Top 10 Movies of 2012

Looks Like I've Made It

      It is important to maintain a semblance of tradition despite the jarring reality that my blog has exhibited reclusive tendencies more severe than Henry David Thoreau during his Walden Pond stint. While receding quietly into the distance, a compulsion to maintain some blogging consistency, even if remote, propels me forward. And what represents forward at the present moment is my annual edition of the "Best Films of the Past Year;" substitute 2012 for past year.
       My interrogation of the year in film indicates that there is a fissure among the legions of critics who champion their work online. Some bemoan the year that was, denouncing the sterility of Hollywood while simultaneously proclaiming a regression in the routinely-flourishing labors of World Cinema. The other critical faction of which I proudly reside, considers 2012 a terrific year. Certainly any year represents a mixed bag, generally classified by middling fare in the first-quarter, exciting blockbuster spectacles during the summer, and Award's contenders in the latter half of the year. 2012 reinforced this convenient rubric. But not convincingly as many exceptions awakened us to the pleasures of year-round cinematic cheer. 
      The early months ushered in the releases of Haywire, The Grey, Chronicle, 21 Jump Street, and The Cabin in the Woods, all terrific films that signaled 2012 was ahead of the curve. Moonrise Kingdom, Amour, Beasts of the Southern Wild and other festival favorites whetted our appetites for more artistic flare. The summer season kicked off in rousing fashion with the titanic emergence of Joss Whedon's The Avengers, which single-handedly prevented the Dark Knight from Rising and Spider-Man from being Amazing. And other enjoyable flicks sprinkled in the mix during the long summer months kept us cinematically sane; Looper springs to mind. But the second-half of 2012 resoundingly upped the ante. The Master, Argo, Holy Motors, and myriad other celebrated works confirmed the excellence of 2012. And Award's season carried the momentum forward as stalwart veterans like Tarantino, Bigelow, and Spielberg guided us to the glorious finish line.
      So here we are, ready to jump aboard the moving train to witness first-hand another stellar year of movie magic. I can't wait. But in the meantime, allow me to unveil my "Top 10 Films of 2012" as well as a smattering of other lists to bookend a fantastic year in film. 

10). Beasts of the Southern Wild

      A rare case it is when a young filmmaker arrives without fanfare and unburdened by heedless expectation. But in his feature-film debut Benh Zeitlin emblazons an original mark on the staid formalities of feature-filmmaking, obliterating the notion that talent comes solely from pedigree. What Mr. Zeitlin adroitly dispenses is a wellspring of imagination and creative power precariously absent in mainstream films, an endangered Hollywood species so to speak. That a child's perception of the world informs this neo-realist landscape, befallen by tragedy and deprivation, is all the more remarkable. Astounding, too, is the lucidity with which Zeitlin wields the mysticism of his magical impulses, transforming psychic remnants of anguish and despair into ebullient revelations. Optimism overtakes tragedy and what a sight it is to behold. More success stories forged by pictures like Beasts of the Southern Wild and the allure of bold and artistic filmmaking can surely become commercially viable.  

9). Nameless Gangster

      Think Goodfellas of the Far East. Well, that isn't even remotely true, but it does reveal a certain cachet, does it not? Let's face it, few films are capable of conjuring up comparisons to an unblemished masterpiece, and while Nameless Gangster exudes bravado, it falls short of such venerable esteem. Matching the potency of Scorsese's unflinching assault on the gangster picture is predictably impossible. Successfully attempting to match its ambition; however, is a significant feat. Because Yoon Jong-bin reaches for such prodigious heights, I am compelled to bestow my highest praise. Also, South Korea has a virtual monopoly on modern crime films and this is among the best I've seen. I would also recommend The Man From Nowhere, The Dirty Carnival, Memories of Murder, The Chaser, and Kim Ki-duk's Pieta, which contended for a Best Foreign Film nomination (it failed to make the short list). The pleasures I experience from watching a truly remarkable crime film, which still ranks as my favorite genre, are unassailable. If you're bitten by the same corruptible bug—i.e. an attraction to cinematic displays of objectionable moral behavior, Nameless Gangster is a terrific antidote to relieve that attraction. 

8). The Raid: Redemption

      Kinetic filmmaking taken to an anabolic extreme is the best encapsulation of Gareth Evans' most effective work. If it were possible to transpose artistically onto the screen the visual poetry of tennis' greatest pro, Roger Federer doing Roger Federer things, I'm convinced The Raid: Redemption would be the image assaulting our senses. A great tennis match showcases balletic movement, aggression, and impossible skill. This film accomplishes much the same albeit with relentless violence. 
      The bible of all action films, Die Hard, succeeds in no small consequence because of its exceptional pacing. Well, Evans heeds McTiernan's message (and thankfully not his legal counsel) because The Raid benefits from very much the same measure of astute pacing. One gripping action sequence follows another and the familiarity is neither tedious nor tiresome. While The Raid does not transcend the genre, say in the way Kurosawa's Seven Samurai transformed action adventures, nor does it contextualize violence in dramatic, new ways ala Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch, what The Raid does is elevate the appeal of martial arts-centered action flicks (which have suffered a grim fate of late, though Johnnie To's Throw Down is an exception). In a very Tarantino, Reservoir Dogs fashion, The Raid: Redemption challenges the conventional aesthetic commonly found in these types of films by adhering to a more ultra-violent, lyrical, hyper-aggressive framework. The choreography is sublime, the action breakneck, and the violence raw and unhinged. In the final tally, I suspect not one soul could watch this film without exulting at least once because the visual energy is that sensational. And by the way, Iko Uwais has now inherited the crown of the "Most Badass Motha-----" on screen.

7). Searching For Sugar Man

      2012 has been a fantastic year for documentaries and of all those I've seen, Searching For Sugar Man is the one earning my most ardent recommendation. Capturing the rhythm of real life is complicated business. Any filmmaker worth their salt seeks, in some circuitous or fragmented way, a modicum of truth. At the very least directors pursue an agenda, which invariably reflects their personal experience; experience itself that mirrors life. Documentaries have always been fertile ground for this kind of purposeful cinema. And Malik Bendjelloul's exploration of one man's extraordinary life aligns favorably with this appeal for enlightenment. While I would never concede that there is a right or wrong way to advance cinema, there certainly exists an inspired way. And what Bendjelloul so fluently demonstrates in what I consider the year's best documentary is the peripheral reverberation of that very inspiration.

6). Django Unchained

      Simply put: The most fun I've had at the theater all year! Tarantino's brilliance as a filmmaker reveals not so much an acumen for visual flourish, though he has matured a great deal, so much as an undeniable grasp of narrative fulfillment. He knows precisely what makes movies work and what makes them fun. A master of ceremonies disguised as a director should follow any announcement of his name. 
      Characteristic of any Tarantino picture are a litany of trademarks. His dialogue is a weapon of pop-provocation. The performances he shepherds are minutely textured to facilitate nuance, which he mines for comic or dramatic effect. The characters themselves are stretched to such daring comedic and emotional heights that the tightrope between genres has to be massaged ever so delicately. 
      It is easy to dismiss his work as mindless pastiche meant purely for shock value; the image as a weapon of mass defilement if you will. But an accusation of this class ignores one crucial detail. Tarantino is conscious of those who have influenced him. He neither hides nor embellishes them. Instead, he masterminds inventive ways to transform these spheres of influence into a new light, under a suffocating glare, employing a more microscopic lens. The end result of this very deliberate dissection is an amalgam tethered infinitely to the power of film. The vitality and passion that breathes from his work cannot be faked. 

5). Holy Motors

      My favorite sequence present in any film this year occurs at what I suppose is the intermission of Holy Motors, when lead character, played calculatingly chameleonic by Denis Lavant, shuttles windingly through an old cathedral accompanied by a motley band of feverish accordion players. The strange and exhilarating sequence is emblematic of Leos Carax's entire film, which eschews the normative comforts of linearity and logic. Narrative incoherence is Carax's intention, and the meandering, raucous energy supplied by that engrossing tracking shot through the cathedral affirms his aims completely. The experience of watching this film is liberating not simply because it strives to be different, but because Carax infuses every frame with an unadulterated passion for cinema. The bewildering narrative may be challenging or disconcerting for some viewers, but I found it absolutely invigorating. Carax's bold artistic picture should be applauded because it dares to be distinct. 

4). Oslo, August 31st

      Joachim Trier reminds me so much of Nicolas Winding Refn. Those who frequent my blog know Mr. Refn is one of my favorite directors working today. Trier's Norwegian ancestry and Danish roots ought to explain the similarities. But beyond a regional recollection of Refn, Mr. Trier illustrates sophisticated command of the language of cinema. So much of Oslo's appeal is conveyed entirely through image. Dialogue is sparse. Action is used sparingly and only to advance the dramatic flow. None of Trier's visual flourishes are turgid or exploited for artistic sake. They cohere to the tonal rhythms of his story, which is almost completely reflected in the acting of Anders Danielsen Lie, evincing powerful emotional dichotomies. A character whose compulsion is drugs certainly presents a dramatic latticework, and it is Anders quietly turbulent, affecting recall of these delinquent realities that harnesses the picture's real charm. Trier presents a confidence that is seldom seen and to think that this is only his second feature is astounding. He is unmistakably an original voice, and I am ecstatic to see what trajectory his career takes as he has gained a lifelong fan.  

3). Once Upon A Time In Anatolia

      Nuri Bilge Ceylan has quickly become one of my favorite contemporary filmmakers. Distant and Climates are in my estimation two masterpieces of the past decade, and I consider it a crime that it took as long as it did for me to discover his work. Ceylan is a curator of vivid compositions and knows precisely what to emphasize. Like his chief cinematic influences, which deducing from his work are luminaries like Tarkovsky and Angelopoulos, Mr. Ceylan values the primacy of the image. Compositions that reflect consummate, studious attention to detail are the norm, in which it is clear objects placed before the camera (i.e. mise-en-scene) have undergone advanced considerations. When Ceylan's camera moves, it is not accidental or impulsive, or symptomatic of Hollywood showmanship, but calibrated to underscore some pertinence in the image. Dialogue is not remotely as important as gesture. I even somewhat recognize glimpses of Ozu in his work, though he does not cohere as steadfastly as some other modern mavericks like Hou Hsiao-Hsien or the late Edward Yang. 
      Burrowing deep into the psychology of a country, into the cavities of desperation, the wide-open expanses of exploration, and the interior complexities of human nature, Ceylan constructs deeply introspective character portraits. The conventions of police procedurals or Hollywood thrillers are eschewed in favor of a meditation about memory, romantic trauma, the fragile impermanence of memory, and the spectral rhythms of night. Anatolia, as Ceylan envisions it, is a small, simple, country-like town punctuated by incandescent flashes of isolated phenomena; people and places. The barren, foreboding hillsides emphasize this pathology. It is an inscrutable, elusive picture that contextualizes the psychology of characters who are both physically and emotionally distant. Integrating mood and environment is indispensable, and the poetic ambiance Ceylan enforces drives viewers headfirst into an examination of the core faculties of human nature. 
      Ceylan once famously said he likes to bore his viewers because, in a very Brechtian fashion, it frees them from the safeguards of escapism. What this daring approach ultimately accomplishes is miraculous. It nourishes the retrospective synapse deep in our minds, allowing us to think critically and become active participants. Deep reflection is sought. Mr. Ceylan hopes revelation follows. Well, Once Upon A Time In Anatolia is a magnificent revelation. 

2). Zero Dark Thirty

      This film is the only reason Argo is not among my ten favorites even though I consider Affleck's harrowing thriller to be an exceptionally well-made, poignant love letter to classical cinema. This begs the important question: What pedigree of film presents credentials that justifies snubbing Mr. Affleck, much in the same shameless way the Academy demonstrated last week? Well, the prodigiously talented Kathryn Bigelow, far removed from the mediocrity of the fallow, "adolescent period of her career" (Point Break being the true exception) unleashes the same verve and dynamism that garnered her last film, The Hurt Locker, a Best Picture and Director win. 
      Bigelow is one of the few modern gurus of action, a title that Michael Bay dismally aspires to. She choreographs intense, elaborate set-pieces with gusto and extraordinary flair. She does so without resorting to cheap payoffs, without bludgeoning our sensory receptors and without degrading the stars on screen. She is in one sense a successor to Hitchcock, evidenced by her masterful command of viewer suspense, and on the other hand, a modern progenitor, employing the socio-political ambiguities of a new danger—that being terrorism and guerrilla warfare. 
      Beyond Bigelow's inspired direction, what also elevates Zero Dark Thirty to spectacular heights is the incredible, emotionally complex performance of Jessica Chastain, who always reminds me what great acting entails. In a role that any other director would have turned into another derivative masculine ideal, Bigelow and Chastain transform into a heroic, unsentimental bastion of femininity that espouses a woman is every bit a man's equal—if not their superior. 
      There is no question: Zero Dark Thirty is the definitive post-9/11 film. The climate of fear and hysteria propagating modern times is shrewdly mined by Bigelow to forge exhilarating, provocative cinema. One final caveat: I find it inconsolable that the paltry temperature of today's media could allow this magnificent film to be brazenly reduced to, "Oh, that torture movie." It's despicable. Please: Do not let the pitiable vicissitudes of media conglomerates dictate your viewing habits. See this move. Your capacity to be astounded will increase, and you'll thank me later. If not, subject me to torture because one controversy begets another. 

1). The Master
      Succinctly conveyed are five words that underline every motive to see this film: Paul Thomas Anderson made it. All of Mr. Anderson's films are euphoric odysseys into the human condition. From his luminous debut Hard Eight and declaration of Kubrickian genius Boogie Nights, to his sprawling, emotionally grandiose Magnolia, to his intimate, singularly obsessive Punch Drunk Love, and magnum opus There Will Be Blood, Anderson's filmography is a rare artifice of sublime creation. The Master continues his meteoric trajectory. Caught amid the propulsion of a NASA space shuttle, PTA has evolved through the annals of auteurism, demonstrating uncanny spurts of creative versatility and a superlative grasp of all the numerous tools at a filmmaker's disposal. 
      As Kurosawa's famous maxim dictates, it begins with the screenplay. Anderson is a consummate writer-director who obsesses over the relationships between his characters, as opposed to following some formulaic, three-act structure that drains the story of real, emotional power. In the vein of Max Ophuls and other peerless visual stylists, Anderson relies on the spatial psychology of his camera, in a kind of voyeuristic dynamism, to insinuate feeling, emotion, and purpose. His perfectionist approach to mise-en-scene harmonizes beautifully with this kind of contemplative camerawork (note his famous tracking shot in Boogie Nights). But that which separates Anderson from other adept practitioners of robust cinematography is his immaculate work with actors. He has that Elia Kazan, Sidney Lumet rapport that inspires the most luminous of performances. Combine all these facets with his meticulous approach to sound, music, and editing, and what materializes is a fascinating tour de force of inimitable visual splendor. 
      Like Stanley Kubrick, PTA appreciates the multivalence that ambiguity prescribes. It enlivens the work, supplying vast interpretive meanings. Some find this "artistic" method challenging, pretentious, or incomplete. I deeply admire it. The profundities of meaning that flow from a well-crafted film, always the case when stewarded by Mr. Anderson, supplant the generic, color-by-number exercises provided by far too many Hollywood productions. While  I reserve respect for someone who disapproves of Anderson's abstract approach, I exult emphatically in the discovery of an Anderson disciple. And I know the latter comprises a greater majority of the dueling factions. 
      On a final, dour note, Anderson was crudely snubbed by the Academy, suffering the same ignoble fate as Ben Affleck and Kathryn Bigelow, though I was pleased to learn the performances in The Master were celebrated with requisite adoration. And I suspect, many of you readers will, too. 


Honorable Mentions or The Next Best (How 'bout a Top 40!?): 21 Jump Street, Amour, Argo, The Avengers, Bernie, The Cabin in the Woods, Chronicle, Cloud Atlas, Dredd, End of Watch, Flight, Goon, The Grey, Haywire, The Imposter, The Intouchables, Killer Joe, Killing Them Softly, Lincoln, Looper, The Lucky One, Magic Mike, Moonrise Kingdom, Pieta, Safety Not Guaranteed, Seven Psychopaths, Silver Linings Playbook, Skyfall, Sleepwalk With Me, The Queen of Versailles, Ted

Neither Great Nor Terrible, But Perfectly Commendable: Arbitrage, The Expendables 2, Frankenweenie, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Jack Reacher, Jeff Who Lives At Home, John Carter, Lawless, ParaNorman, Wreck-it Ralph
     
Disappointing (some significantly more than others): The Amazing Spider-Man, Brave, Bourne Legacy, The Dark Knight Rises, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Hunger Games, John Carter, Les Miserables, Men In Black III, Prometheus, Safe House, Savages, This Is 40 

Duds or Plain Irrefutable Garbage: Act of Valor, American Reunion, Battleship, Premium Rush, Project X, Snow White and the Huntsman, Taken 2,  This Means War

Still Unseen But Would Likely Garner "Best of" Consideration: A Royal Affair, The Color Wheel, Footnote, The Gatekeepers, How To Survive A Plague, Life of Pi, Polisse, Rust and Bone, The Sessions, This Is Not A Film, The Turin Horse, Wuthering Heights