The Mummy (1932) | Directed by Karl Freund

 4/5

Karl Freund’s The Mummy is a haunting, atmospheric classic of horror that I’ve always undervalued when thinking about the original Universal monster movies. But upon rewatch, I love the layers Freund and his writers work in for us to unpack in the film’s exploration of colonization, gender, and identity. The film sets up archetypal and traditional masculine heroes to fight the titular monster, but they’re all completely ineffectual and ill-equipped to face-off against their supernatural foe – the traditional Dudley Do-Right is little better than a puppy dog, and the professor’s knowledge may help them know what they’re facing, but it does nothing to protect them. The film’s true hero is a biracial woman who exists as both colonized and colonizer. And it’s only through the embrace of her dual identity, through her appeal to an ancient goddess, that the monster is defeated. Freund takes limited effects and creates an eerie, haunting atmosphere through his effective use of cross-cutting, camera movement, and skilled performers. There are so many intriguing layers to unpack here – even as the film is more problematic in the way it handles issues of race and ethnicity. It’s always a pleasure to discover that a film you saw years ago is even better than you remembered, and The Mummy is one that I will undoubtedly return to Halloween after Halloween.

Mother (1996) | Directed by Albert Brooks

 4.5/5

Albert Brooks’s Mother begins by making you think you’re watching the story of a middle-aged writer learning to cope with his overbearing mother, but by the time of the movie ends, Brooks has so quietly and subtly shifted our perspective that we barely realize until the credits roll we’ve been meant to identify with the mother all along. It’s an incredible magic trick of narrative storytelling and a stroke of genius that subverts our expectations for these male, mid-life crisis comedies and turns so many of the genres sexist tropes on their head. As is so often the case, Brooks allows himself to play a character who thinks he’s the smartest and most self-enlightened person in the room – but by the end we see just how shallow, selfish, and deluded he really is. It’s a delightful comedy that, like so much of Brooks’s work, has much more going on than its surface would lead you to believe.

Minari (2020) | Directed by Lee Isaac Chung

 4.5/5

Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari is a gorgeous and painfully honest film about the immigrant experience. So many of these stories romanticize the immigrant experience and the big dreams that cause families to seek out a better life. But Chung is a far more subtle and nuanced filmmaker. Drawing from his own experience as the child of immigrants, he clearly shows how the father’s stubbornness and pride, a mistaken belief that financial success will solve all of his family’s problems, leads to a willingness to lose his family for the sake of his dream. A lesser filmmaker would have drawn a simplistic hero/villain dichotomy here, but Chung allows for the messiness in family dynamics to be on full display, acknowledging the hurt and pain that can build up between spouses over the years due to unmet expectations, extreme poverty, and emotional withholding. And through it all, he never loses any warmth or compassion for his characters – in part because of the stellar performances of the entire cast. It is a little disappointing to see the film dip briefly into overwrought melodrama toward the end – everything else is so quiet and understated – but the film pulls back and manages to avoid falling into some of the pitfalls that the trope it embraced could have led to in its final moments. Even with that minor quibble, this is an astonishing film – one of the best of the year.

Rebels of the Neon God (1992) | Directed by Tsai Ming-liang

 4.5/5

Tsai Ming-liang’s Rebels of the Neon God is an absolutely mesmerizing story of disaffected Taiwanese youth that combines elements of social realism with a French New Wave sensibility. But at the same time, Tsai maintains such a disciplined and almost formalistic use of framing and composition rather than the loose, free-flowing camerawork we’ve come to associate with “realism.” While so many films that echo New Wave sentiments end up making disaffection and alienation seem cool and aesthetically pleasing, Tsai shows the emptiness and desperation for what it is – a meager existence on the margins of society. It’s beautiful, haunting, and deeply moving in its exploration of isolation and loneliness. And there’s something incredibly powerful in its symbolism of young people adrift, searching for connection, turning to endless diversions in order to stem the rising tide of hopelessness.

The 40-Year-Old Version (2020) | Directed by Radha Blank

 5/5

Radha Blank’s The 40-Year-Old Version is an absolutely brilliant comedy – one of the most effortlessly charming films of the year. On the one hand, it’s a biting satire of the ‘poverty porn’ white audiences and producers want from Black artists. And yet, in the midst of the satire, there’s an honest exploration of what it means to find your voice as an artist when everyone around you is encouraging you to compromise. Blank also looks at the ways that refusing to face loss and grief can hold us back and acknowledges the struggle to break through as an artist once you reach middle-age. Blank takes these themes and weaves them together into a richly layered narrative without a wasted moment. The fact that Blank, playing a fictionalized version of herself, allows her character to be as broken and dysfunctional, as selfish and hurtful as she is at points in the film, is a testament to her honesty as a filmmaker and performer. Her use of 35mm, black-and-white film is gorgeous, capturing a warmth and texture in every scene, while still allowing for a world that has lost its inspiration – with color only punctuating in brief bursts as she envisions the play she’s trying to write or as she remembers her mother’s art. And as she turns to hip-hop as a form of uncompromising self-expression, not only is the music fantastic, but the film avoids falling into the easy clichés of the traditional musician narrative. Blank is a phenomenal filmmaker, crafting a delightful film that manages to subvert narrative expectations, while still managing to be a crowd pleaser.

Phantom Lady (1944) | Directed by Robert Siodmak

 4/5

Robert Siodmak’s Phantom Lady is a thoroughly compelling noir, filled with gorgeous camerawork and direction throughout – especially with some of the night sequences in which our protagonist follows her leads under cover darkness and shadow. It’s refreshing to have a noir in which our primary viewpoint character is a woman, though I wish the hadn’t taken so long to introduce her and get into the meat of the film. There is an absolutely delightful sequence in which she sits on the same barstool night after night, intimidating a bartender as she tries to get information about a murder. It would have been nice if the film didn’t give away so many of the pieces to the mystery as early as it does, but that’s a minor complaint in a film that is such a pleasure.

The Invisible Man (2020) | Directed by Leigh Whannell

 4/5

Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man is a chilling and deeply effective horror film that remains far more grounded and naturalistic than the genre often allows. Whannell’s use of empty space and static shots to build tension is especially masterful – there are sequences in the first half of the film that will undoubtedly stand alongside the great moments in horror. By reframing the narrative as an exploration of abusive, controlling relationships and the ways abusers gaslight and isolate their victims, the film takes on additional modern resonances that are extremely satisfying, and it’s especially nice to see the film situate us in the viewpoint of Elizabeth Moss’s character, rather than that of the titular ‘monster.’ It’s also nice to see such an honest depiction of the way wealthy men (and tech bros in particular) use their money and privilege to isolate themselves from the consequences of their toxic masculinity. Moss is excellent, of course, but the entire cast turns in stellar performances. There are a few predictable plot beats throughout that feel more perfunctory than inspired, and Whannell doesn’t quite stick the landing as well as he seems to think he does, but it’s still so satisfying to see a horror film exploring ideas and issues as deftly as this one does.

The Machine That Kills Bad People (1952) | Directed by Roberto Rossellini

 3.5/5

Roberto Rossellini’s The Machine That Kills Bad People is way more fun than I expected it to be. A parable about the selfishness and corruption of humanity – and the perils of self-righteousness, the blending of fantastical elements with some of Rossellini’s neorealist approaches to filmmaking creates a charming and delightful bit of magical realism. The practical effects are a real treat here, and the ways in which our protagonists goes about ridding his small town of “bad people” is absurd and hilarious. The final moments, while they might cause some to conclude that the film is just a trifle, are the perfect button to wrap up this little fable of greed and zealotry. It may not be one of Rossellini’s masterpieces, but it is exceedingly charming.

Defending Your Life (1991) | Directed by Albert Brooks

 4.5/5

Albert Brooks’s Defending Your Life is such a lovely and charming film. I’m a sucker for after-life comedies, and I was absolutely enthralled by this one from beginning to end. I loved the way Brooks takes the standard character he plays – usually the smartest and sharpest character in the room – and removes some of the bite to make him a person in search of, not only constant validation from others, but also, the path of least resistance in every aspect of his life. The structure is so precise, allowing us to follow him along on his journey and be with him in his corner so that by the time we see how destructive his habits really are, we’ve grown to truly care for him and root for his growth. Meryl Streep is fantastic – in the hands of a lesser performer (and a lesser writer/directer), her character would only serve as a function of the plot. But here, she’s a fully inhabited character that is essential for us to care about Brooks’s journey to self-discovery. It’s a truly beautiful film – sharp without ever becoming acerbic, hopeful without ever becoming cloying. A truly lovely and astonishing work.

Where to Watch

Half a Loaf of Kung Fu (1978) | Directed by Chen Chi-hwa

 3.5/5

Chen Chi-hwa’s Half a Loaf of Kung Fu is an effortlessly charming, delightfully silly martial arts spoof that is a joy to watch from beginning to end. Even in this early outing, Jackie Chan’s skills as both comedian and physical performer are unparalleled. As a hapless (and even hopeless) student of kung fu, you can still see the discipline and grace in Chan’s pratfalls and physical comedy. The fact that all the gags and bits are shoehorned into a somewhat generic narrative is beside the point. It never takes itself too seriously and constantly undercuts any pomposity that might accidentally sneak in. The final fight sequence is glorious, with one incredible moment after another that continues to delight and astonish. These early Jackie Chan films may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but if you’re willing to give yourself over to stylistic excess and over-the-top comedy, they are so much fun to watch.