4/19/15: The Game of Life

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2014 Academy Awards, 87th Annual Academy Awards, Alan Turing, Alex Lawther, Alexandre Desplat, Allen Leech, arrogance, Óscar Faura, based on a book, based on a true story, Benedict Cumberbatch, Best Actor nominee, Best Actress nominee, Best Adapted Screenplay winner, Best Director nominee, Best Film Editing nominee, Best Original Score nominee, Best Picture nominee, Charles Dance, cinema, code-breakers, crossword puzzles, cryptography, dramas, early computers, Enigma machine, film reviews, films, flashback narrative, flashbacks, Graham Moore, Headhunters, homophobia, homosexuality, Jack Bannon, James Northcote, Keira Knightley, life during wartime, Mark Strong, mathematicians, Matthew Beard, Matthew Goode, MI6, Morten Tyldum, Movies, multiple award nominee, mystery, Oscar nominee, persecution, race against time, romances, Rory Kinnear, Russian spies, secrets, set in 1940s, set in 1950s, set in England, spies, The Imitation Game, thrillers, Tom Goodman-Hill, Turing machines, war films, William Goldenberg, World War II

True heroes, unlike their cinematic counterparts, rarely receive the appreciation that they deserve. Oh sure: they may be honored, feted and immortalized via statuary but this is usually long after they’ve ceased drawing breath on this particular plane of existence. The reason for this, in most cases, is that true heroes…the kinds who save tens of thousands, if not more…usually operate in the shadows, away from the spotlight of public scrutiny. They’re the doctors and scientists who discover new cures and immunizations on a regular basis…the engineers who continue to craft safer buildings, bridges and roads…the unsung politicians, bureaucrats and civil servants who toil away behind the scenes, not for power, money or glory but because they honestly don’t want to see their citizenry starving or freezing to death in the streets. Cinematic heroes are a lot more thrilling, sure: watching Batman punch the living shit out of garishly clad supervillains is much more thrilling IMAX fare than watching Jonas Salk develop a Polio vaccine. When it comes down to brass tacks, however, it’s kind of obvious that Salk has saved at least a few more folks than Batman has, albeit with much less panache.

Morten Tyldum’s multi-Oscar-nominated The Imitation Game (2014) takes a look at one such unsung hero, the prickly, brilliant mathematician/cryptologist Alan Turing. Aside from being responsible for the Turing machine, a proto-computer that would be a nice enough feather in anyone’s cap, Turing was also one of the British code-breakers responsible for cracking Germany’s infamous Enigma machine during World War II, allowing the Allies to move the war into its endgame. Estimates put the number of lives saved by ending the war early at around 14 million, give or take: in other words, not bad for a guy who wore a sweater and slacks to  work instead of a spandex suit. Along with being a world-class code-breaker, however, Turing was also a gay man during a time period when sexual orientation was illegal. Years after his triumph over the Engima machine, Turing was prosecuted and found guilty of indecency: choosing chemical castration, Turing would go on to commit suicide roughly a year after his “therapy,” at the tender age of 41.

Similar to The Iron Lady (2011) and The Theory of Everything (2014), The Imitation Game takes the real facts of Turing’s life and expands, folds and manipulates them into something altogether more “cinematic,” if arguably less factual. By employing a flashback structure, Tyldum runs three simultaneous timelines: the “present-day,” circa 1951; the “war years,” circa the 1940s; and Turing’s childhood, circa the late-’20s. While the meat of the story takes place during the war, the “present-day” material opens the film and sets up a mystery (of sorts) that the school and war eras will attempt to “solve.”

In the present day, we follow Detective Robert Nock (Rory Kinnear) as he investigates a mysterious break-in at the home of Prof. Alan Turing (Benedict Cumberbatch). As Nock investigates the incident, with a minimum amount of support and help from the prickly Turing, he becomes stymied by the reclusive professor’s redacted military record. This leads us into the film proper, with Turing attempting to offer his services to the British government as a decoder, despite a complete lack of interest in politics, social disorder or even a rudimentary understanding of the German language.

As Turing butts heads with his rigid, disapproving commander (Charles Dance), he also manages to tick off the other code-breakers that he’s supposed to be working with, labeling each of them as “worthless” in each own, indomitable way. He does, however, manage to find a kindred spirit in Joan Clarke (Keira Knightley): their friendship eventually develops into an engagement, albeit one inherently doomed by Alan’s homosexuality. We then get the third part of our little “triptych” as we journey back to Turing’s boyhood years and witness the young genius (Alex Lawther) as he’s introduced to the world of cryptography and falls in love with his classmate, Christopher (Jack Bannon). As these three timelines move and maneuver around each other, we gradually develop a more complete picture of Turing as the quintessential outsider, a man tasked with saving the social order that , ultimately, condemns and hates him. You know: pretty much the definition of the selfless hero.

While the historical details behind The Imitation Game are certainly up for debate (as they were in the aforementioned biopics) the film, itself, is a much sturdier, well-made and entertaining affair than either The Iron Lady or The Theory of Everything. Credit certainly must go to Cumberbatch, who tears into the role of Turing with complete and absolute gusto: while he gets several “big” scenes, it’s all of the small, almost invisible personal tics and quirks that really make the character come alive. While there’s nothing here that’s completely foreign to Cumberbatch’s work with the new Sherlock series (aside from a new-found sense of vulnerability that would fit the smug detective as poorly as a reverse-mohawk), he’s pretty effortless as getting across the commingled pain, hubris and awkwardness that seemed to be at the heart of the character. Cumberbatch is an actor who understands how important it is to listen: there’s a rare joy to be found in watching an almost endless cycle of emotions sail across his expressive face, from boyish mischief to hopeless defeat. Rather than simply indulging in mimicry (as with Streep’s take on Maggie Thatcher or Redmayne’s performance as Stephen Hawking), Cumberbatch does it the old-fashioned way and just acts.

As befits this type of large-scale production, Cumberbatch has quite the cast to back him up. While Keira Knightley has never especially blown me away, I quite enjoyed her low-key performance as Joan: the bit where she tells the obnoxious Turing that, as a woman in a man’s job, she “doesn’t have the luxury of being an ass,” like him, is subtly (but witheringly) delivered but as sturdy as concrete. There’s also good work coming from Matthew Goode, Allen Leech, Matthew Beard and James Northcote as Turing’s put-upon co-workers, with Goode getting some especially nice moments. If Charles Dance and Low Winter Sun’s Mark Strong come off more stereotypical and clichéd (as the stodgy commander and sneaky MI6 agent, respectively), chalk this up to roles that serve more as plot-points than to any deficiencies in the acting, which are top-notch.

From a filmmaking perspective, The Imitation Game mostly works, although I’ll admit to not being a fan of the flashback structure. For my money, this would have worked much better as a more traditional narrative, moving from Turing’s childhood up to his indecency conviction: the constant cutting between eras often has the effect of pulling us out of the moment, making it difficult to ever get fully invested in the structure. The “present-day” material also exists solely as a contrived “mystery,” especially since the final emotional resolution occurs via screen-text after the film has actually ended. Running it chronologically (with, perhaps, a return to the childhood-era for the final revelation/emotional wallop) would have kept the focus on Turing, eliminating the unnecessary mystery element. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention that the various newsreel cutaways and war scenes, while de rigueur for this type of film, really stick out like a sore thumb: they never feel authentic or, to be honest, even particularly well-integrated.

While The Imitation Game would go on to rack up an altogether impressive array of award nominations (including a win for Best Adapted Screenplay), there were also plenty of critics who decried the film’s various historical inaccuracies and seeming desire to minimize Turing’s homosexuality. From my perspective, I didn’t necessarily find this to be the case. While it’s certainly true that the film makes certain deviations from the historical record (including creating characters and conflicts that never existed), it would be difficult to find a cinematic biopic that doesn’t do that: certainly, The Imitation Game seems no more guilty of this than does the similarly lauded The Theory of Everything, which managed to paint its subject in such glowing terms that the whole thing seemed more than a bit fanciful and overly romantic. The Imitation Game is a much more gritty, down-to-earth film, albeit one with a foot planted firmly in the kinds of historical biopics that multiplex audiences will be more than familiar with.

I also felt that Turing’s homosexuality was portrayed in a much more organic way than many films like this might opt for: the silly “mystery” angle notwithstanding, the childhood and war-era storylines opt for a refreshing “show, don’t tell” mentality that never feels forced. While the final text does seem like a bit of a cop-out (for the most part, the entirety of the film’s equality message is shoe-horned in right before the credits roll), there’s enough subtle characterization and commentary, throughout, to get the message across loud and clear.

Ultimately, The Imitation Game is a suitably sturdy, well-made character study, although I certainly didn’t find it to be the best film of 2014 (or even one of the best, to be honest). While Tyldum is an assured hand with the material here, guiding the film’s many tense setpieces with a ruthless sense of efficiency, there’s also very little that stands out, aside from the excellent performances. For my money, Tyldum’s previous film, the astounding Headhunters (2011), was a much more impressive, mind-blowing piece of art: The Imitation Game, while more important and “serious,” is certainly the lesser of the two, in close comparison.

Despite its (decidedly minor) issues, however, there’s no denying that The Imitation Game is a solid, powerful and well-crafted film. In an era where the LGBT community still fights for the rights, respect and understanding that has been sadly absent for too long, there’s no denying that this is a story that definitely needs to be told. As long as any person is forced to go through what Alan Turing was put through, all of humanity collectively suffers. Here’s to hoping that, in the future, our children will look back on the events depicted in The Imitation Game as an example of a petty, small-minded and terrible time that no longer exists.

True heroism, after all, isn’t about making the world better for yourself: true heroism is about making the world better for everyone, regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation, nation of origin, religion (or lack thereof), political-leaning or personal wealth.

2/26/14: When You’re Here, You’re Home (Oscar Bait, Part 10)

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2013 Academy Awards, 86th Annual Academy Awards, alcoholism, Alexander Payne, auteur theory, Best Actor nominee, Best Cinematography nominee, Best Director nominee, Best of 2013, Best Original Screenplay nominee, Best Picture nominee, Best Supporting Actress nominee, Bob Odenkirk, Boogie Nights, Bruce Dern, cinema, Citizen Ruth, dementia, Election, estranged family, Film, Film auteurs, film reviews, growing old, grown children, Heartland, indie comedies, indie dramas, June Squibb, Midwestern, Movies, Nebraska, old age, road movie, road trips, small town life, snubbed at the Oscars, Stacy Keach, sweepstakes, The Descendants, Will Forte, Woody Grant

Realistically, there’s no such thing as a “perfect” anything, much less a perfect film. After all: one person’s concept of “amazing” is always someone else’s notion of “played-out.” That perfect hamburger? How do you know? If it were truly perfect, would it ever actually end? Wouldn’t that perfect sunset just continue on into infinity? Can humans, inherently faulty as we are, ever actually make something perfect? Could robots? What does “perfect” even mean? Is it as meaningless as “awesome” and “epic” in the Aught Tens? I bring up these points for one simple reason: I consider Alexander Payne’s Nebraska to be, essentially, a perfect film. I believe this through and through, even though all of the evidence points to how impossible it is. There is nothing perfect, although Nebraska is as perfect as it comes. This makes absolutely no sense…and I’m totally okay with that.

Some films hit me on a more pure, elemental level then other films. One of the best examples of this I can think of is PT Anderson’s Boogie Nights. I’ll never forget seeing that for the first time, in the theater, and just sitting there in stunned silence. I felt like I couldn’t even process the film on the first viewing: I could only sit back and absorb it. Immediately afterward, I bought another ticket and stayed for the next showing. To this day, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen Boogie Nights but it never fails to impress me and lift my spirits: the film is a complete masterpiece and was from opening night. My first experience with seeing Nebraska was nearly identical to my experience seeing Boogie Nights. I was immediately, completely and totally in love with the film from the jump and this impression gradually broadened and deepened into something approaching blind faith: I not only loved what I was currently seeing but I was positive I would love everything still to come. And I did.

Payne, one of modern filmmaking’s brightest talents, is no stranger to the prickly ways in which humans, particularly relatives, interact. His filmography may not be huge but it is ridiculously deep: Citizen Ruth, Election (another of my favorite films), About Schmidt, Sideways, the Descendants (another Oscar favorite) and Nebraska. Any of these would be a bright star in most writer/director careers but Payne’s CV is quite the embarrassment of riches. With Nebraska, however, he’s managed to hone the “Heartland shiv” of Election and Citizen Ruth into a merciless edge while adding in the richly textured familial issues of The Descendants. In the process, he’s crafted his best, most enduring film (thus far).

In a cinematic universe of “difficult” people, Woody Grant (Bruce Dern) might be their supreme leader. Hard-drinking, stubborn, suffering from the first pangs of dementia and brutally honest, Woody is the kind of person who seems to exist solely to vex his loved ones. And vex them, he does. His long-suffering wife, Kate (June Squibb), and grown sons David (Will Forte) and Ross (Bob Odenkirk) have had just about as much of them as they can take: Kate, in particular, has taken to treating Woody like a flop-eared hound that won’t quit piddling on the rug. The thing is: Woody is one genuinely difficult dude. Not just prickly, mind you: genuinely difficult. When he receives one of those ubiquitous “You may already be a winner!” sweepstakes notices, he decides to walk from his home in Montana all the way to Lincoln, Nebraska, to claim his “winnings.” Rather than have his father drop dead on the side of the road (and unable to convince him of the truth behind the sweepstakes), David decides to go with his dad and make it a father-son bonding trip. The stage is set for a sweet, nostalgic, heart-warming tale of reconciliation and family…except Woody couldn’t give two shits about his family and certainly doesn’t look forward to being stuck with his square son David. Tempers flare, hard truths are learned and David learns the most important lesson of all: You can’t always pick your fights and you can never pick your family. But, sometimes, that’s okay.

Picking out one individual aspect of Nebraska to laud is not only nearly impossible but unnecessarily reductive. The individual aspects of the film truly shine but it’s the sum of these parts that makes Nebraska an unmitigated classic. Right from the get-go, with the gorgeous black-and-white cinematography and the hauntingly simple but beautiful bluegrassy theme, the film felt timeless. Indeed, the film was so stunningly filmed that I was certain it would be a lock for cinematography, Gravity be damned. The camera-work in Gravity was flawless and head-scratching (how the hell DID they do that?) but the cinematography in Nebraska is beautifully evocative and so cinematic that it hurts. This was a film that looked as good as it “felt,” a perfect synthesis of form and function.

As is standard in Payne’s films, the acting is absolutely superb. In fact…here comes that word again…it’s pretty much perfect. Will Forte, so good as a comic, is a complete revelation as David. At once sympathetic, sweet and slightly pathetic, David is a fully realized, complex character, someone who all of us know (if we aren’t actually him, that is). Bob Odenkirk is marvelous as brother Ross, likewise reigning in his comedic tendencies to portray a character who’s equal parts fatigued snark and genuine compassion. It’s as far from Saul Goodman as possible and never less than 100% authentic. Stacy Keach has a terrific part as Woody’s former friend, Ed, a loutish civic leader who browbeats Woody mercilessly yet manages one of the most heartbreaking displays of emotion I’ve ever seen in a film: the part where he mockingly reads Woody’s letter to the bar is powerful stuff but the changing expression in his eyes as he realizes what he’s done to Woody is the stuff of legend. Keach has been far too scarce in films these days (I actually thought he was dead!) and it’s a tremendous shame: someone get this guy some more roles STAT!

In a cast this excellent, this perfect, however, there are still two standouts, two performers that brought completely indelible characters to life. June Squibb, as Kate, is a complete revelation, an actress so watchable, so absolutely compelling, that I find myself wondering why I never noticed her before. Kate is a real person: an honest-to-God flesh and blood creation. I know several people like Kate: many of them are also my family members. You know many people like Kate: some of them are likely your family, as well. As a character, she’s flawed, sometimes reveling in a level of nasty “honesty” that’s breathtaking in its cruelty. The scene where she visits the family cemetery with Woody and David is amazing, one of those scenes that film fans should remember in the same way that they do the “Hold it between your knees” scene from 5  Easy Pieces. As she walks about the graveyard, Kate keeps a constant running commentary about their interred relatives: this one was a slut, that one was an idiot, this other one always wanted to “get in her pants.” In the piece de resistance, however, Kate stops before the grave of a former beau, hikes up her skirt and stands before the tombstone: “See what you could have had if you didn’t talk about weed all the time?!” It’s a vulgar, hilarious, awesome moment, one of those bits that deserves to go down in cinematic history. While I was happy to see Nyong’o win Best Supporting Actress at the Oscars, Squibb was, hands-down, the best of the four performances I saw (sorry Julia: Osage was a bit hard to get ahold of).

And then, of course, there’s Bruce Dern. To be honest, I’m not sure how much acting Dern did for the film: perhaps that’s why he ended up losing to McConaughey (who also completely deserved the award, ironically). Perhaps this is how Dern really is. Perhaps he’s nothing like this. At the end of the day, there’s only one thing I knew: this was the single most perfect acting performance of the entire year. The whole thing. Better than McConaughey (who was astounding), better than Ejiofor. Better than anyone, actually. At no point in the film did it ever feel like Dern was acting. Nothing felt inauthentic, every beat and facial expression was well-earned and it was that rarest of modern acting performances: a stellar turn that did not revolve around flawless mimicry (sorry, Meryl). Perhaps it’s because of my own experiences with an elderly father but I completely identified with everything about both Woody and David: I experienced the same measure of heartwarming/breaking that I did in real life. If you have no experience with elderly parents, perhaps you won’t be affected as deeply. With acting this masterful, however, I’m betting you will.

So we have a great looking/sounding film and amazing performances. What else is there? Well, how about the funniest, freshest, funkiest script in ages? While Nebraska is anything but a joke-a-minute laughathon, it is shockingly funny, more so than any indie “dramedy” I’ve yet seen. Much of the humor definitely comes from the verisimilitude of the absurd situations (I laughed like an idiot during the scene where David’s yokel cousins mock him for taking so long to drive there, since I’ve had that exact same conversation with similar idiots in the past) but there’s just as many great one-liners and exchanges flying around. One of my favorite scenes has to be the one where Woody, Kate and David eat lunch in a small diner. Woody spends an inordinate amount of time studying the menu. When Kate asks him, “What are you having, old man?” he resolutely replies “Meatloaf.” Her exasperated comeback could have come straight from my childhood: “You’ve been staring at that menu for ten minutes…where does it say meatloaf?”At another point, David tells Woody that “All of your brothers are coming over.” “Some of them are dead.” David looks at Woody, for a beat, before replying: “The dead ones won’t be coming over.” Classic.

All of these various elements would be impressive enough but the one thing uniting them all is the most important: heart. Nebraska has a big heart, much bigger than the gently mean sarcasm would have you believe. You can see the genuine emotion creeping at the edge of every frame, sneaking into each scene like an insistent boom mic. The emotion isn’t always on the forefront but, when it is, the film burns with an almost palpable sense of pain. If you don’t feel something when Kate sits as Woody’s bedside, you probably don’t have much to feel. If you don’t tear up at the end, as David lets him father drive triumphantly through town, you’re probably already dead.

In the end, Nebraska is that most impossible of films: a scruffy, mean, hilarious, heartfelt celebration of the Heartland and all of the people who inhabit it. There are no characters here, only real people reacting with the same pain, humor, bias, hatred and love that we all do. Whereas every other film that I saw for Oscar season (including the otherwise incredible Dallas Buyers Club) struggled with notions of authenticity, Nebraska was the only one that I bought part and parcel. Like I said before: I know these people. I grew up with them. I probably love and hate them with equal fervor. If there were major flaws with the film, I couldn’t find them. If you can, I’m guessing we’ll probably never see completely eye to eye. That’s okay, though: there are no perfect films, so you, but Nebraska is just perfect enough for me.

2/22/14: Doing it For Yourself (Oscar Bait, Part 7)

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1980's, 2013 Academy Awards, 86th Annual Academy Awards, Academy Award Nominee, Academy Award Winner, Academy Awards, AIDs, AZT, based on a true story, Best Actor nominee, Best Actor winner, Best of 2013, Best Supporting Actor nominee, Best Supporting Actor Winner, biographical films, bull-riding, character dramas, cinema, clinical trials, Dallas Buyers Club, drama, film reviews, films, gay community, HIV, homophobia, Jared Leto, Jean-Marc Vallee, Jennifer Garner, Matthew McConaughey, Movies, Rayon, rodeo, Ron Woodroof, Steve Zahn

For all intents and purposes, we like to pretend that the world isn’t as cruel and ruthless as it really is. We’d like to think that no one truly falls through the cracks, that there’s always some sort of safety net out there if people are just willing to look. It may not be the most ideal support, we’d like to think, and people may not be able to live in the exact manner of their choosing but beggars can’t be choosers, we reason. At the very least, we’ve always thought, truly sick people should be able to have access to medicine: no one should just be allowed to sicken and die, particularly if there’s something that can be done about it. Right? If we’re being dead serious with ourselves, however, we don’t believe that anymore than we believe in unicorns or the Bermuda Triangle.

In reality, vast expanses of the populace, of every populace since the beginning of time, have been marginalized, pushed to the fringes and forced to rely only on themselves for their well-being. These populaces vary from society to society, country to country, culture to culture and state to state but they’re always painful reminders of one cold, simple fact: whenever anyone needlessly dies, equality is nothing more than a feel-good bedtime story. Anytime an individual is brushed off by the established order and left, essentially, to die, we see the failure of the status quo. In these situations, it becomes necessary for brave individuals (or groups) to fight for their own rights, health and well-being. This need to fight doesn’t necessarily reflect society at its best but it sure does make for some riveting cinema and Dallas Buyers Club is gripping from start to finish.

Based on a true story, Dallas Buyers Club wastes no time in introducing us to our protagonist, rodeo bull-rider and general gadfly Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey). Ron’s the kind of guy who likes to live life to the fullest: threesomes behind the scenes of a bustling rodeo, conning his fellow riders and getting his ass beat in the process, hovering up cocaine by the yard, saying the first thing that comes to his mind. There’s absolutely nothing altruistic about our “hero”: within very short order, we’ve determined that he’s a virulently homophobic, crooked man-child who couldn’t give two shits about anyone else in the world. He’s the kind of good ‘ol boy who sneers when it’s revealed that Rock Hudson is homosexual and dismisses HIV and AIDS as a “gay disease.” He’s also the guy who ends up with HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, thanks to his numerous, unprotected sexual escapades.

Doctors give Ron just thirty days to live but he’s a stubborn cuss and won’t go softly into that good night: “Fuck your 30 days, motherfuckers: ain’t nothing can kill Ron Woodroof in 30 days!” Ron celebrates his “ridiculous” diagnosis by immediately rushing out and having a coke-fueled orgy with his best friend Tucker (Steve Zahn) and a couple “lucky” ladies. Once the seriousness of his situation finally settles in, however, along with the realization that all of his friends and associates have abandoned him, Ron must get to the very serious business of staying alive. Drug trials offer scant hope: kindly doctor Eve (Jennifer Garner) can’t guarantee that Ron will actually get the AZT rather than the placebo. Time and time again, Ron is faced with the terrifying notion that no one really feels they can cure him: everyone seems to be waiting for Ron to die so they can study him.

A chance meeting with an AIDS-infected transexual named Rayon (Jared Leto) sets into motion a chain of events that sees Ron go around the world to pick up experimental, “unauthorized” HIV/AIDS drugs and distribute them to patients through a club of sorts” the Dallas Buyers Club. In short order, Ron and Rayon’s club is doing boomer business and Ron’s health seems to be improving. Dark clouds appear on the horizon, however, when the DEA, IRS and AMA all get wind of what’s going on. Will the Feds work to shut down the only thing that seems to be keeping Ron and Rayon alive? Is Ron an opportunistic con-man or a saint in redneck clothing? If Ron gets shut down, what will become of the rest of the Dallas Buyers Club?

By the time I saw Dallas Buyers Club. I had already seen a handful of other Best Picture nominees for 2013: American Hustle, 12 Years a Slave and Captain Phillips. Of these four films, Dallas Buyers Club was easily my favorite and, in fact, probably one of the best films I’d seen in quite some time.  There’s an awful lot to love in Dallas Buyers Club: the film looks great and has a gritty, earnest eye for period detail; the script is razor-sharp, full of sharply delineated characters and plenty of juicy dialogue (especially some of Ron’s bon mots); the ensemble casts fits together like a jigsaw piece, each actor (both major and minor) working together to paint a complete picture; the film has a big, epic scope yet still brings everything down to a personal, relatable  level; the film is deeply emotional and powerful, yet never maudlin, obvious or hysterical. It’s a beautifully made, powerful work of art that hits on a number of levels yet never loses the inherent dignity and passion of its characters. And then, of course, there are those towering performances by McConaughey and Leto.

Even before he was given the Best Actor statue at the Academy Awards, I already knew that McConaughey had earned it. His performance as Ron Woodroof is nothing short of a revelation: angry, charming, obnoxious, feral, frightened…Woodroof is an open-nerve, the unbearably loud voice of the disenfranchised screaming at maximum volume. There’s absolutely nothing about McConaughey’s performance that ever feels like acting or, to be honest, anything less than completely authentic. At times, it’s impossible to watch, since the pain radiates from the screen in waves. At other times, it’s impossible not to watch, since McConaughey seems to attract all matter and attention to him in the same matter that a black hole might. Ron Woodroof is an amazingly conflicted character and McConaughey brings him to life in all his multi-faceted glory. Bruce Dern was amazing in Nebraska and Chiwetel Ejiofor was heartbreaking in 12 Years a Slave but, for my money, McConaughey gave the single best performance of the year, hands-down.

Leto’s performance as Rayon, although not as multi-faceted as McConaughey’s take on Woodroof, is a pretty spectacular piece of craft. Leto becomes the character so completely that, just as with McConaughey’s performance, I bought it all absolutely. Despite how good Leto was, however, there were still several moments that felt too “actorly” and performed, moments that were more wholly-integrated in McConaughey’s performance. I chalk this up to one fact, plain and simple: Leto just isn’t the actor that McConaughey is, at least not yet. It’s impossible for me not to feel, at least in some small way, that Barkhad Abdi (Captain Phillips) ultimately deserved the trophy more than Leto. While Leto gave a humble, nuanced and tender performance, it still felt like a performance: Abdi, on the other hand, never felt anything less than completely authentic, even if his role didn’t have the emotional beats and arc of Leto’s. Nonetheless, Leto’s performance is extraordinary and, in any other Oscar year, would have been my pick, as well.

In many ways, Dallas Buyers Club strikes me as the anti-American Hustle. Both films are period-pieces about the disintegration of the American dream and both feature characters who must pull off elaborate hustles in order to survive. While American Hustle strikes me as weightless and inconsequential, however, Dallas Buyers Club reminds me more of films like Boogie Nights and Goodfellas. There are certain films that just impact me more than other films and Dallas Buyers Club was one of those films: by the time the end credits rolled, the film felt like a masterpiece and something deserving of the term “classic.” When American Hustle was over, however, I only found myself entertained: truth be told, I’d already forgotten about several key moments days after first watching it. Dallas Buyers Club, however, stuck with me for days and I can still it so clearly that I might as well have watched it days ago, not weeks ago.

Despite being a film about the terrible ravages of AIDS, Dallas Buyers Club is a fiercely vibrant, alive, angry film. There is nothing melancholy or morose about this: like Ron Woodroof, Dallas Buyers Club isn’t interested in feel-good sentiments or gauzy hand-holding. There’s nothing stereotypically “heroic” about Woodroof: he’s a selfish jerk and he knows it. He also, however, refuses to give up, refuses to lie down just because the odds aren’t good. He refuses to listen to “experts” who’ve written him off, friends who’ve turned their back on him and a society that looks down on him. Ultimately, Ron Woodroof couldn’t give two shits whether you like him or not: he’s not asking society’s permission to live. Ultimately, Ron (and Dallas Buyers Club) stand as towering testimony that the spark of life can never be truly extinguished as long as the will to survive is strong. Dallas Buyers Club was a profoundly moving experience and was, without a doubt, one of the very best films of 2013.