Baby's On Fire

Pick of the Day: Citizen Ruth - dir. Alexander Payne - 1996 - USA

The only thing that irritates me more than parking spaces dedicated to "expectant mothers" at grocery stores is hearing about celebrities having babies. And, to honor all those media-whores and those who actually care about them, my pick of the day is Alexander Payne's Citizen Ruth, a dark comedy about abortion. I thought about using Rosemary's Baby, but I'll save that for a later date. Ruth (Laura Dern, in one of her best roles) likes to huff paint and, after finding out she's pregnant (for the fifth time), a court orders her to abort or go to prison. A bunch of crazy pro-lifers (headed by Swoosie Kurtz) take it upon themselves to make Ruth the poster-child for their cause in an leftist, godless America. While Sideways was, in my opinion, the most overrated film of last year, Citizen Ruth (along with his follow-up, Election) remains a biting and relevant satire.


On a sad note, Shelley Winters died this past weekend. I may hate the "In Memoriam" tribute, which usually just amasses to a popularity contest, at the Oscars, but when one of the screen greats passes, I think it's only best to recognize their contributions. Expect some picks of the day this week dedicated to some of Shelley's best.

Young Americans

Pick of the Day: Dogville - dir. Lars von Trier - 2003 - Denmark

I've never really been a fan of Von Trier or his faux realism snuff films, Breaking the Waves and Dancer in the Dark. But Dogville really fucked me up. For once, he takes the furthest step from his ridiculous Dogme 95 manifesto, making an atmosphere that welcomes his crassness and cynicism. Speaking from a voice directly opposite The Doom Generation (read below), he approaches Dogville, the film and the town, with an omnipotent voice, removing the spacial boundaries of the town and replacing them with chalk outlines. Experimental theatre doesn't sound like it'd transfer well onscreen, especially one so theoretical, but Von Trier's a bloody asshole and makes Dogville's three-hour running length scathingly entertaining. Nicole Kidman, looking like she has no idea what's going on, plays Grace, our protgaonist who stumbles upon the small American town in question. A ruthless dissection of Americana. Look for the sequel, Manderlay, in theatres next month.

Just for fun, Von Trier had this to say: "Put my American trilogy together and you'll have one hell of a grim evening. And you will not be entertained at all!" All filmmakers are liars, and Von Trier is the king.

In Defense of Gregg Araki

This is to further support my friend B’s defense of the early works of Gregg Araki, best known now for his critics’ darling Mysterious Skin; you can find his post here. Araki’s early works, as B stated, remain some of the most misunderstood films of the past decade. This problem may be due to the fact that, somehow, The Doom Generation reached an audience outside of those who could appreciate his work. Perhaps due to the nudity, box-artwork, tagline ("Sex. Violence. Whatever."), or the range of bizarre cameos, The Doom Generation fell into the wrong hands, and this is from where its notoriety stems. Camp can be a tricky element, and one can assume it won’t be understood by its entire audience. I know plenty of people that take Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers at face value, either finding it incredibly stupid or thinking it works as a big-budget sci-fi/action flick. At heart, Starship Troopers is a criticism of war in the fashion of a Russian propaganda film. At your local Blockbuster, you can probably find The Doom Generation somewhere in the action section, further aiding to its misinterpretation.

While excessive, over-the-top violence with gore effects that rival some of Roger Corman’s early works and dialogue riddled with pop culture references flow throughout the film, these elements aren’t the dividing factors for his audience. Your average Joe might laugh at the silliness of the violence and might not pick up on the Cocteau Twins reference when one character calls another his “pearly dewdrop’s drop.” Instead, Araki’s characterization serves as the main dividing point. At least in The Doom Generation, we’re not meant to see this world through the eyes of any of the three central figures. As B expressed in his post, our world is defined by its opening moments: the hardcore club, the flames behind the “Welcome to Hell” sign, the Nine Inch Nails song. Amy, Jordan, and Xavier are simply the means to get the message across. Araki doesn’t hold contempt for these characters as a director like Todd Solondz might, nor does he throw unjustified adoration onto them. Their concerns are not individualistic but far broader; this film is about a generation, not about three people within it. Casting non-actors like James Duval and Rose McGowan (though both have had work post-Araki, no one would honestly consider them actors), Araki solidifies the purpose of this characterization.

Though The Doom Generation has been called misanthropic and distancing, I find it difficult to not see the combination of empathy and criticism. One could argue that the attention to detail (specifically the soundtrack, production design, and usage of effective cameos) in a film whose intention does not lie within the realms of historical accuracy or realism must suggest an empathy with its subject. I could argue the same case for Bruce LaBruce’s The Raspberry Reich. As anywhere, criticism does not directly equal denouncement. After violently escaping their attackers, Amy shows her first moment of sadness after they hit a dog in the road; we acknowledge her ridiculousness at the death of a helpless animal over the taking of human life. The characters do not meet their final destiny out of any malice on Araki’s part. The outside, “real” world that destroys them. It’s here where Amy’s grief over the dead dog comes back to haunt her. She cries about the dog, but is left speechless after her boyfriend is murdered.

In the end, The Doom Generation emerges as an acute depiction of a subculture of youth, told both admiringly and with a critical eye. If there hadn’t been a balance of the two, The Doom Generation would not have been as successful. Too much admiration would have been masturbatory, and without it, The Doom Generation would have come across as hollow and derogatory. All things considered though, this is not a film for everyone. I hate that statement, because no film is for everyone; yet I feel that statement applied to The Doom Generation means a lot more than saying Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner isn’t for all tastes.

Boo!

Pick of the Day: Don't Look Now - dir. Nicolas Roeg - 1973 - Italy/UK

Without question (along with Ken Russell's The Devils), one of the horror greats of the 70s, and I suppose it's no surprise Hollywood is planning on redoing (and likely, ruining) this film. Like so many horror films out now (in the post-M. Night Shamalamawhatever world of horror), Don't Look Now relies on its final momenets (which Bravo shamefully gave away in one of their scariest moments on film countdowns) for a better understanding of the film. Unlike any of M. Night's flicks, the surprise is not a moment of cinematic trickery. Knowing how Don't Look Now ends doesn't make us wanna go back and marvel at how well Roeg lead up to our final gasp. Instead, Don't Look Now works in the same way Citizen Kane does. It's final revelation allows us to look at the film intellectually and discover what exactly our filmmaker tries to convey. Since I'm one of those people who perfers to go into a film with no expectations, I won't give away what happens. Instead of remaking Don't Look Now, Hollywood should take note. Instead of altering our perception in some clever, betcha-didn't-see-that-comin' sort of way, why not engage our audience intellectually?

She Can Hardly Wait

Pick of the Day: Strange Days - dir. Kathryn Bigelow - 1995 - USA

Before she was with the Licks, Juliette Lewis tossed her writhing body onstage in Bigelow's 1995 apocalyptic thriller, starring Ralph Fiennes as a loser who, while lusting over his ex Faith (Lewis), uncovers a police conspiracy at the coming of the end of the world. Really, this film isn't anything special... Ten years later, it's futuristic depiction of 1999 already seems dated (it was written by James Cameron). What's special is Lewis, rolling on stage covering "Rid of Me" with an intensity and sexuality that nearly matches her muse, PJ Harvey. Her lusty presence gives Strange Days' near two-and-half-hour running length a needed jolt. And even if she is a Scientologist and starred in abhorent The Other Sister, Juliette, we still love you.

Brokeback Mountain is no Chinatown

Brokeback Mountain - dir. Ang Lee - 2005 - USA

What do Chinatown and Brokeback Mountain have in common? Well... honestly, very little, aside from one key detail: their titles. Both Chinatown and Brokeback Mountain signify a physical place, but in the context of the films, they more accurately represent a time and, most accurately, a state of mind associated with the place itself. For Chinatown (duh), the memory is not a happy one. For Brokeback, it's a time where our two leads could disappear from the annoyances of their exterior worlds and live in the harmony of the free air. Jake (Jack Nicholson) spends his time in the film trying to forget Chinatown, though he’s ultimately doomed to repeat that history with Faye Dunaway. Another Jake (this time Gyllenhaal) can’t stop thinking about Brokeback Mountain, yet ends up never truly rekindling the magic.

One might assume that by comparing Brokeback Mountain with Chinatown, easily one of the greatest films of all time, that I hold Ang Lee’s gay cowboy epic in a similar regard. You would be wrong. Where these two films initially separate is in the depiction of the place that they’re each named after. The physical Chinatown, as you should know, doesn’t arrive onscreen to the final moments of the film, and the state of mind associated with the locale is only mentioned cryptically (but enough for us to understand its significance). The physical Brokeback Mountain is introduced within the first ten minutes of the film; its significance unfolds before our eyes. This, in itself, doesn’t seem bad at first, for the film’s time on the mountain is easily the best time spent in the film. The shots unfold with a quiet, calming beauty, a picturesque display of Americana (this Taiwanese director sure has a thing for it, with this and his overrated The Ice Storm). The clouds drape the blue skies, fully wrapping a sanctuary around our two cowboys. What’s best about these scenes is the use of audio. Dialogue is scarce. What we hear most is the whistling of the wind in the trees, always a bit too restless; there seems to be a storm brewing throughout the men’s entire stay on the mountain. Ang Lee used similar tactics in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, using the setting and movements to reflect the general tension and mood of the film. When our lovers finally elope, they embrace violently, almost beating each other up with passion. A friend of mine argued that this reflected more a woman’s idea of how two “straight” men would react when giving into their carnal sexual desires (the short story the film’s based on was written by a woman). I might argue the men’s physicality works best in the context of Ang Lee’s work (well, really, only Crouching Tiger…). The fighting in Crouching Tiger is the same as the (yes, I’m going to say it) fucking in Brokeback Mountain. Both use outward physicality and choreography to personify the feelings within the character.

So where does the film go wrong? Promptly when we leave the mountain. When we’re brought back to the real world, we see Brokeback Mountain is going to unfold just as we suspected. Ennis (Heath Ledger), a man of few words, marries and begins a life of boring domestication. Jack (Gyllenhaal) marries a wealthy rodeo gal (Anne Hathaway), has a kid, and turns into a salesman for top-of-the-line farm equipment. Jack’s willing to drop everything to be with Ennis; Ennis can’t ditch his responsibilities nor deal with the social ramifications of their relationship. The men see one another monthly, going on “fishin’ trips” and Ennis’ wife (Michelle Williams) finds out. And so on. Brokeback Mountain is simply complacent with being a pretty run-of-the-mill tale of forbidden romance. Just because it’s a Hollywood flick about two dudes in love doesn’t make it any less typical. When we become aware of how things are going to unfold, we’ve lost interest. Lee inserts a few “for your consideration” scenes (notably when Michelle Williams confronts Ledger about his fishing trips), but otherwise, the film simply coasts. I found myself almost grateful when Scary Movie’s Anna Faris showed up onscreen as the chatty, annoying country gal sister to her character in Lost in Translation, simply to loosen the film up.

Perhaps it’s Lee’s point to make the second act of Brokeback Mountain mundane. The only time I truly felt connected with the film was on the mountain, and perhaps the annoyances and boredom of the rest of the film is as it is to show us that the magic on the mountaintop cannot be reclaimed. If this is the case, he does his job well. That doesn’t mean I can’t ask for more.

Pick of the Day: The Opening of Misty Beethoven - dir. Radley Metzger (alias Henry Paris) - USA
A porno Pygmalion! While the crass Deep Throat may have started the trend in the early 70s of mainstream porno chic, The Opening of Misty Beethoven is probably one of the most glorious porn films of all time. Director Metzger was best known for his European-influcned erotica (with such titles as Score, The Lickerish Quartet, and Therese and Isabelle). After Score, Metzger ventured into legitimate porn, and this is his crowning achievement. Sex-positive, sincere, and actually rather funny, Misty reminds us of a time when sexual experimentation and pornography were not smutty, dark, evil things.

Sleepless Nights are good for Bad Movies

I’ve turned into somewhat of a masochist lately. Since I work at a video store, I have endless access to the countless uninspired duds that the studios throw on your shelves each week. Strangely enough, I have indulged myself in some purely awful cinema for no other reason than I knew how much I’d hate it. So, since I can’t sleep, here’s my list for the pits of 2005. Keep in mind I still haven’t seen The Wedding Crashers, Elizabethtown, Hustle & Flow, North County, or whatever drivel Jennifer Aniston came out with this year. (And, no matter how masochistic I may be, I can’t bring myself for the torture of watching Bewitched). This year also marks the first year the United Statesians have swept the list.

10. Happy Endings – dir. Don Roos – USA
As the first of three “I bet I can really drive my message home by telling it through a series of not-really-unrelated people,” Happy Endings’ mix of nastiness and earnestness is like water and electricity… when you’re in the bathtub. While this probably marks the first time I’ve liked Maggie Gyllenhaal, she cannot overshadow the irritation that is Lisa Kudrow, Steve Coogan, and Jesse Bradford (also loses points for putting Laura Dern in a thankless role). Its dreadful when-the-fuck-is-he-going-to-end-this closing montage with oh-so-clever text is matched in awfulness only by this year’s number one pick.

9. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – dir. Garth Jennings – USA/UK
So, honestly, I haven’t seen all of this film. But from what I have seen, it’s this year’s biggest waste of decent special effects (except for maybe The Island), and the Alan Rickman-voiced robot is the most witless animated comic relief character since the new Star Wars.


8. The 40-Year-Old Virgin – dir. Judd Apatow – USA
Just because your mom liked a movie with a bunch of cum and masturbation jokes doesn’t mean it’s good. And just because it’s from the guy who created Freaks & Geeks (a decent, if over-loved, one-season-wonder) and stars Catherine Keener doesn’t mean it’s good either. As the perfect example this year (along with The Wedding Crashers) of what my roommate and I consider the new model for Hollywood comedy, The 40-Year-Old Virgin is essentially a bunch of laughless sketch appendages (the worst involving foul-mouthed Eastern Indian coworkers), branching from a thin backbone of a lifeless romance.

7. Me and You and Everyone We Know – dir. Miranda July – USA
Like an “I can do it just as good” younger sister of Wes Anderson, that Miranda July sure is quirky! Weaving a bunch of quirky moments (involving setting hands on fire, a cuuuuuuuute little boy wanting to shit in a woman’s ass, a goldfish in peril, and tag-team fellatio from a duo of sassy teen girls, among other things) into a sloppy motion picture, Ms. July created the “indie” groan of the year (welcoming it from previous years are Garden State, Igby Goes Down, and Secretary).

6. Havoc – dir. Barbara Kopple – USA
In a lesser year, Havoc would have easily taken the coveted spot of worst of the year, featuring the Princess Diaries herself whipping her tits out and responding to her parents’ interrogations with lines like, “to get away from this life!” You can tell Anne Hathaway’s character was bad because even Bijou Phillips’ parents didn’t want her hanging around their daughter. To quote my friend Mike H, Havoc is “about as sharp and edgy as an oval-shaped blanket full of kittens.” Well put.

5. Slutty Summer – dir. Casper Andreas – USA
Really, you can insert whichever crap they call queer cinema these days in this spot, but I chose Slutty Summer, a Sex & the City with fags whose depth (not unlike Le Clan – read my previous post) come from the definition of their abs. Writer-director-star (!) Andreas has crafted a deplorable (and horribly shot in consumer-quality digital) film with five sketches of humans in the gay community, each one more chiseled and disgusting than the other.

4. Pretty Persuasion – dir. Marcos Siega – USA
Presumably made as a response to the edgeless-ness of Mean Girls, director Siega has brought us the Heathers clone of 2005… a vile mess starring teen edge queen Evan Rachel Wood, who embodies a blinding sexuality most young actresses couldn’t dream of matching and who needs to branch away from crap like this (and Thirteen) if she ever wants to get respect. Wood’s character is to be the “devil in a gray skirt;” Siega has accomplished the feat of making his film the only thing more despicable than her.

3. Dirty Love – dir. John Mallory Asher – USA
Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have even seen this one, written and starring (yes, you read that right) the incomparable Jenny McCarthy. That this film presumes we’re going to care about a woman who flops around a supermarket looking for tampons to stop her Shining-size bloodbath of a menstrual flow is not only dead-wrong, but also rather insulting. Guess what, in the end she dumps her jackass, attractive boyfriend and finds love in the sex appeal barren nerd who’s always been by her side. And we’re the ones who have to pay.

2. Monster-in-Law – dir. Robert Luketic – USA
Setting women back nearly fifty years with this one, Jane Fonda returns to the screen, opposite the sweet-as-pie, stripped-of-race Jennifer Lopez. It’d be one thing for this film to just be unfunny… but it’s a two-hour-long cat fight, turning women into caddy, selfish, backstabbing cunts. Fonda’s character, as we learn from her opening scenes, is meant to be a strong-willed, powerful woman – but after being set off, she turns into a howling banshee whose unfounded hatred for her son’s fiancée (J. Lo) can only be interpreted as her being a contemptible shrew. With a strange gay agenda as well, Monster-in-Law should have been the worst of the year. And it tried hard.

1. Crash – dir. Paul Haggis – USA
How did Crash, Roger Ebert’s pick for best film of 2005, beat out both Monster-in-Law and Havoc and a film written by Jenny McCarthy? For precisely the reason that people mistakenly think this is a good film. With its in-your-face aggression, Crash wants to be the important social film you might have heard it is. However, Paul Haggis’ directorial debut is nothing more than another post-Altman piece of garbage, far worse than the others because it thinks it’s so important. In fact, Crash is obvious, overblown, bull-headed, overlong. It addresses the issue of heated race relations in Los Angeles, coming to a painfully simple conclusion… where Sandra Bullock realizes her faceless trophy wife “best friend” isn’t really a good person and finally accepts her Latino maid. What’s essentially one easy thesis, pumped with empty confrontation, dragged out in six or seven or eight (or however many) interlocking stories, Crash bluffed and tricked its way onto several top ten lists of the year, but I was not and shall not be so easily played the fool

Male "Bonding"... West Side Story style

Cool! - 2004 - dir. Theo Van Gogh
+
Le clan [ Three Dancing Slaves ] - 2004 - dir. Gaël Morel

On the surface level, these two films look like tough, gritty motion pictures. Cool!, directed by Theo Van Gogh, a distant relative of Vincent who was murdered shortly after the release of this film, depicts the streets of the Netherlands as a crime-infested wasteland for racially diverse young men. Gaël Morel's Le clan (or Three Dancing Slaves as its known stateside) tells the story of three tough-love brothers in a small French town. While having little in common otherwise (except for the depiction of second-generation North African immigrants in Europe), both films take a decidedly peculiar approach to their tales of male youth.


To any ol' viewer, Cool! might come off noticably less "cooler" (sorry, it was too easy) than its title may suggest. It's not terribly gritty, and the rap interludes look like some local Detroit hip-hoppers making a music video lamer than the song itself (though I did find out the word 'fuck' has made its away into Dutch slang). A group of mixed racial Dutch teenagers get sent to an experimental juvenile detention after a blundered bank robbery. The masterminds behind the robbery remain on the outside, lead by a pure-bred Dutch thug who eats fruits and vegetables like a reformed Ben Horne (Twin Peaks... if you didn't get it) while spatting out masturbatory stories about his accomplishes while watching lesbian porn; the older gang appears victorious, untouched by the cops and holding the prize, a sassy bartender who holds the hearts of both gang-leaders. But another bank robbery is bubbling beneath the surface... and with the young gang's impending time off for good behavior, you can bet some trouble's in store.

With all this, we get the occasional rap music video interruption of plot. What made me ill at first soon took shape in my mind as Van Gogh's reimagining of the musical. Instead of lavish choreography and production design, we get a bunch of Dutch rappers in oversize clothing shrugging their shoulders and shouting into the camera. In the past few years, cinema has brought us a new understanding (or maybe just appreciation) for the once-dead genre of the musical. There's the absurdist, tongue-in-cheek musicals (the South Park movie, 8 Femmes, The Happiness of the Katikuris), our traditional Broadway adaptations (Chicago, Phantom of the Opera, Rent), a rock 'n' roll entry (Hedwig and the Angry Inch), and of course Dancer in the Dark. Cool! is really none of the above, yet all in the same. It uses hip-hop music, which one wouldn't normally associate with the genre, yet it follows a perfect pattern for the genre. The songs don't push the plot forward, instead they offer a look inside the feelings and sentiments of the characters. The film leads us to the inevitable final bank robbery where the winner will be decided... and the girl will be nabbed. It's final sequence is laughably melodramatic, filled with slow-motion facial close-ups, characters jumping in front of bullets, the police arriving seconds to late.... and Van Gogh closes the film as if it were American Graffiti, letting us know (thankfully without awful text) what's become of the characters who never really emerged past their onscreen two-dimensions. Its closure really drives home that Cool! is not the gritty, tough film it disguises itself as.

Le clan has all the makings of a tough-guy film as well (unfortunately not a tough guy musical). Co-written by the loathesome Christophe Honoré (a man partially responsible for three of the worst French films in recent history, Les filles ne savent pas nager [ Girls Can't Swim ], Novo, and Ma mère) and director Morel (star of Les Rouseaux sauvages [ Wild Reeds ]), is--guess what--not so. Instead, we have a shallow tale of ripped, shirtless men bonding. Unlike the similarly homoerotic, female-less world of Claire Denis' Beau travail, Morel is more concerned with the development of our three brothers. He fails miserably, since I can only recall minute details about the three and surely not their names. One's a hothead who fucks trannies and loves his dog; another wants to change his life for the better post-prison; the youngest is shy and has the hots for one of their male friends. Le clan, while trying to show the hardships of small-town life, only amounts to creating a fantasy world where women don't exist (the only woman in the film--even in the background of the film--appears within the last ten minutes) and male depth can be determined by the definition of their abs. The three brothers take their small town existence in separate directions (as the film is clearly divided into three chapters and seasons), but the film can never escape its own physical shallowness. Morel treaded on similar ground, though with a tad better success, in his prior À toute vitesse [ Full Speed ], a homoerotic fantasy of gritty French street life that at least features an earnest performance (from a woman, surprisingly... Élodie Bouchez).

You (as in the one person who I know reads this) can expect a re-listing of my best of 2005 sometime within a few months, as well as, in the more immediate future, a worst of '05...and, maybe, since I think the voting's officially closed on these topics, a 'best of' for a few years back.

Pick of the day: A film I shamefully forgot on my 2005 list (further proof of a need for a repost): Lukas Moodysson's A Hole in My Heart [ Ett Hål i mitt hjärta ], from Sweden, one of the more gruelling and claustrophobic films I've ever seen, not to mention a painful critique on the media, vulgarity, privacy, and (worst of all) ourselves. It's available in a Region 2 UK version here, but can also be found exclusively on Netflix Region 1.

2005

I hate the idea of a top 10 list... it's rather traditional and really only a means to cheer or boo someone based upon their lists. In fact, I think someone's top 10 list of the year -- be it music, film, whatever -- can be rather telling of the sort of person they are. So, maybe you'll be able to tell what sort of a person I am after reading the following.

I don't really feel like I am an active theatre-goer -- I loathe the experience of watching a film amongst a group of (usually rude) strangers. I don't want to start any arguments about the nature of film and how it's supposed to be seen projected at 24 frames-per-second. I'd just rather watch movies in the comfort of my own home. All this said, I didn't see many films in the theatre this year. And none of the films I did see really struck me as "the best of 2005." So I'll post the 9 runners-up instead, and perhaps I'll pick a favorite after all the winter releases make it to DVD.

So... here we go (in descending order for suspense purposes):

10. Or (My Treasure) [ Mon trésor ] - directed by Karen Yedaya - Israel/France
Nothing really unfolds as you might expect here. For one, the camera never moves; each shot is taken from a stationary camera that allows for every unflattering detail to expose itself. The story (about a woman who just can't quit hookin' and her daughter who can't bare to see her mother waste away to that lifestyle) sounds pretty throw-away... but the emotional and personal conflicts within the daughter, Or, make for juicy, complex cinema. The lead actresses, especially Ronit Elkabetz (of the wonderful film Late Marriage) as the mother, deliver performances so wonderfully in such difficult roles. It has the ability to quietly disturb and revolt.

9. The Beat That My Heart Skipped [ De battre mon coeur s'est arrêté ] - directed by Jacques Audiard - France
Packed with an accomplished and justified intensity (unlike my choice for the worst film of '05) and a smashing performance from Romain Duris, director Audiard (best known for his technically-astonishing, but snooze-inducing ode to Hitchcock, Sur mes lèvres) accomplished a real feat, remaking a forgettable American flick (Fingers) and turning it into something quite good. When not wasting his time in trite Euro comedies for the U.S. Amélie-lover (L'Auberge espagnol, and its sure-to-be-lousy sequel Les Poupées russes), Duris conjures a force that can't be matched by most actors his age.

8. The Holy Girl [ La niña santa ] - directed by Lucrecia Martel - Argentina/Spain/Italy
Teenage girls coming-of-age flicks are pretty common staple of international cinema; they can be done well (Fat Girl) or they can be done poorly (Les filles ne savent pas nager). The Holy Girl is of the former category, an assured, lovely second feature from Argentenian Lucrecia Martel (La Ciénaga). Here, Martel combines the buddy sexuality of her protagonist(s) with dangerous game of Catholicism and piety. Easy answers do not ensue (this seems to be a trend in my list).

7. Last Days - directed by Gus Van Sant - USA
On paper, Last Days sounds like a trainwreck. You've got Gus Van Sant behind the camera, choosing to tackle another subject that's rather controversial. Elephant had its merits, but its flaws tipped the scale over. The cast: you have Michael Pitt as "Kurt Cobain" in a dress, Asia Argento conjuring up her inner Anouk Aimée, Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon, and the little kid from Witness having sex with a dude. It sounds rather campy but ended up being one of the more fascinating American films this year. Van Sant chooses not to show Pitt as a literal Kurt Cobian (though he does look the part), but as a man who can't even find quietness and solitary in his own death.

6. 3-Iron - directed by Kim Ki-duk - South Korea/Japan
Ki-duk's films always seem to develop from Eastern mythology and drenched in allegories -- none of which I've ever really been able to figure out. That, however, does not hinder my appreciation for not only for the visual beauty and quietness within his films, but also for their mystery. If I could easily crack this film (along with his equally-radiant The Isle and Spring, Summer, Fall, Winer... and Spring), I don't think it'd linger in my memory as long or as vividly.

5. My Summer of Love - directed by Pawel Pawlikowski - U.K.
Luscious. It sure does have its faults (the end "twist" is nauseating), but unlike so many films I saw this year, My Summer of Love was fully alive. With its sun-drenched cinematography and Goldfrapp soundtrack, the film felt like a gorgeous love letter to the possibilities of youth. Nathalie Preiss, as the freckled, cockney-accented Mona, gives an amazing performance, reminicent of some of the best work by one of my favorite actresses, Tilda Swinton.

4. 2046 - directed by Wong Kar-wai - Hong Kong/France/Germany/China
With an impossible beauty not unlike its predecessor In the Mood for Love, Wong Kar-wai crafted his most personal (and arguably most aesthetically-alluring) film, an ode to the beauty and despair of women and the beauty and despair of one's own art.


3. Mysterious Skin - directed by Gregg Araki - U.S.A.
Mysterious Skin is a film whose true beauty reveals itself after you've left the theatre. While a fuckload better than his last endeavor Splendor, we still have a truck-load of problems here. Araki never develops the female characters (Elisabeth Shue, calling upon her inner Jennifer Jason Leigh as Neil's trampy mother, and Michelle Tractenberg, as Neil's "soul mate") as they need to be; Araki still hasn't figured out how to direct his actors outside of the world he created with his Teen Apocalypse Trilogy (Joseph Gordon-Levitt being the exception here); the narration feels strange and very "based-on-novel-y." Yet, Mysterious Skin is truly the most emotionally complex film I saw this year. Araki handles the thematically-heavy text of the film delicately. We still have a world where aliens appear, where the sounds of Slowdive and the Cocteau Twins' droning guitars fill the air, where teens still casually explore their sexualities, and where the protagonist of our tale looks strikingly like Araki himself (Gordon-Levitt is his James Duval substitute here). Yet, the world of Mysterious Skin is unlike Araki's others, for, here, we can see a sizable level of maturity growing onscreen.

2. Tropical Malady - directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul - Thailand/France/Germany/Italy
And rounding out my list of Asian and homoerotic films comes a comprimise between the two. Like 3-Iron, most of my admiration for Tropical Malady comes from my lack of knowledge in Eastern mythology and folklore, not to say that an understanding in such would change my opinion here. Told in two-parts, the film opens with the blossoming of a relationship between two Thai men. The dialogue is quiet and simple. At almost exactly the hour-mark, we switch into the jungle where a soldier is searching for a ghost inhabiting a beast of sorts. I'm actually embarassed (slightly) to admit I don't really know what's going on in this film... so why does it make the highest slot of my list? Tropical Malady is a completely visceral experience -- frighting, haunting, tough-to-crack. For the patient viewer, its final shot will be stamped in your memory forever.

We'll see if a number one arrives at a later date.