District 9 (2009)

Just as you've heard, Neill Blomkamp's "District 9" is something new, something possibly brilliant. For about 45 minutes. And then it reveals itself to be something like a lengthier retread of "28 Months Later" (has anyone seen that?), first utilizing a strong, chilling sci-fi concept to suck you in, then losing its character arcs somewhere along the line, and finally devolving into action that means absolutely nothing to people asking the bigger questions. Like me. I walked out of it more than a little exhausted. Probably because I saw the 10:55 showing, which included waiting in line for just under an hour beforehand, and literally 25 minutes of previews for every single zombie/vampire movie coming out until 2017. But also probably because for the last 45 minutes of the movie I found myself trying a little too hard to give a shit.

(Spoilers ahead.) I was a little frustrated with this movie mainly because it sets up this really interesting antihero, Wikus (Sharlto Copley), someone clearly very weak at his core, who has more than enough opportunities to shield that (a job with the government, a pretty wife whose father happens to his boss, a promotion from that same boss) but is suddenly thrown way out of his comfort zone into a situation almost impossible to solve peacefully. And on top of that, he's a complete asshole. The first 30 minutes or so of the movie consist of highly compelling documentary footage (strangely and sadly all but done away with in its second half), in which we see Wikus force aliens (known derogatorily as "prawns") out of their homes without a standard 24-hour eviction notice, insult their seemingly able intelligence to their faces, and literally stage the biggest abortion you've ever seen on screen. "Hear those pops? That's what's left of 'em burning up," he says to the camera. How can you NOT hate this guy? So I was waiting for him to get his comeuppance in some fashion, either grotesquely, or in a way that falls in line with the disorienting, mysterious, well-designed plot machinations of the film's first half. And for a while, the latter seems to be true, as disturbing scenes depicting Wikus' subjection to government experimentation makes "District 9" look something like a Nazi-themed remake of "Men In Black."

Soon enough, however, the movie becomes a quest for this asshole (who remains an asshole, or at least does nothing obvious to change that persona) to save his own ass, in ways that push past narrative plausibility and allow for a strange string of scenes that you've seen in many other movies but don't quite make sense for this particular character. For example, do we want to see him cry to his wife over the phone about wishing that things were different? How are we supposed to have sympathy for him after he tells an alien child that "we're not the fucking same"? By the time the movie kicked into "Iron Man"-esque action mode, with countless exploding bodies and reversals of fortune, I was a little confused. In not fully developing Wikus as a three-dimensional character, one with clear motives that we can understand and somewhat sympathize with despite his unshakable prejudices, director Blomkamp sacrifices what could have been a finale as chilling as his first act.

Which is not to say that "District 9" lacks qualities. In fact, this movie shows why spending hundreds of millions of dollars on a movie is unnecessary, given a lot of hard work. For a comparably small $30 million, Blomkamp, whose previous career was primarily as a special effects artist, creates a unique race of roach-like aliens with ambiguously sad faces that speak a crisp, eerily pleasant dialect of clicks and pops. Nothing in this movie is an eye- (or ear-) sore, even the hand-held camerawork, which fits with the documentary feel. An interesting aspect of the movie was the seeming lack of a language barrier between the human and alien species, which, if explored in a sequel, could lead to establishing some sort of new hybrid civilization. Though the last third of the movie doesn't really hint at progress in that regard.

Earlier this weekend I saw Hayao Miyazaki's wonderful new film, "Ponyo," which, as all his films do, reminded me just how important it is to find the human aspects of things we can't understand. More often than not, the things and people we define as "evil" are rooted in ignorance or misunderstanding. "District 9" very clearly sets up a situation that is chilling for its injustice, and gives us more than enough glimpses of global and psychological repercussions. Yet it loses itself in neglecting to bring its subversive protagonist down to earth.

Two Lovers (2009)

During the 1970s, there existed an era of American film unseen since the film noir movement of the 1940s. Gritty, introspective urban dramas like Taxi Driver and The Conversation explored deeply flawed male protagonists in degrading environments—which primarily existed in their minds more often than not—and we still look to those films today, whether to revel in the grainy, brooding imagery and rigorous camera work, or to hold a mirror up to ourselves and find out more than we thought we needed to know. In a way, these films depict what Holden Caulfield would have become had he remained in the city and never been put in an institution.

Which brings me to Two Lovers, arguably the first great film of 2009, and one that owes as much to those ‘70s films as it does to the talent and willingness of actor Joaquin Phoenix (in what is supposedly his last performance) to embody fragility, giving the most unsettling and ambiguous performance he’s ever done. Portraying Leonard, a Jewish man-child living in Brighton Beach with his positively French-Israeli parents, Phoenix brings his rugged handsomeness to a spontaneous, mumbling, fidgety demeanor, so weirdly endearing to every other character in the film that someone in the theater where I saw it cried out, “How the heck does he get so many women?”

Indeed, Two Lovers mines the few extraordinary elements remaining in the familiar love-triangle setup, finding unpredictable ways of heightening tension between the characters; yet half the fun of the movie is gauging exactly how these seemingly bizarre relationships are formed. It might not make sense at first that a guy like Leonard gets a pretty, old-fashioned Jewish girl (Vinessa Shaw) to fall head over heels for him (“I want to take care of you,” she says); or that he’s able to enter nearly every loophole possible when it comes to spending time with the adventurous neighboring shiksa (Gwyneth Paltrow)—indeed, superficially, the movie can be seen as what happens when a good Jewish boy goes too far. But this is a film that bends reality even as it lets it falls into place, making the viewer question the plausibility of these relationships just as Leonard is constantly and increasingly in danger of completely screwing them both up. To give away other subtleties would ruin the experience, but rest assured, the dichotomy promised by the title is raised to such high stakes that you will either be hissing in disapproval or purring from a rush of blood to the head.

Indeed, unlike most romantic dramas, Two Lovers isn’t afraid to be funny in all the wrong places, nor does it ever allow you to pick apart all of its secrets. We don’t know why Leonard suddenly breaks out into a painful hip-hop verse to impress some ladies (and why they love it), but clearly these characters have needs, and director James Gray uses incredible restraint in conveying this, as in his previous films (including the severely underrated We Own The Night).

Gray is the rare American director that makes lovely and subtle use of interiors to tell a deceptively simple story, which I believe is about the ability of human beings to endlessly rationalize fantasies within the disturbingly complex framework we call reality. He is clearly fascinated by the depths some men are willing to plumb in pursuit of an impossible dream, so much that the first scene of his movie even depicts the protagonist attempting to drown himself in the ocean. Indeed, the film is rife with provocative imagery, from an infectiously rapturous dance club sequence to close-ups of Leonard’s childhood photos during a heated sexual encounter. These scenes are what give the film a certain mystique, which carries it to the very end: without spoiling it, I can say that the last image of the film is something I won’t forget for quite some time.

If you want a film with a strangely compelling protagonist, where every frame is taken seriously, and consistently invites interpretation, you can rent Taxi Driver, or you can see Two Lovers. Hell, why not do both?

Top Ten Movies of 2008

In 2008, the quality of film as an art form dropped as steeply as America’s economy. For me, nearly all of the numerous “prestige pictures” that studios squeezed into theaters from October to December proved underwhelming, having failed to live up to their impeccably edited trailers and tremendous talent involved.

Pretensions to greatness are a common trap, as you can see every day in the lavish art gallery that is the Calendar section of the LA Times. Oscar-nominated Slumdog Millionaire is as photographically lavish, yet as cut-and-paste, as its poster, with characters so devoid of personality that you wonder why the protagonists’ names weren’t Lower Class #1 and #2. Indeed, many of the films this year disappointed in their lack of genuine human interest, a quality exploited through singular detachment in Steven Soderbergh’s compelling, flawed epic, Che. Films like Revolutionary Road misunderstood their layered source material, and felt like dated, archetypal exercises when they could have been nuanced and relevant.

Fortunately, a handful of excellent features dropped early in the year. As you probably know by now (or, at least, you should—go rent it), The Dark Knight was the rare blockbuster event that audiences could enjoy on multiple levels, a thrilling crime drama wonderfully invested in its themes, sustaining its momentum all the way through its positively overwhelming convoluted finish. Oddly enough, the movie wasn’t nominated for Best Picture, which shows how the Oscars are increasingly becoming a skewed and irrelevant celebration of cinematic zeitgeist. I’d rather see three more of those than a minute of another endless death knell like Benjamin Button.

However, at this time of year, I tend to ask myself, which movies did I see recently that I found truly fulfilling on a humanistic scale? Which films gave me a sense of discovery or meaning that stuck with me after I woke up the next morning? Which of the approximately 73 movies released in 2008 that I took the time to see reminded me why I love movies in the first place?

Here are 10 of them, most of which came and went in the first half of the year. And while I don’t think that any of these movies are perfect (what is?), I found each of them either deeply moving or resonant. Film, like all art forms, is subjective, but hopefully I can shed light on some lesser-known films that deserve your attention. I have chosen not to rank them, though I do have a particular favorite.

Dear Zachary

A raging torrent of a documentary, Kurt Kuenne’s aggressively edited testament to the murder of his childhood friend is a film best seen with little prior knowledge of its incendiary and heartbreaking story. Serving as a depiction of the universal facets of human injustice and beautiful goodness, Kuenne has crafted a feature that is clearly manipulative in structure, yet the footage culled from hundreds of hours of home movies is pieced together in consistently compelling and surprising ways.

Encounters at the End of the World

Werner Herzog, in his endless quest to document the most esoteric of human passions (see Grizzly Man), offers yet another endlessly thought-provoking documentary, an existential study of scientists and other workers in Antarctica, and the strange creatures they’ve studied for years. Herzog’s films always serve as both studies of quirky characters and juggernauts of unforgettably gorgeous imagery, and this film has its share of bizarrely introspective interviewees, as well as lengthy, transporting underwater sequences set to rousing choral music.

Happy-Go-Lucky

Mike Leigh (Secrets & Lies), one of the best directors of actors alive, has made yet another film with an utterly unique yet fully realized protagonist who whether you love or hate her, is impossible to forget. Sally Hawkins gives a full-bodied performance as Poppy, a relentless optimist who bounces from one situation to another with the same cheerful, infectious attitude; she shamefully wasn’t nominated for an Oscar. Interestingly, an irritable driving instructor serves as Poppy’s necessary pessimistic counterpoint, one of multiple introspective tests to her seemingly boundless ability to love. Leigh’s fascinating and poignant film truly shows the fruits of taking time to develop characters.

Let The Right One In

Without having seen Twilight, I’d say that this is the teenage vampire love story of the year. Yet even if that doesn’t interest you, this wondrous Swedish coming-of-age tale explores budding sexuality, childhood discovery and the importance of friendship in ways that transcend its sparse genre trappings. A sort of romantic Pan’s Labyrinth in snow, the film portrays a 12-year old boy living in chilly Stockholm who meets and befriends his new neighbor, Eli (the revelatory Lina Leandersson), an androgynous bloodsucker in hiding. Steeped in a meditative mysteriousness, this is one of the most unique and subtle films of its kind.

My Father, My Lord

An impassioned cry from first-time Israeli director David Volach (a former Haredi Jew), this excellent movie depicts a rabbi and his wife dealing with their young son’s insatiable curiosity, which threatens their fundamentally religious lifestyle. Using a low budget and non-professional actors, the film is quietly moving, with a subtle synth score, evocative cinematography and organic, internal performances. At 80 minutes, this is a short, swift indictment of religious nationalism, and a truly independent film.

Paranoid Park

My favorite film of the year, Gus Van Sant’s masterpiece views teenage life as an ongoing, epic morality play, a world where detachment and indifference seem to create the easiest path to indulge in our passions. And what passions they are, as Van Sant shoots what are surely the most phantasmagorical skateboarding sequences ever committed to film. The protagonist’s involvement in the accidental death of a security guard, which exposes the triviality of his various emotional investments, gives way to the most cinematic portrayal of teenage existentialism I’ve seen yet.

Rachel Getting Married

Jonathan Demme’s latest is an alternately rapturous and devastating depiction of a family’s attempts to make amends with the past, in anticipation of the titular act. Indeed, such humane gestures are reflected in Demme’s choice to represent a variety of ethnic backgrounds in the guests at the wedding, which not only culminates in a ravishing extended wedding sequence, but also serves as a subtle background to the acceptance that rehabilitated Kym (Anne Hathaway, in a breakthrough performance the Oscars managed not to ignore) yearns for. This camaraderie comes through in many inspired moments in the film, such as a spontaneous dishwasher-packing contest.

WALL-E

Pixar is the most successful movie studio in the world because of the sense of wonder and discovery that permeates their best films. WALL-E is a glorious return to the creativity I felt was lacking from their last few efforts, both in terms of character design and atmospheric resonance, and was one of the most joyous experiences I had in a theater this year. The film manages to be both a touching love story and a thrilling action movie, simply because of the way the story and characters are presented. Who knew that an animated female, machine-gun-wielding, egg-shaped robot could be sexy?

The Witnesses

Novel-like in structure, French filmmaker André Téchiné’s incredible story of illicit homosexual relationships before and after the strike of AIDS is filled with fascinating moral conflicts and brilliantly three-dimensional characters. Most movies don’t have this amount of intrigue and focus in telling a multi-faceted story. The subject matter itself is not explicit, but is essential to conveying the fear of death and the tumultuous consequences that the epidemic had on the lives of ordinary citizens.

The Wrestler

It’s rare that an exhausted story can be done in an original way, yet from beginning to end, Darren Aronofsky’s restrained The Wrestler, a Rocky-esque story of redemption, is impeccable in style, effort and presentation. It is a film that addresses the nature of performance art, while the actors themselves give impeccable performances. There are so many scenes that would feel contrived in lesser hands, yet are poignant because of Aronofsky’s camera, capturing evocative details and facial expressions, and, moreso, Mickey Rourke’s much-talked-about (and thankfully Oscar-nominated) performance.