2013 was a big year for me. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting, or fully prepared, for many of the events that occurred. But as I do in any time of change, I looked to the movies for moments of quiet respite, moments of wondrous adventures, moments of loss and desire and success and adaptation. Movies have always been the great metaphor for life -- they lift us up when we fall down, sympathize with us when we feel alone, frighten us with exhilaration and delight us with surprises.
With each passing year, time seems to speed up. Maybe this is why I’m increasingly drawn to stories that challenge perception -- how do we remember our pasts? What do we anticipate in our futures? How do we see ourselves grow? In the past twelve months, I’ve been honored and humbled and moved to have seen -- or more appropriately, experienced -- so many great stories. Many were entertaining; some were memorable; but these were my favorite films of 2013. They are intimate tales of growing old; they are ruminations on lost souls; they are glimpses into the volatility of imminent change and the bittersweet first steps towards growing up...
#10 Spring Breakers
It would be easy to dismiss Spring Breakers. I know I sure wanted to. What’s the point of such a bombastic -- dare I say it, pervy -- exploitation of bikinis and money and drugs? Why cast teen-idols Vanessa Hudgens and Selena Gomez and Ashley Benson as vapid college nymphos? What is director Harmony Korine trying to provoke? There’s an overwhelming sense of gleeful debauchery that coats this dangerous lollipop of a film -- it is a neon fever-dream that begs you to try to escape its grasp. But its lurid vision of escape -- a reprieve from the monotonous world of school and careers and suburbia -- is as transfixing as it can be repulsive, as seductive as it is perplexing. And that is a commendable thing.
#9 The Conjuring
The tension is ratcheted so tightly in The Conjuring, a dramatization of 1970s paranormal investigators, that the mere sound of two hands clapping had me grasping the armrest. Horror films, as a genre, face exponentially greater chances of failure as audiences become so familiar with worn scary-movie cliches. That is why it’s so refreshing when they are crafted so well. Director James Wan treats this material with the utmost sincerity, infusing it with a technical brilliance and dramatic momentum rarely seen in horror films. Its many moments of creaky floors and enveloping shadows had me wishing it would stop while secretly hoping it would never end. When things are this good, what else can you do but join in the fun and applaud?
The tension is ratcheted so tightly in The Conjuring, a dramatization of 1970s paranormal investigators, that the mere sound of two hands clapping had me grasping the armrest. Horror films, as a genre, face exponentially greater chances of failure as audiences become so familiar with worn scary-movie cliches. That is why it’s so refreshing when they are crafted so well. Director James Wan treats this material with the utmost sincerity, infusing it with a technical brilliance and dramatic momentum rarely seen in horror films. Its many moments of creaky floors and enveloping shadows had me wishing it would stop while secretly hoping it would never end. When things are this good, what else can you do but join in the fun and applaud?
#8 The World’s End
Edgar Wright ends his Cornetto trilogy with yet another masterful examination of the seductive dangers of nostalgia. Shaun of the Dead depicted a world in which people are so desperate to hold on to their past that they accepted inhuman simulacrums of friends who no longer existed. Hot Fuzz depicted an idyllic town so obsessed with perfection that it eliminated anyone who deviated from social standards. In this sense, The World’s End is a similar examination of the dangers of conformity and increasing homogeneity of humankind. It’s a rich affirmation of individuality in a world full of fears and doubts and hatred. It reminds us that although the comfortable and the familiar can be safe, the real adventures lie in the unknown.
Edgar Wright ends his Cornetto trilogy with yet another masterful examination of the seductive dangers of nostalgia. Shaun of the Dead depicted a world in which people are so desperate to hold on to their past that they accepted inhuman simulacrums of friends who no longer existed. Hot Fuzz depicted an idyllic town so obsessed with perfection that it eliminated anyone who deviated from social standards. In this sense, The World’s End is a similar examination of the dangers of conformity and increasing homogeneity of humankind. It’s a rich affirmation of individuality in a world full of fears and doubts and hatred. It reminds us that although the comfortable and the familiar can be safe, the real adventures lie in the unknown.
#7 Cutie and the Boxer
Like a paint-soaked right hook thrown by artist Ushio Shinohara, Cutie and the Boxer knocked me out with its emotional truthfulness. Art has always stood as the great analogy for the turmoils and euphoria of life; and this film operates in that intriguing bandwidth between love and hate, passion and passivity. The artwork presented, not unlike the 40-year marriage of husband-and-wife artists Ushio and Noriko, is oftentimes messy, unfinished, daring, perplexing, but beautiful. There is clearly some frustration and sorrow in the lives led by these two people; but there is also great steadfastness and warmth. Indeed, “when [life is] blown to pieces,” as Ushio states, “that’s when it becomes art…”
#6 Behind the Candelabra
The last line of Steven Soderbergh’s HBO-released Behind the Candelabra doubles as the personal motto of Liberace, the flamboyant Vegas performer who dazzled audiences for decades: “Too much of a good thing is wonderful.” Lean, efficient, and full of emotional momentum, Candelabra can’t be seen as anything less than an apt representation of Soderbergh’s own self-imposed retirement from feature film making. The story is about the complicated, and oftentimes hesitant, nature of farewells by artists at the top of their game. It’s about youth, growing old, and saying goodbye on your own terms. It’s also about modern entertainment -- hugely talented artists often more interested in the superficiality of glitz and glamour and money than leaving lasting impressions on audiences. Soderbergh’s deft sculpting of one man’s influential, effusive life belies his own importance to the modern age of cinema, a world that will sorely miss him.
The last line of Steven Soderbergh’s HBO-released Behind the Candelabra doubles as the personal motto of Liberace, the flamboyant Vegas performer who dazzled audiences for decades: “Too much of a good thing is wonderful.” Lean, efficient, and full of emotional momentum, Candelabra can’t be seen as anything less than an apt representation of Soderbergh’s own self-imposed retirement from feature film making. The story is about the complicated, and oftentimes hesitant, nature of farewells by artists at the top of their game. It’s about youth, growing old, and saying goodbye on your own terms. It’s also about modern entertainment -- hugely talented artists often more interested in the superficiality of glitz and glamour and money than leaving lasting impressions on audiences. Soderbergh’s deft sculpting of one man’s influential, effusive life belies his own importance to the modern age of cinema, a world that will sorely miss him.
#5 Captain Phillips
Paul Greengrass once again proves how adept he is at twisting tension out of ordinary human conditions. This is a tale of desperate men taking desperate measures, of people going to unimaginable extremes for the sake of survival. There are no heroes and villains, only differences in perception. Captain Phillips is a rare film, the type that haunts you long after you leave the theater, the type whose power to provoke sympathy and fear and wonderment makes you ask “Why aren’t all movies this great?”
#4 Frances Ha
I may not have known Greta Gerwig’s name before watching Frances Ha but she’s firmly on my radar now. A romantic coming-of-age tale written by and starring Gerwig, Frances Ha bursts on screen with the confidence and clarity of a true consummate artist. It explores the tumultuous years of twenty-somethings, the period of time when a person wants to grow up into the person they will ultimately become but somehow, still can’t find the right footing. It’s intimate, courageous, and unequivocally entertaining. All movies could benefit from honesty like this.
I may not have known Greta Gerwig’s name before watching Frances Ha but she’s firmly on my radar now. A romantic coming-of-age tale written by and starring Gerwig, Frances Ha bursts on screen with the confidence and clarity of a true consummate artist. It explores the tumultuous years of twenty-somethings, the period of time when a person wants to grow up into the person they will ultimately become but somehow, still can’t find the right footing. It’s intimate, courageous, and unequivocally entertaining. All movies could benefit from honesty like this.
#3 Before Midnight
Richard Linklater’s nearly two-decade long dissection of love, marriage, fate, and commitment comes to a beautiful and poignant end in Before Midnight. If Before Sunrise was a carefree hymn to love’s potential and Before Sunset a melancholy ode to regret, then Before Midnight is the fullest embodiment of all of love’s ups and downs. We are once again offered a candid look into the lives of Jesse and Celine, now entering middle-age parenthood, replete with financial worries and career decisions. At times, the film feels almost voyeuristic, the performances and dialogue feeling far too improvised and truthful to have been scripted. But then it quickly becomes clear that each scene, each character, each insult and each fear and each desire voiced is far too deftly constructed to be anything but the work of truly gifted artists.
Richard Linklater’s nearly two-decade long dissection of love, marriage, fate, and commitment comes to a beautiful and poignant end in Before Midnight. If Before Sunrise was a carefree hymn to love’s potential and Before Sunset a melancholy ode to regret, then Before Midnight is the fullest embodiment of all of love’s ups and downs. We are once again offered a candid look into the lives of Jesse and Celine, now entering middle-age parenthood, replete with financial worries and career decisions. At times, the film feels almost voyeuristic, the performances and dialogue feeling far too improvised and truthful to have been scripted. But then it quickly becomes clear that each scene, each character, each insult and each fear and each desire voiced is far too deftly constructed to be anything but the work of truly gifted artists.
#2 Gravity
Capitalizing on the most advanced filmmaking technology in existence, Alfonso Cuaron could have easily turned Gravity into a pompous, superficial action-thriller summer blockbuster. But this is so much more than that. It’s both intimate in its examination of one person’s fight for survival and expansive in its visual virtuosity. It’s the most balanced mixture of emotional complexity and technical wizardry in years. It reminds us that the human spirit is strong, that true desires can never be extinguished. It’s exhilarating, uplifting, vibrant, and touching. This is why we go to the movies.
Capitalizing on the most advanced filmmaking technology in existence, Alfonso Cuaron could have easily turned Gravity into a pompous, superficial action-thriller summer blockbuster. But this is so much more than that. It’s both intimate in its examination of one person’s fight for survival and expansive in its visual virtuosity. It’s the most balanced mixture of emotional complexity and technical wizardry in years. It reminds us that the human spirit is strong, that true desires can never be extinguished. It’s exhilarating, uplifting, vibrant, and touching. This is why we go to the movies.
#1 Her
Who knew Spike Jonze, the man behind Charlie Kaufman’s conceptually mind-bending Being John Malkovich and Adaptation, was such a downright romantic? her was heralded under the logline “man loves Siri.” But this simplistic marketing concept belies its deep vulnerability and emotional sincerity. her is as emblematic of the current technologically-dependent generation as it is a timeless examination of our most universally fragile emotion. This is storytelling at its best -- dynamic, generous, surprising, moving, and genuinely interested in exploring the humanity in an increasingly changing world.
Who knew Spike Jonze, the man behind Charlie Kaufman’s conceptually mind-bending Being John Malkovich and Adaptation, was such a downright romantic? her was heralded under the logline “man loves Siri.” But this simplistic marketing concept belies its deep vulnerability and emotional sincerity. her is as emblematic of the current technologically-dependent generation as it is a timeless examination of our most universally fragile emotion. This is storytelling at its best -- dynamic, generous, surprising, moving, and genuinely interested in exploring the humanity in an increasingly changing world.
