Marathon Man (1976) | Directed by John Schlesinger

 4.5/5

John Schlesinger’s Marathon Man is exactly what I want from my ’70s paranoia thrillers. Corrupt government officials keep us from being able to trust anyone onscreen, and every character our protagonist meets is immediately suspect. Dustin Hoffman and Laurence Olivier both give really compelling and completely surprising performances. Olivier plays a vicious and malevolent villain motivated entirely by self-interest and petty greed, and yet there are some incredibly powerful moments in which he is haunted by his brutal legacy – the consequences of his past transforming him into a furtive and pathetic shell of a person. The script is tight – executing plot twists with deft precision – and the pacing is flawless. I can’t believe I’m just getting around to this now – it’s really fantastic.

Silent Light (2007) | Directed by Carlos Reygadas

 5/5

Carlos Reygadas’s Silent Light was an absolute revelation, and one of the most moving and mysterious films I’ve seen recently. Set in a conservative Mennonite community on the Mexican border, Reygadas turns an almost ethnographic, documentary eye on this story of marriage and adultery. The narrative is simple, the story beats exceedingly familiar, but the long shots, quiet rhythms, and performances from nonprofessional actors all ground the film and make the final moments into something breathtaking and transcendent. While the film starts from the point of view of an adulterous husband, the perspective slowly shifts and is handed off to the dutiful wife and pragmatic mistress. It’s a subtle, but powerful shift for this story set within a repressive religious community. The final moments convey an unspeakable grace and wordless bond between women who survive within these patriarchial societies.

Jojo Rabbit (2019) | Directed by Taika Waititi

 5/5

I think all the terrible reviews for Taika Waititi’s Jojo Rabbit helped me go into the film with tempered expectations and come out absolutely loving this tonally challenging exploration of war, indoctrination, and loss – all told from a child’s perspective. Like all of his films, Waititi uses tonal shifts here to disarm us – one moment we’re laughing at the film’s charming absurdity, the next we wince as we realize the deeper implications of a seemingly innocent and offhand remark. Nazi Germany at the end of World War II is a problematic place and time in which to set a comedy, but Waititi gradually breaks out of the child’s perspective and forces his young protagonist (and an audience looking for a good time at the movies) to begin seeing the horrors of war and totalitarianism. From the opening archival footage of Hitler being cheered by the German youth (set to music from The Beatles), we see the ways in which indoctrination and propaganda get internalized by the young. And as heartbreaking and sad as the film ends up being, Waititi manages to end the film on a joyful note that never feels cloying or sentimental.

Where to Watch

An American in Paris (1951) | Directed by Vincente Minnelli

 3/5

Perhaps I went in with unreasonable expectations, but I expected to be dazzled by Vincente Minnelli’s An American in Paris – especially considering how much I loved Meet Me in St. Louis. But there’s a clumsy and ham-fisted awkwardness to the entire endeavor. The music isn’t particularly memorable – the best songs were all given better renditions in other films – and key plot points are either hurriedly rushed or laboriously rehashed. Of greater concern is the film’s underlying sexism – from Gene Kelly’s stalking and pushiness with Leslie Caron to the film’s disdain towards independent women who know what they want. The dream ballet is certainly a spectacular feat of filmmaking that would make an extraordinary short film of its own, but its placement here blunts the film’s emotional trajectory, leaving the resolution completely unsatisfying for any of our characters. There are a handful of really charming and delightful moments, but they can’t overcome the film’s significant weaknesses.

Where to Watch

Battle in Heaven (2005) | Directed by Carlos Reygadas

 3/5

Carlos Reygadas’s Battle in Heaven is a beautifully shot, narratively confounding film that never quite gelled for me on this first viewing. The long, slow panning shots are gorgeous panoramas of life in contemporary Mexico, and our (nominal) protagonist’s malaise is highlighted by the film’s deliberate pace. The effect of all this is to create an overwhelming sense of melancholy and dread that blankets the entire film. The narrative borrows plot points from more traditional thrillers, but Reygadas doesn’t maintain an effective balance between the more pedestrian story beats and the metaphysical and spiritual concerns he wants to explore through his aesthetic choices. Confounding and frustrating as the film may be, I find something incredibly compelling about Reygadas’s stylistic choices and thematic concerns that will most certainly draw me back to this film once I’ve explored more of his filmography.

Where to Watch

Pain and Glory (2019) | Directed by Pedro Almodóvar

 4/5

Pedro Almodóvar’s Pain and Glory features a tremendous performance from Antonio Banderas – maybe the performance of his career. Playing a thinly fictionalized version of Almodóvar, Banderas shows a vulnerability and emotional honesty that stars of his stature rarely allow. This leads to some profoundly moving scenes as the character reconnects with his past and comes face-to-face with many of the deep regrets of his life. Some of the expositional voice-overs – while clever and fun – feel out of place and disconnected with the rest of the film, and I’m not sure that the ways Almodóvar structures the flashbacks and time shifts completely work. Still, it’s the performances that really sell the film, and there was enough going on with plot, structure, and imagery to keep me emotionally invested and eager to revisit and potentially reassess my first impression.

The Decline of Western Civilization Part III (1998) | Directed by Penelope Spheeris

 4.5/5

Penelope Spheeris’s The Decline of Western Civilization Part III is the best film in the trilogy and perhaps the best film in Spheeris’s filmography. In focusing more on punk’s fans than on the musicians, she’s able to dig more deeply into the culture and paint a more accurate portrait of the youth who live on the fringes of society and inspired some of her earlier films. It’s a truly heartbreaking, sobering work of documentary filmmaking. Spheeris has an obvious affection for her interview subjects, a deep empathy for these self-described “gutter punks” who were forced to the margins by parental abuse, addiction, and countless other traumas. We come to care so much for the film’s interview subjects that late film revelations come as gut-punches that are hard shake even after the credits roll.

Dolemite Is My Name (2019) | Directed by Craig Brewer

 5/5

Starring the inimitable Eddie Murphy, Craig Brewer’s Dolemite Is My Name is an absolutely joyous and celebratory film about an artist coming into their own and discovering their voice. Eddie Murphy is incredible here, effortlessly blending his comedic talents with the more serious and dramatic side that he’s been developing over the last several year. The result is a beautifully nuanced, incredibly rich depiction of a man who continues to persevere – even after countless setbacks and at an age when most people would simply give up. Brewer uses the visual language of ’70s blaxploitation films, without ever descending into camp or goofiness. The film is an absolute delight from beginning to end, a moving film about the power and important of representation and diversity – both behind and in front of the camera.

Where to Watch

The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years (1988) | Directed by Penelope Spheeris

 3.5/5

Penelope Spheeris’s The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years is an intriguing, fun, but ultimately empty follow-up to Spheeris’s exploration of the punk scene. In looking at the ’80s metal scene, her subjects are more narcissistic and less self-aware – which may be an accurate representation of the culture, but it makes for a much less compelling, more surface-level documentary. Many interviews with some of the more established names in the business are obviously staged – playing into their own personal mythology. It’s curious to see some of the major stars talk about getting sober, and Spheeris does manage to cut through the bluster from time to time to find some truly honest moments. The film’s at its best when it spends time with the aspiring musicians, capturing a naivety that is both laughably absurd and undeniably charming.

Suburbia (1983) | Directed by Penelope Spheeris

 4/5

Penelope Spheeris’s Suburbia is an incredibly compelling – if deeply flawed – film about those on the margin of society. There’s a messiness to the film, a do-it-yourself aesthetic that results in a sloppy narrative and amateurish performances. Add to those rough edges some early moments of shocking violence and gratuitous sex and nudity, and it’s easy to dismiss this sobering look at street youth as needlessly grim or exploitative. But if you allow yourself to get acclimated to the film’s technical limitations, there’s a profoundly moving and deeply tragic undercurrent that works in spite of its limitations. As rough as the performances can be, most of the young, non-professional actors actually lived some variation of this story, so there’s a genuine heft and emotional weight that helps the film rise about any of its flaws.