright shining tropes are born in good hearted nature. The follow-up “silver age” is where we find a healthy touch of cynicism. And “the lead age” is where we break the tropes completely in a fit of anarchy (think Duck Soup). But the whole idea is that when society has digested all the different approaches to these tropes, things can come back around again in a fit of apotheosis, somehow incorporating all the ages before. I say all this because I’ve been a cynic about the biopic for a good long while now. They all seemed to ignore the basics of cause and effect storytelling in pursuit of the same frustrating “greatest hits” approach to a person’s life while using the same tired cliches. Just because it’s “real” doesn’t make it compelling. All of this is exactly what made the “lead age” comedy of Walk Hard seem so transcendent. It aimed at a hyper-specific genre of the musical biopic and annihilated it. But here, Baz Lurman, in his grand feat of maximalism, either ignores Walk Hard-ism or out-right incorporates it right into the fold. What else can you say about the “he’s white?!” scene that digs right into the laughable grandeur of the revelation, with full comic commitment of being dead serious. But that’s the magic of the whole entire thing. It both captures both the emotional pathos right along with the heightened comedy of all this with complete and total sincerity. But I suppose you could argue achievement of tone is one thing and overall execution is another...

But luckily, the execution is amazing. And I really want to get into it because it’s so easy to just credit Baz’s usual gonzo stylings, with the ornate touches and forever swooping cameras, but if you just stop there you’ll miss the craft behind the film’s second crucial magic trick: the reason the entire film works is that it’s actually one of the best written movies of the year. Seriously. It eschews all those “greatest hits” worries by grounding the story right back into Colonel Parker’s duplicitous perspective. This allows them to 1. mine conflict by constantly showing the stark difference between what the man said and actually did (along with the push / pull of his guilt over this) and 2. grounds the entire story in terms of how HE saw Elvis. But it’s not limited to that either, because it’s simultaneously using the camera’s omnipotent eye to fill in crucial details about the world. This means there’s always a real clean logic to this stream of consciousness and without it, the film would be a fucking mess. Instead it flows so beautifully with constant understanding of where everyone is at, emotionally-speaking. There is no stop / start feeling, but instead a lovely constant act of cause and effect refocusing. To which I have to credit the writers including longtime Baz collaborator Craig Pearce and also Sam Bromwell from The Get Down (whose first six episodes are still the most amazing thing Baz has ever touched). But after all that proficiency, does the film do its thematic job? Does it speak to the man in question? The answer is also a resounding yes. For it fully captures Elvis’ boyish innocence along with the way he often fumbled at politics in a well-meaning, if naive nature. For few figures better define the way times changed around him as he went from accidental segregation buster to passé try-hard icon. But all the while, the film understands the powerful intimacy of Elvis’ most striking appeal, which is the simple and undeniable fact that he was one of the greatest live performers of all time. Of this, there can be little doubt.

Guillermo Del Toro’s PINOCCHIO - This was the surprise of the year for me, which is weird considering how much I love Del Toro, but it’s just that I’ve just never been one who understood that fascination some storytellers have with Pinocchio. Leave it to this film to make it resonate deeper than I ever thought possible, mining the depths of existentialism, religion, generational divide, and a healthy dose of living in the mires of fascism. It’s just incredible and I wrote a full deep dive here.

NOPE - This one stuck with me and stuck hard. Because I honestly think it might be one of the best semiotically-driven blockbusters in years and that’s damn hard to achieve. To wit, Get Out is one of those perfect audience pleasers where the entire thing is plot-driven and all the thematic meaning comes as an extension of that (and yet is full of little details that help accentuate it). Us, on the other hand, is transfixing and full of vivid performances and imagery, but honestly one of those movies I could never quite get to congeal on the whole into something that added up into thematic coherence. But NOPE splits the difference beautifully. It gives you just enough to understand the thrust while coming alive in the symbolic details. I wrote a full deep dive here, but if you haven’t seen it, [thematic spoilers for the rest of the paragraph I guess! ] the film paints Hollywood as a giant, otherworldly, animalistic eye that chews people up and spits them out - all while examining our self-damaging attraction to it and reframing the story of the modern cowboy who can stand against it. Holy shit is it fucking good. And it’s something that I think has elevated Peele from “socially conscious horror filmmaker” to an uncompromising big canvas artist. But honestly, we’re lucky for either.

The Banshees of Inisherin - I have such a complicated relationship with Martin McDonagh. I remember that our high school was putting on The Cripple of Inishmaan (which was only a couple years old at the time) and my first reaction to reading was “this is the single most depressing thing I’ve read in my life” and the teacher being like “yeah, but in a funny way” and I was like, “what?” Which means it was one of those pieces of art that really got teenager me to figure out that relationship of jet black humor and how our empathy can push and pull within it. And since then, McDonagh’s career seemed to have this magical arc, from The Pillowman to unlikely cinema success with In Bruges. But I also came to loathe some of his Hollywood work, especially Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri which felt like a disastrous comparison of the deep south to Ireland’s very real, but very different problems - and of course, a very white Hollywood applauded him forward. Needless to say, I was now very worried about the trajectory of his future… This is all set-up to say that The Banshees of Inisherin may be my favorite thing he’s ever done? It’s not just about returning to the Irish setting for which he speaks for so well, but the specifics of the relationship at the heart of this story. It has this powerful tonal balance of scathing humor, pathetic-ness, being bad at boundaries, and the push-pull of trying to make people understand things they can’t quite accept in their hearts, all before coming undone in the most empathetic, but heartbreaking way possible.

Top Gun: Maverick* - I’ve spent over a decade talking about blockbuster and action storytelling and how much clarity, efficiency, and stake-setting matter to the end result. And as Hollywood became more and more awash in the CGI-laden snark machines, finally a movie comes along to show the power of basic functionalism. Thankfully, everyone lost their collective mind. Of course, it wasn’t easy. It takes know-how and diligence. But also patience for process. To wit, I’m friends with someone who worked in editorial and you have no idea what a pain-staking process it was. They had to take thousands upon thousands of hours of flight footage and make things cut together seamlessly. The end result may seem a crisp and clean miracle of purpose, but it was grunt work. And yes, there’s important conversations to have about the military industrial complex and its role in Hollywood (along with the ways the movie bends over backwards to de-politicize its conflict), but the emotion of the movie itself is full of well-earned, character-based sentiment. From the fallout of Goose, to an incredibly touching scene with Val Kilmer (who I still hope we haven’t seen the last of), it really hits hard. So while I’ve always appreciated the first film as a fantastically queer curio, I can’t believe they made a legacy sequel that makes part of something more resonant. If we go to the movies to have thrilling experiences, then in terms of craft, there’s few better examples. Deep dive here.

Rothaniel - Yes, yes, I know this isn’t “a movie” and should thus be in the top section, but I couldn’t help but put it near the top of the list for a simple reason: it was one of the most powerful cinematic experiences I had this year. Because Jerrod Carmichael’s intimate stand-up special isn’t just a literal act of coming out, it’s a hour long examination of what puts us inside, along with the ways familial behaviors keep us “seeing, but not seeing.” And Bo Burnham's direction guides the experience so exactingly, allowing Carmichael’s body language to have so much impact as he lets his experience seep out, all while letting the audience seep right back into him (which is also a key part of the show). The whole thing ended up striking such an outrageous personal connection for me, all while somehow having the indignity to be absolutely fucking hilarious at the same time. If you haven’t seen it, go watch it as soon as you can. It’s on HBO Max.

Turning Red - I remain bewildered as to the Studio’s old-dinosaur-thinking that is like “yeah lets put empty boy adventures like Lightyear in theaters” while leaving hilarious, insightful, but devastating movies like this to debut on the streamer. Because Turning Red is absolutely exceptional. From top to bottom, it creates its magical thematic thrust for a girl going through puberty (along with the way parents try to cage it up or ignore it) and gets it all to come crashing together in beautifully realized fashion. The gags all play like gangbusters, but then it makes all the smart moves that had me crying like a baby. I truly think it’s Pixar’s best since 2015’s Inside Out. Full piece on this one and Modern Pixar in general here.

Aftersun - Charlotte Wells first feature is one of those little miracles. The kind of film I feel like I’ve seen directors strive to make for years and yet she realized this particular story with absolute clarity. It’s the kind of film that grounds us so beautifully in the specifics of memory, the budding age of youthful fears, and discovering the layered complexity of our parents and children alike. But thankfully, it is also a film whose subtleties are not vague - but instead laser-focused in what they can and cannot say, leaving us such specific heart-breaking questions that that the character feels at the exact same time. I can’t stop thinking about it. Full deep dive here.

Okay, onward to my favorite three.

RRR - Almost everyone I know who saw this in theaters had an utterly transformational experience. For me, it began over a year ago with a friend downright insisting that I go before it was out of its brief initial theater run. I went to a mall and saw it in a half-full theater and by the halfway point, everyone was in this semi-delirious state, as if asking, is this not amazing? Just a month later a whole crowd of people stuffed into a small theater and the reaction was even stronger. And since, the cult of this movie has just grown and grown and just last month there was J.J. Abrams of all people introducing it and people rushing to do Naatu Naatu dance on stage alongside the film. As always, the real question is why? Why has it struck a hold in America and become a little phenomenon with those who have seen it? There’s probably a litany of answers. Some are obvious. Like the simple fact that Rajamouli is an incredible storyteller. Or that Ram Charan and Jr NTR are incredible actors. Maybe it’s that it shares a mutual hatred of the British Empire with Americans and thus makes for an easy rooting interest to watch (even though the film has its own complicated political relationship with India itself and there’s a great essay on that right here). But, like most things, I zero down into the inherent qualities of the story itself. It offers us two amazing male leads who aren’t just forged in friendship, but a deeply emotional one that is filled with sweetness, tenderness, and aching vulnerability. They’re both stars who are willing to cry and look silly. Which only makes it all the more powerful when they flex their guns and show that they are also the hottest people on the planet. Meaning there’s an incredible roundness to their characters that make it feel so full. And that roundness is reflected in the truly epic scope of the movie itself, which largely captures the part one rise and part two fall of golden age epics and musicals of yesterday. Ultimately, the film is a reminder of what used to be so incredibly effective about Hollywood filmmaking. And as films become more cool and detached, it unleashes an aching soulfulness that few modern films achieve. Find a screening if you can.

Everything Everywhere All At Once - Things don’t come out of nowhere. Back when I used to be a hell of a lot more plugged into the up and coming film world, my interest in Daniels started in 2011 when I watched a little music video short called Dogboarding. It is a rather silly thing, and many would assume irreverent, too. But there was something about their weird attention to the aesthetic that just stuck in my brain. So I followed their music video career onward and lo and behold it culminated in Turn Down For What, which is probably one of the only videos of the last decade people actually remember. But even then, I knew implicitly that someday they were going to make something fascinating, but there’s always that question, “yeah, but can they tell a story?” And the thing that sold me was when someone showed me their 2014 short “Interesting Ball” and I was like “oh, this is absolutely not going to be a problem” for them. Because the short is not narrative driven in the usual way. It’s a perfect work stealth narrative, a way of presenting jokes on top of each other that actually get taken seriously and you realize they’re trying to build you to an emotional catharsis, perhaps best represented by the refrigerator and the grief. Their first feature, Swiss Army Man, was not a mere audition to be in the movie space. I outright thought it was the best film of 2016. Because it’s not just about a farting corpse, it’s a direct and powerful metaphor of suicidal ideation and discovering the will to live and find use for that thing we call a body. But perhaps it was just a bit too absurd. So that invited a question: what would happen if they were to make a more personal and narrative-driven film that still showcases their obvious delight in absurdity?

Well, you get a hundred million dollar phenomenon that is nominated for more oscars than any other film. My tiktok timeline is nothing but young teens calling it the best movie they’ve ever seen in their entire life. Perhaps for those reasons, the film has become reviled by certain people, which I honestly find a bit bewildering (if a little weird and telling). Because the film espouses just about every single tenet of good storytelling… not just in the way it centers on a powerful personal story of being in an Asian-American Immigrant family, but gives them every powerful possibility. Like the pure stardom and dexterity of the film’s muse, engine, and crux: the great Michelle Yeoh. And the surprise of the lifetime comes with the return of the great Ke Huy Quan, beloved child actor turned Oscar front runner. It is a jaw-dropping performance, a stark reminder of how much talent is probably just sitting out in the world and not getting opportunities quite like this. Along the way, it delights in all the absurd tangible details it can muster, from Racaccoonie callbacks, to anal plugs, to hot dog fingers showing the tenderness of love. But all these jokes, much like Interesting Ball did years before, stack up to a more emotional resonance that hits you out of nowhere. Because even in its most ephemeral thematic aims, it’s after something so concrete in our lives. We’re talking: Generational divides. Existential malaise. Questioning our endless life choices. And ultimately what it’s like to find a life again when you’d rather just be a rock somewhere, along with the powerful understanding of what it means to keep doing “laundry and taxes” in a world more mundane than you might have wanted, expected, or secretly hoped. For all it’s delight in the absurd, it’s about planting your feet firmly in the ground. And in the end, reminding you… that there is nowhere else you could really be. And we have to remember that once upon a time there was a part of ourselves…

That would see where we are now as a dream come true.

And with that, we go to the final film…

Jackass Forever - As I said, lists are stupid because trying to rank art is stupid. And as I also said, I have no real argument for why any movie on his list is inherently better or worse. But whenever you put things in SOME kind of order, you end up making this whole point of emphasis whether or not you really mean to or not. It’s inevitable. So why am I closing out this list with Jackass Forever? Is it really some pinnacle of art that shows more thought and craft than the endless narrative wonders listed above?

In a weird way, yes. Because it actually one of the best experiences I had this year. Because I laughed so hard my entire body hurt. Because I had to look away from the screen in pure visceral horror several times. Because it was weirdly sweet. Because you could see real human beings grapple with the ravages of time. Because you could see their gratitude. Because I went for one of my best friends’ birthdays and I can think of no better way to celebrate. Because we went with people who had NEVER even seen anything from Jackass and yet we all loved it equally. And, in the end, I value it so much because we have every seeming “‘decent” reason not to. For this, it represents something undeniable to me. Because it is entertainment in its most archaic, primordial form.

I mean, what is Jackass anyway? Is it a mere documentary of idiotic stunt work? Is it something that weirdly works in the tradition of clowning? I don’t know how to answer because it’s one of the most singular objects we have in modern media. If anyone else could do what they do, it would have been done. But instead the group is a strange alchemy of personalities who somehow all come together to make the depraved somehow feel wholesome - and to revel in the commiseration of their mutually inflicted pain. John Waters once argued they were the queerest and most wonderful works in pop culture because it was about unashamed men who took everything back to the pee pee poo poo stage of sexuality. And yet, on the opposite end of the spectrum there is deep maturity here. We talk so much about corrupting power in Hollywood and yet it was somehow this group of goofballs who very publicly came together to demonstrate healthy boundaries with a beloved addict in their midst. There is something important to all of this. Something that matters about them making the smartest stupid thing in the world. Because it requires a level of emotional decency that stands against the stupidest smart things in the world (which are often the ones that really plague us). I am telling you, this is so incredibly rare. Even more rare than the handful of incredible works or narrative art that we get in a given year.

To wit, I go to the movies a lot and one of the locations I go to is this big massive mall where you see teens skulking around the area a lot. But you see less and less of those teens in the actual movie theaters these days. It is an ugly harbinger of many things to come. But at our screening of Jackass Forever? The teens were there. And in particular, there were two kids who had to be, like, twelve years old and who had clearly snuck in. And I remember thinking when’s the last time I saw that? When was the last time a film felt like such a desperate priority for kids this age? And because there were assigned seats, the two of them kept having to move around again and again, but there was no way they were going to miss this. And in an age where cinema becomes more and more devalued, there’s something so important to this idea. The “no, I HAVE to see this” sentiment. And like Proust’s Madeleine, watching them evoked memories of me trying nearly 30 years ago, in their same exact position, trying to sneak into Speed. For there is this idea that something could be so incredibly relevant that you need to be in this room to be a part of it. To be with everyone as they shared it. And when I think about what cinema-going so desperately needs in 2023, I think about those kids trying to sneak in.

This is for them.

<3HULK