The Year in Review: The Top 20 Films of 2015 (Part Two)

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2015, A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night, Best of 2015, Bone Tomahawk, cinema, Entertainment, Faults, favorite films, film reviews, films, Mad Max: Fury Road, Movies, personal opinions, Slow West, The Boy, The Hateful Eight, The Voices, Welcome to Me, What We Do in the Shadows

At long last, the creme de la creme of calendar year 2015: my picks for the ten best films of the year. Stay tuned for a final wrap-up on the year before we get back to our regularly scheduled reviews.

– – –

10.

The Boy

There’s a quiet, mournful, almost hushed atmosphere to Craig William Macneill’s The Boy that’s like being smothered to death in a warm, comfortable blanket. This low-key, massively powerful examination of a young sociopath taking the first tentative steps towards full-blown mass murder is full of strong, honest performances (David Morse and Rainn Wilson, in particular, are extraordinary) but none impress, stun or disarm quite as effectively as that of young Jared Breeze, the titular boy. As we follow Breeze’s Ted through his sad, fractured world, it becomes distressingly easy to see the individual “bricks” that will eventually lead to one huge, impenetrable “wall” in his undeveloped psyche. Sad, thought-provoking and absolutely essential, The Boy may just prove itself as one of the most important films of an age that has become inextricably linked with mass killings and spree violence.

9.

A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night

I absolutely adored this “John Hughes by way of Jim Jarmusch by way of Val Lewton” vampire flick, the debut full-length from astounding new Iranian-American filmmaker Ana Lily Amirpour. Endlessly cool, evocative, sensual and mysterious, with truly gorgeous black and white cinematography and a pretty kickass score, A Girl… might have become an exercise in style over substance for any other filmmaker. Instead, Amirpour imbues the various characters and their interactions with each other with a genuine sense of emotional heft: this may be an “art film” but it’s one with a big, bloody, beating heart in its chest. With a double-fistful of audacious imagery (the beautiful mirror-ball scene is primo Hughes, while the truly strange, totally cool skateboarding bits are all Amirpour). A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is the kind of debut that fearlessly kicks the door in, waltzes right up to the table and sets a place for itself at the very head: Ana Lily Amirpour is here and I don’t think the world of cinematic horror will ever be the same.

8.

Welcome to Me

Kristin Wiig is one of those performers (like Bruce Campbell, Ron Perlman or Kate McKinnon) that I will, literally, watch in whatever she chooses to do. TV ad? I’ll tape it. Hosting a seminar on watching paint dry? I’ll be first row. There’s just something about Wiig that I find endlessly fascinating, her razor-sharp, cutting wit always slightly diffused by something both infinitely sad and impossibly playful. Able to bounce effortlessly between silly comedies and more serious indie dramas, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing she can’t do. Scratch that: I’m positive of that fact.

This is all by way of saying that I was probably more predisposed to love Shira Piven’s Welcome to Me than most potential audience members. Despite my high expectations, however, I still got completely blown out of the water. To not put too fine a point on it, Wiig’s performance as sad-sack Alice Klieg stands as the high-water mark of a pretty extraordinary career: this is a performance that not only deserves but demands award consideration, a raw, painful, frequently hilarious (but just as often gut-wrenching) look at a woman struggling with mental health issues, all while trying to make the most out of a life that frequently baffles and terrifies her. There are scenes and moments here (Alice’s walk through the casino, for example) that were, easily, the best in the year. To be honest, the very fact that Welcome to Me, one of my very favorite films of the whole year, ended up at #7 on this list has much more to do with the competition than the quality of the film. In any other year, this would have probably been closer to #1.

7.

Bone Tomahawk

Writer-director S. Craig Zahler’s stunning debut, the Western-horror hybrid Bone Tomahawk, pulls off a pretty great hat trick. For the first two-thirds of the film, it’s a pitch perfect Western, the kind that seemed to have fallen out of behavior until a raft of quality 2015 flicks brought the genre roaring back to life. Anchored by phenomenal performances from Kurt Russell (growing the mustache that would consume him in The Hateful Eight), Patrick Wilson, Matthew Fox (slimy and endearing, in equal measures) and Richard Jenkins (echoing every kickass, old sidekick that the Duke ever rode with), a truly engrossing mise en scene and some stark imagery, it’s a film out of time that truly works.

And then the film suddenly veers off-road and becomes, without a doubt, one of the single most horrifying, frightening and nightmare-inducing films of the past several years. With each portion (the Western and the cannibals) given equal respect and consideration, this is no stitched-together Frankenstein’s monster: rather, Zahler allows the film to mutate and morph organically, with the horror elements gradually bubbling to the surface until we’re completely trapped by the paranoid horror of it all. This is uncompromising, amazing filmmaking: for a debut, it becomes that much more extraordinary.

6.

The Voices

In a year filled with films about mental illness and depression (Welcome to Me, The Boy, Motivational Growth, Pod, Creep, Kumiko the Treasure Hunter, Xenia, Queen of Earth and The End of the Tour, to name a small handful), few hit quite as hard as Marjane Satrapi’s thoroughly wonderful The Voices. With a simple concept (happy-go-lucky office guy Ryan Reynolds “talks” to his dog and cat, who dispense advice that ranges from “pretty reasonable” to “holy shit, what are you doing?!”), an eye-popping, vibrant color scheme and plenty of funny snark, it would be easy to mistake The Voices as a goofy, stylish romp.

That would be a huge mistake, however. You see, The Voices is actually a thoroughly poisonous, hideous and mind-blowing cupcake, topped with so much bright pink frosting that you won’t realize you’re choking until you’re already dead. This is Marjane Satrapi, after all, the Iranian auteur who introduced the world to Persepolis: she doesn’t do “disposable.” In early interviews for The Voices, Satrapi expressed a desire to try a horror film “just for the hell of it,” adding her own unique voice to the proceedings. The end result speaks for itself: The Voices is immaculately made, gorgeously filmed, brilliantly acted (Reynolds might be perfect, in this, but so are Arterton, Kendrick and the rest of the exceptional cast) and features a payoff that’s as smart as it is soul-shattering. The complete lack of love for The Voices speaks to only one thing: Satrapi did too good a job.

5.

Entertainment

One of the single biggest surprises of the year, Rick Alverson’s Entertainment should never have ended up on my Best of list…never in a million years. You see, I absolutely hated Alverson’s previous film, the loathsome, wretched ode to hipster ennui, The Comedy. I hated everything about it, from the hateful characters to the awful dialogue to the patently stupid setpieces (although the one where they scoot on church pews did make me smile, briefly): it was easily one of the worst films I saw that year, hands-down. Add to this my general disinterest in outre stand-up comedian Neil Hamburger (nee Gregg Turkington), who toplines Entertainment, and this definitely seemed like a film I would not appreciate.

But then I watched it and, lo and behold: Entertainment is not only light-years better than The Comedy (there is, literally, no comparison beyond a few returning actors), it’s light-years better than about 90% of the films I watched in 2015. Essentially the ultimate portrait of life on the road for a touring comic, Entertainment is a complete revelation: Turkington is so goddamn good that I actually found an appreciation for his Hamburger persona that was never there in the past.

Everything about this almost overpoweringly sad film works (and then some): the sense of character building…the competition between more “alternative” comics and more “traditional” ones (Tye Sheridan’s “mime-clown” is a truly inspired creation)…the lonely life that outsiders live, even when surrounded by “friends” and well-wishers…the notion of a personal life lost to endless, torturous days on the road, playing to increasingly small audiences that couldn’t give a shit whether you live or died…unlike The Comedy, which seemed to exist as a misanthropic middle-finger to “polite”society, Entertainment is an endlessly humanist film, much less interested in ridiculing others than sticking up for the quiet dignity of its protagonist.

I can’t stress it enough: Entertainment was the biggest surprise of the whole year, for me, and one of the most powerful gut-punches I’ve had in years. Guess I owe you an apology, Mr. Alverson: you do know what you’re doing, after all.

4.

Faults

I saw this early in the year and, like a couple other entries on this list, it never left my mind once during the ensuing months. Faults is a tricky, prickly little film, a quiet mind-blower that lulls you in with something old (the general story about a cult deprogrammer and his newest charge is straight out of Jane Campion’s Holy Smoke, for one) before beating you senseless with something new (pretty much everything else). Faults is the kind of film that exists best when you know as little about it as possible: I’m willing to wager that most folks would never guess the “twist,” regardless of how intently they pay attention.

While I’ve written extensively about Faults in the past, it still behooves me to reiterate a point: Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Leland Orser are so good in this, so completely invested in both their characters and the film’s strange world, that it’s not like watching performances: it’s like being given a front-row seat to a real-life psychodrama, unfolding before our disbelieving eyes. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: in any other year, this would probably have been #1 instead of #4.

3.

What We Do in the Shadows

This was the year of the quality horror-comedy (Cooties, Deathgasm, Zombeavers, Suburban Gothic, The Final Girls and Love in the Time of Monsters all come to mind) but none of them were as consistently hilarious, well-made and thought-provoking as Kiwi-export What We Do in the Shadows.

Helmed by Flight of the Conchords’ Jemaine Clement (who also did extraordinary work in People, Places, Things) and comedian Taika Waititi, What We Do in the Shadows is the last word on vampire mockumentaries (the Belgian film Vampires was probably the first word and not a bad one, at that). Detailing the various travails of a group of vampires who all happen to be roommates, despite their disparate personalities, ages and levels of “savagery,” WWDITS is laugh-out-loud funny from start to finish, filled with so many unique, outrageous and ingenious setpieces that they could probably have filled two films. The cherry on top of this marvelous sundae, however, are the surprisingly deep, sincere emotional moments. When the film wants you to laugh, you’ll be powerless to resist. When it wants you to tear up, however, you’ll find yourself in the same boat.

As one of the most talked-about, ballyhooed films of the year, there was a tremendous set of expectations hanging around the film’s neck, possibly like an albatross. Turns out all of the hype was not only duly founded but may have actually undersold the film, a bit: this is peerless filmmaking, genre or otherwise, and discerning fans should treasure this for some time to come.

2.

Slow West

Slow West was another film that I saw early in the year, yet could never completely shake from my mind. This slow, almost elegiac Western seems to be plowing a pretty standard trail, albeit one full of beautiful cinematography, wide-open vistas and exacting, underplayed performances. When the magical realism and dark humor elements kick in, however, Slow West climbs a ladder to the stars and never once looks back.

Fassbender plays Eastwood, Smit-McPhee brings a little gravitas to his wet-behind-the-ears Scotsman and Ben Mendelsohn (resplendent in one of the biggest fur coats I’ve ever seen) is so perfectly evil that he’s like a template for any who might come after (or before, for that matter). If you love and grew up on Westerns, Slow West will be nothing short of a modern-day revelation. Even if you have no particular love for horse operas, however, Slow West will still be a captivating, quirky and grim journey.

In a year where the Western really made a comeback (Bone Tomahawk, The Hateful Eight and The Revenant all took the cinematic world by storm), first-time director John Maclean’s modest, immaculate little film might have been an underdog but that didn’t stop it from shouting its intentions to the sky. If Maclean doesn’t become one of our best, most celebrated filmmakers in the next decade, I’ll eat a ten-gallon hat.

And now, with no further ado…the number one film of the year is…

1.

Mad Max: Fury Road

Here’s the thing: if you would have told me that outre Australian auteur George Miller would pick up his iconic Mad Max franchise thirty years after its previous entry, I’d believe it. If you would have added that the film would become one of the biggest, pop culture phenomenons of the past several years and a huge box office superstar, I would have laughed right in your face.

But the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. What the 70-year-old auteur has done is something that seems almost impossible, on the outside: Fury Road is a virtually non-stop, two-hour chase film that features some of the most astounding practical effects and vehicular crashes ever set to film. Period. There’s no fat on this film whatsoever: ever shot, every line of dialogue, every edit is there for the express purpose of propelling the film forward, of putting us (and keeping us) right in the driver’s seat the whole time.

Much has been made of Fury Road’s distinct feminist leanings and, like everything else regarding the film, that’s right on the nose, too. While Tom Hardy’s take on the titular antihero is the perfect next step from Mel Gibson’s original, he’s not the hero of the film. Instead, that honor goes to Charlize Theron’s Furiosa, the tough-as-nails uber-warrior/driver who must safely chaperon a group of female slaves from subjugation and forced breeding to freedom. To not put too fine a point on it, Furiosa is an instantly classic creation (think Aliens-era Lt. Ripley) and Theron’s performance instantly vaults her to the top of the sci-fi/genre royalty.

Mad Max: Fury Road is a film best experienced, not discussed: hell, watch it five times and I’m willing to wager you’ve still missed half of the simply astounding visuals and white-knuckle setpieces. This is a film that practically throws away sequences that other, lessor movies would make centerpieces. It’s a film that satisfies longtime followers but is the exact opposite of fan service. It’s a film that is almost ridiculously fist-pumping and action-packed but so far from brain-dead that calling it a mere “action film” is so reductive as to be insulting. It’s a film written and directed by a 70-year-old Hollywood outsider, yet manages to instantly nuke any and everything else out there.

Is George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road the best film of 2015? Absolutely, without a doubt, yes. However…

1.

The Hateful Eight

You see, Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight is also the very best film of the year. How, exactly, is that possible? As it turns out: pretty darn easy. Not only is The Hateful Eight an unapologetic return to the classic Westerns of yore (think Ford or Peckinpah, not Leone), it also features a perfect ensemble cast, stunning 65mm cinematography (the film was even screened in 65mm for select theaters) and legendary composer Ennio Morricone’s first Western score in some thirty years (supplemented with unused pieces from his score for John Carpenter’s The Thing, no less).

But all of that, of course, would be only so much pretty wrapping paper if the actual film weren’t so damn good. At almost three-and-a-half hours, there’s a lot to digest here and a lot of time to spend with characters who range from “awful human beings” to “worse human beings.” Thanks to the eclectic, all-in performances, however, we come to really like these deviants and dastardly folks: it’s the same trick that Tarantino pulled off in Pulp Fiction when he made us fall in love with Vincent, Jules and the rest of their miscreant acquaintances.

Like Fury Road, there’s way more to The Hateful Eight than could ever be caught in one viewing: questions of racial inequality, justice and the terrible, constant shadow of the Civil War hang over every frame of the film, like smoke caught in the cold air. While the mystery aspect of the film likely won’t reward repeat viewings (this is as much an outrageous take on Agatha Christie as anything else, after all), everything else will.

Is The Hateful Eight a problematic film? Like all of Tarantino’s films, absolutely: controversy is as much one of Tarantino’s stock-in-trades as his mountains of dialogue, over-the-top violence and focus on antiheroes. This is a film that somehow manages to include more racially-charged dialogue than even Django Unchained (no mean feat), while also featuring Mexico City-born Demian Bichir as the most stereotypical onscreen Hispanic character since Speedy Gonzalez. It’s a film where the sole female lead is viciously beaten for much of the run-time, yet manages to accrue not one whit of sympathy from the audience (quite the opposite, in fact, at the screening I went to).

Like the best of Tarantino’s films, however, The Hateful Eight manages to take everything and whip it into a fascinating, pulse-pounding and riotous ride through the dregs of society, trawling the gutter for some of his most indelible characters yet. The film is surprisingly funny and, at times, almost a horror film (dig that insane denouement, Jack!). The one thing it’s not? A chore to sit through, in any way, even at almost 3.5 hours in length.

Is The Hateful Eight my favorite Tarantino film since Pulp Fiction? Absolutely. Is it a perfect film? Nope. Was it the very best film that I managed to see in 2015? It was…along with Fury Road. Will I ever be able to choose between the two?  Now, why in the world would I ever want to do that?

The Year in Review: The Top 20 Films of 2015 (Part One)

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2015, Best of 2015, best of the year, Buzzard, cinema, favorite films, favorite films of the year, film reviews, films, Girlhood, Inside Out, Movies, People Places Things, personal opinions, Reality, The Duke of Burgundy, The Final Girls, The Martian, The Midnight Swim, What Happened Miss Simone?

Now that the horror categories for 2015 have been officially closed off, it’s down to the last, big list of this previous cinematic year: the 20 films that I considered to be the very best of the entire year, regardless of genre. Many of these have been bouncing around in my brain for almost the entire year: some were screened for the first time a week ago and still managed to vault onto the list.

From January 1st to December 31st, I managed to watch a grand total of 348 films, 119 of which were 2015 releases and, thus, eligible for this humble little list. Out of those 119 movies, I managed to whittle the contenders down to the best overall 20, plus seven runner-ups.

As far as I’m concerned, 2015 was another banner year for quality cinema. While the multiplex offerings were still as hit-or-miss as ever, VOD and streaming choices really came into their own this year, offering movie fans of every stripe and type a virtual cornucopia of choice offerings. If you didn’t find enough quality films to keep you occupied in 2015, I’m going to go ahead and offer my stock response: you just weren’t looking hard enough.

In that spirit of excellence, The VHS Graveyard proudly presents the first part of the Top 20 Films of 2015: numbers 20-11. Enjoy and stayed tuned for the finale and year-end wrap-up as we bid a fond, final farewell to 2015.

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20.

The Martian

I’m a sucker for both “stranded in space” flicks and intelligent sci-fi, so Ridley Scott’s return to the vacuum of space was always going to light up at least a few pleasure centers in my brain. That being said, even I wasn’t expecting to like The Martian this much. Chalk it up to a combination of an extremely likable Matt Damon performance, lots of completely immersive visuals and locations and tons of organic tension but Scott’s film delivers (at least for me) in the way that mega-budget, multiplex fare rarely does. My biggest complaint (and what keeps this from placing higher on this list) are all of the completely unnecessary cutaways to the rescue effort back on Earth: when The Martian is smart enough to trust solely in Damon’s charisma and Scott’s vision, it shines like a supernova.

19.

Inside Out

Few films, much less animated ones, deal with emotions quite as honestly as Pixar’s Inside Out. Honesty and self-reflection are the name of the game here, however, and the usual madcap antics take a decided backseat to the kind of melancholy soul-searching that’s usually reserved for more adult fare. This coming-of-age tale about young Riley learning to listen to the disparate “voices” in her head is just as apt to produce sniffles in the over-30 set as it is to produce wonder with the young’uns, however, so impressionable parents should proceed with caution: if the kids ask, you just got something in your eye.

18.

People, Places, Things

If I was looking to select a “Most Valuable Player (Male)” for this prior calendar year, it would probably be a tough choice between Kurt Russell and Jemaine Clement. While Russell will always have the “Biggest Badass” title locked down, Clement proved himself one of the year’s very best actors with unforgettable performances in both What We Do in the Shadows and People, Places, Things. As art teacher/single dad Will Henry, Clement lays it all out on the line and the results are a thoroughly heady mixture of deep sadness, wry humor, wounded love and pure indie dramedy bliss. Nothing in writer-director James C. Strouser’s third feature is ham-handed, tonally false or revoltingly precious, despite the presence of Will’s adorable young daughters. This has “modern-day classic” written all over it.

17.

What Happened, Miss Simone?

Passionate, politically-active and never afraid to speak her mind, the legendary Nina Simone took a huge piece of the world’s soul with her when she shuffled off this mortal coil back in 2003. Liz Garbus’ meticulous, fascinating documentary, What Happened, Miss Simone?, uses mind-blowing archival footage, interviews with Simone’s grown daughter and former husband/manager and a host of musical and pop culture luminaries to paint a truly three-dimensional portrait of the musician/activist that might have more relevance today than it did back when Simone was alive. Never afraid to shy away from the various personal issues that made Simone such an interesting person, Garbus’ film is a vital, fiery tribute to a truly one-of-a-kind talent.

16.

The Duke of Burgundy

Smart, sensual and just strange enough to keep you constantly off-balance, writer-director Peter Strickland’s The Duke of Burgundy is a singularly unique experience. Taking place in a world that appears to be devoid of men, Strickland examines the power dynamic behind submissive/dominant relationships, tracking the assorted head games and romantic machinations of a couple of butterfly experts as they attempt to define their relationship in a way that makes sense to them, if not necessarily others. Full of genuinely weird touches (the various mannequins posed in the lecture scenes are more than a little nightmarish, especially divorced from context), lush visuals and a dreamy, evocative atmosphere, The Duke of Burgundy finds Strickland slowly morphing into Peter Greenaway, adopting the elder statesman’s more painterly affectations with ease. Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with that whatsoever.

15.

The Final Girls

I’ve written about my love for Todd Strauss-Schulson’s nostalgic “Purple Rose of Cairo by way of Friday the 13th” meta-slasher already, so let’s just rehash a few of the most salient points. Full of genuine emotional heft, surprisingly funny humor, lots of memorable performances/characters and just enough violence to sell the concept without wallowing in it (the film is rated PG-13, after all), The Final Girls is that rare horror film that serves as not only a love letter for the devoted but a surefire entry-point for the less initiated. You’ll laugh, you’ll gasp, you’ll choke up and you’ll probably hum “Bette Davis Eyes” for a week: deal with it.

14.

The Midnight Swim

While fear, disquiet and unease are all important emotions to invoke with genre films, there’s an additional emotion that I feel gets short shrift: wonder. Although writer-director Sarah Adina Smith’s The Midnight Swim is pretty light on fear, it more than makes up for that with an abundance of disquiet, unease and, of course, wonder. This measured, intelligent drama about a trio of sisters who come together at their family’s lakeside cabin to mourn their missing (but presumed drowned) mother traffics in some of the biggest questions to plague the human animal: Why are we here? Are we all connected, somehow? Where do we go when we die? With a final revelation that’s quietly mind-blowing, in a Kubrickian way, The Midnight Swim is the kind of film that you think about long after the final credits roll.

13.

Buzzard

Loud, obnoxious, casually offensive, openly belligerent and with a massive, Holden Caulfield-shaped chip on its smartass shoulder, Joel Potrykus’ Buzzard is probably what would have happened had Alex Cox opted to follow Repo Man with a primordial version of Office Space. This fractured, completely insane “narrative” about a shitty, young office temp who gets fed up with the phoniness of the world and proceeds to do battle armed with a caustic sneer, a sarcastic quip and a razor-tipped Nintendo Power Glove may not be for everyone but it might just be for you. Similar to the works of Quentin Dupieux, Buzzard pulls you in to a batshit insane, utterly nightmarish world where nothing functions like it should and the very act of wolfing down a heaping plate of spaghetti becomes its own act of societal rebellion. Utterly unforgettable and unlike anything else out there, Buzzard is grimy, ugly and uniquely original, fluttering among the countless masses of homogeneous, Xeroxed bullshit like some kind of a warning from beyond the stars.

12.

Girlhood

This was actually the very last film I screened in 2015, yet ended up being one of the best films I saw all year. Grounded by a simply stunning performance from first-timer Karidja Toure, Celine Sciamma’s coming of age tale details the lives of a a group of poor, black teenagers, growing up on the outskirts of Parisian society. There’s a lot to digest here, from sobering examinations of institutional racism to abusive relationships, from the inherent power of female friendships to the continued disparity between the haves and the have-nots. Never content to hit the easy, surface emotions, Sciamma’s film is raw, honest and, at times, almost too painful to watch. Just try and take your eyes from Toure, however, even for a minute: if there’s a more magnetic new performer out there, I don’t know who they are. Girlhood is not only an impeccably made, beautiful film: it’s a vibrant, utterly alive one that demands respect for its subjects and won’t let go of your throat til you’ve given it.

11.

Reality

In years past, it was all but a given that any new Quentin Dupieux film would end up on my years’ best list. Who am I to buck trends this year? While Dupieux’s newest is a solid half-step (maybe three-quarter step)  down from the sublimely perfect Wrong (2012) and Wrong Cops (2013), it’s still one of the most casually mind-blowing, crazy films of the year. Essentially the story of one director’s quest to find the perfect, Oscar-worthy groan (you could ask but I could never explain), this curious bit of meta-fiction turns and folds in on itself so many times that it’s all but impossible to keep up, sort of like Charlie Kaufman or Spike Jonze getting blasted on peyote tea.

While the film manages to make even less sense than its predecessors (like most Dupieux films, there’s nothing wrong with admitting bafflement), it’s an easy film to watch and, quite frankly, to love. Leave your preconceptions at the door, eliminate all distractions, give your complete and undivided attention to the screen and trust Dupieux to get you to his destination in (more or less) one piece. When you have a filmmaker as amazing as Quentin Dupieux driving the jalopy, just kick back and enjoy the damn ride.

Stay tuned for the final part of our Best of the Year spectacular: the Top 10 films of 2015.

The Year in Review: The Best Horror Films of 2015

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2015, A Christmas Horror Story, A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night, Best of 2015, Bone Tomahawk, cinema, Cooties, Creep, Deathgasm, film reviews, films, Gravy, horror, horror films, Motivational Growth, Movies, personal opinions, Tales of Halloween, The Boy, The Final Girls, The Nightmare, The Voices, We Are Still Here, What We Do in the Shadows

At long last, we come to one of the year’s big lists: the 15 Best Horror Films of 2015. I screened 73 new horror films in 2015 and managed to whittle the group down to the following creme de la creme.

There was nothing easy about the rankings, below, but I’m pretty confident that I’ve made the right decisions. Many of these have made there way on to plenty of year-end lists, while I’m wagering that others will be a little bit more unsung. Regardless, they all deserve the maximum love possible. As far as I’m concerned, any horror fan will find something to love in these fifteen films: it might require a slight leap of faith but these are all more than worthy. Some, of course, are more worthy than others. In that spirit, I present to you the 15 Best Horror Films of 2015.

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15.

The Nightmare

Few films stuck with me quite as much as Rodney Ascher’s documentary about sleep paralysis. The film is far from perfect and can often tip from self-serious into slightly corny but it was just impossible for me to shake some of the stories. The bit involving the shared experience with the demonic cat is, no pun intended, literally the stuff of nightmares.

14.

A Christmas Horror Story

Despite the fact that one of the segments in this seasonal-minded horror film is a real snoozer (the one about the kids investigating their haunted school), this is actually one of the better anthologies to come out amidst the recent glut of same. Shatner is a heap of fun as the progressively more inebriated radio DJ and many of the segments, particularly the gonzo one involving Santa fighting off zombie elves at the North Pole, pack a legitimate punch. Well-made, well-acted and lots of fun.

13.

We Are Still Here

This slow-burn nod to Italian gore maestro Lucio Fulci would have scored higher but there were a few stumbles on the way to the truly unforgettable Grand Guignol conclusion. If the build-up can sometimes come off a little too over-the-top, the payoff does a pretty damn good job of replicating Hell on earth. Suffice to say that I’m deathly curious to see where director Ted Geoghegan goes from here.

12.

Creep

At first, I had absolutely no idea what to expect from this found-footage film featuring funnyman Mark Duplass as an extremely sad, extremely lonely and dying oddball who takes a cue from the Michael Keaton weeper My Life and has a filmmaker document his life for his young child. Turns out I should have expected one of the most genuinely creepy, weird, unsettling and flat-out horrifying films of the whole year. The finale is a real masterstroke but Peachfuzz and “tubby time” will probably haunt my dreams until the day I die.

11.

Tales of Halloween

Tales of Halloween might not be the best Halloween-themed horror anthology out there (I still think that Michael Dougherty’s Trick ‘r Treat handily holds that title) but there’s nothing wrong with being the second best, at least in this case. While not all of the segments stick their landings and there’s a lamentable lack of cohesion between the various stories, this was still a tremendous amount of fun, full of outrageous scenarios, great effects and a genuine love for the season. When fan service is this smart and well-done, who can complain?

10.

Deathgasm

If you’re a metal-head, I’m willing to wager that you’re gonna love Kiwi-export Deathgasm: I am and I did. Fast, funny, inappropriate (beating a demon to death with dildos), explosively violent and always smarter than it seems, Deathgasm is a real labor of love and it shows. One of my favorite things here is the thoroughly organic way in which sweet, innocent and decidedly non-metal Kimberley Crossman evolves into a tough-as-nails, demon slaughtering ass-kicker. This fusion of horror, metal and laughs is a winner from start to finish.

9.

The Final Girls

This heartfelt horror-comedy, essentially a nostalgic, slasher flick variation on Woody Allen’s Purple Rose of Cairo, was easily one of the sweetest films I saw all year, horror or otherwise. With a focus that prizes the mother-daughter relationship between Malin Ackerman and Taissa Farmiga as much as it does the snide critiques of ’80s horror film cliches and the rapid-fire, witty dialogue, this is the one film on this list that I would expect to easily appeal to mainstream audiences. Just the scene scored by “Bette Davis Eyes,” alone, would place this in the top ten of the year.

8.

Motivational Growth

Few films are genuinely weird but Motivational Growth is genuinely, undeniably weird…and I absolutely love it. Disturbing, grimy, hallucinatory, dryly funny and incredibly smart, writer-director Don Thacker’s odd little puzzler about a loner who receives life advice from talking bathroom mold (voiced with absolute gusto by genre legend Jeffrey Combs) lulls you into a sense of numb complacency before hitting you so hard that it, literally, takes the wind out of you. This was fearless, fascinating and nearly peerless filmmaking: I think Thacker might be the new Henenlotter, which makes Motivational Growth the new Basket Case. If you can stomach it, this is unforgettable.

7.

The Boy

This measured, subtle and thoroughly frightening look at a disturbed young boy taking the first tentative steps towards misanthropy and serial killing features powerhouse performances from David Morse and Rainn Wilson (playing completely against type and succeeding fabulously at it) but its young Jared Breeze who steals the entire film. As the titular character, Breeze displays a world-weary sensibility far beyond his years, turning in a performance that’s complex, quietly devastating and undeniably impressive. The Boy is not only a truly great, gripping horror film: it’s a truly great, gripping character study that deserves serious critical consideration.

6.

A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night

Drawing from Spaghetti Westerns, Hammer horror, black and white indie art films and the oeuvre of John Hughes, Iranian-American filmmaker Ana Lily Amirpour’s A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is the kind of “everything and the kitchen sink” affair that shouldn’t work but does…and fantastically so. Endlessly moody, beautifully shot and possessed of an atmosphere that’s equal parts sad nostalgia, old-fashioned romanticism and smoldering sexuality, this was thought-provoking eye candy that signals Amirpour has a filmmaker to keep an eye on in the future.

5.

Cooties

With pre-release buzz that had me anticipating this little gem for almost a year, the chance for disappointment was high. My faith was strong, however, and the reward was one of the best, funniest and most outrageous horror-comedies I’ve seen in years. The ensemble cast is pitch-perfect (Elijah Wood, Rainn Wilson, Alison Pill, Nasim Pedrad, Leigh Whannell and Jack McBrayer turn in some of their best work), the concept is utterly choice (grade-school kids get infected by bad chicken nuggets and turn into ferocious, blood-thirsty zombies, leading to a standoff with the teachers at a beleaguered school), the effects are good and gory and the humor is smart, constant and in suitably bad taste. This might have been the party movie of the year if not for others on this list.

4.

Gravy

Of all the films I screened in 2015, few surprised me as much as Gravy. Everything about this screamed low-rent (that cover art is so bad, it actually works against the film) but the actual movie was just about as good as it gets. This story about a trio of cannibals who take the employees of a Mexican restaurant hostage, at closing time, on All Hallows’ Eve, is one delightful surprise after another: the cast is amazing, the gore effects are mind-blowing (literally!), the humor setpieces are hilarious and the film is consistently smart and ruthlessly dedicated to shattering expectations. If this hadn’t been such a great year for genre films, this would have topped my list, hands down: the fact that a movie this good ended up at number four speaks volumes.

3.

What We Do In the Shadows

I laughed, I cried, I loved: What We Do in the Shadows was, hands-down, the most crowd pleasing, purely fun horror film of the entire year. This New Zealand export slams the humor elements into the scoreboard so hard that the genuinely emotional dramatic elements almost seem like an unfair victory lap. Go ahead and close the book on any future mockumentaries about the drudgeries of modern life for age-old vampires: What We Do in the Shadows is the only one you’re ever gonna need.

2.

Bone Tomahawk

I love horror movies, I love Westerns and I love Kurt Russell: first-time director S. Craig Zahler would have really had to work overtime to screw up Bone Tomahawk, as far as I’m concerned. As it so happens, the film is an instant classic, the kind of long-abandoned filmmaking that prides atmosphere, mood and character development over instant gratification or dumbed down thrills. The first two thirds are primo, dusty oater, with one of the most effortlessly badass performances by Russell that the veteran badass has ever committed to celluloid. When the horror elements kick in, however, Zahler not only doesn’t lose his footing but promptly plants his boot through the audience’s skull. Uncompromising, beautiful, elegant and full of genuine “holy shit” moments, they really don’t get much better than Bone Tomahawk, horror or otherwise.

1.

The Voices

I saw this little jewel way back at the beginning of the year and it’s stuck with me ever since: I had a feeling it might end up at the top of my list back then and, as it turns out, my instincts were correct. Everything about auteur Marjane Satrapi’s beautifully skewed examination of mental illness is sheer perfection, from the candy-colored visuals to the magical realism elements to the astounding, scraped-raw performance by Ryan Reynolds.

This is a film that lulls you in with its gorgeous cinematography and slightly silly concept (Reynolds receives life advice from his talking dog and cat) before thrusting you headfirst into a screaming maelstrom of murder, insanity and pure emotional pain. The Voices is playful, quirky and utterly devastating, the kind of perfect cinematic experience that comes along all too rarely and functions as a breath of fresh air in an increasingly septic atmosphere: it’s horror as art, the purest form of validation that the much maligned genre could ever receive.

With no hyperbole whatsoever, The Voices should receive award season love: Satrapi should be nominated for Best Director, Reynolds should receive a Best Actor nomination and the film, itself, should be on the shortlist for best film of the year (with so much stiff competition, it would never win but certainly deserves the acknowledgment). The world doesn’t work that way, of course, so Satrapi’s perfect examination of mental illness will probably end up a footnote in the year that was 2015.

I’m here to say, however, that it was more than that: much more than that. As far as I’m concerned, The Voices was not only the best horror film of 2015 but one of the very best films I’ve seen in quite some time. I have a feeling that time will be kind to the film and future audiences will see it for the absolute gem it is. In a rich, full year of horror, Satrapi’s The Voices still managed to stand head and shoulders above the competition: as far as I’m concerned, that’s an achievement of the highest possible order.

The Year in Review: The Best Horror Films of 2015 (Honorable Mentions)

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2015, All Hallows' Eve 2, Best of 2015, cinema, Circle, Deep Dark, Digging Up the Marrow, Extinction, film reviews, films, horror, horror films, horror movies, Knock Knock, Last Shift, Lost After Dark, Love in the Time of Monsters, Movies, personal opinions, Pod, Spring, Stung, Suburban Gothic, The Gift, The Midnight Swim, Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead, Zombeavers

Just how good was the “Year in Horror,” circa 2015? It was so good, dear friends and readers, that your humble host had to compile a whole separate listing to contain all of the amazing films that just missed the “Best of” by this much (you can’t see it but it’s about a centimeter, give or take). In any other year, any or every one of these little gems might have made the big list: hell, once all is said and done, I’m sure I’ll second-guess at least a few of these and kick myself, anyway.

With no further ado, then (and in no particular order whatsoever), I present the seventeen runner-ups to Best Horror Films of 2015. If the “Best Ofs” are Rolls Royces, these are Jaguars. In other words, you just can’t go wrong taking any of ’em out for a spin.

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Love in the Time of Monsters — Pure fun from start to finish, this is one of the most unabashed good times I had watching a film all year. Full of endearing, quirky characters, a really great concept (the people who play Sasquatch at a Bigfoot-themed tourist trap are turned into murderous monsters by toxic waste), some great, gory special effects and one of the most kickass finales in some time, this isn’t perfect but it’s pretty darn awesome, nonetheless.

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Pod — Claustrophobic, endlessly tense and with a genuinely smart pay-off, the only thing that holds Pod back from neo-classic status are a set of performances that are slightly too intense and shouty for their own good. When the film is focused on the creeping, oppressive atmosphere and the question of just what, exactly, is down in the basement, there were few films that got under my skin quite like this.

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Last Shift — Full disclosure: I absolutely loathed the last film I saw by writer-director Anthony DiBlasi, the patently terrible Clive Barker adaptation, Dread. Combined with the truly terrible cover art for his newest, Last Shift, I had absolutely no interest in seeing the film whatsoever. Good thing I choked back my bias, however, because Last Shift isn’t just a good film: it’s an absolutely great one. Barring the stereotypical and cliched finale, everything about this film is a master study in minimal effort for maximum unease. Think of it as a ruthlessly slow-burning variant on Assault on Precinct 13 (kinda sorta) and that’ll get you close enough. I’m not to proud to say when I’m wrong: sorry, Anthony D…this was a keeper.

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The Gift — Not strictly a horror film but close enough for government work, actor-writer Joel Edgerton’s directorial debut is, hands-down, one of the subtlest, meanest and most uncompromising films of the year. Based on the idea that we’re only ever a stones’ throw from the sins of our past, The Gift features a trio of razor-sharp performances (Bateman, playing completely against type, is utterly magnificent) and the kind of twist that used to be Shyamalan’s stock in trade. This is psychological horror of the highest caliber and destined for classic status, down the road.

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Knock Knock — This one completely surprised me. While Knock Knock features the usual tonal shifts, inappropriate humor and “thinking bro observations” that are endemic to Eli Roth’s entire filmography, there’s something about this sneaky little gem that sank its hooks into me and wouldn’t let go. Come for the sick head-games, screwy gender politics and shocking level of restraint (suffice to say, this is the first Roth film that doesn’t feature copious gore) but do stay for the scene where poor Keanu discusses, in detail, his inability to turn down free pizza. This should have been completely wretched but, somehow, ended up being pretty good. Surprise, surprise.

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Digging Up the Marrow — In a true gift to genre fans, writer-director Adam Green (the mastermind behind the Hatchet franchise and under-rated “stuck on a ski-lift” epic, Frozen) teamed up with renowned monster illustrator Alex Pardee and the results are some of the flat-out coolest, creepiest and most awe-inspiring, diverse monsters to hit the silver screen since Clive Barker’s Nightbreed took us to Midian. The story, itself, is pretty meta for this type of thing: Green (playing himself) is invited by the always amazing Ray Wise (not playing himself) to check out some honest to goodness monsters. Things, as expected, don’t go well. More monsters on screen would have pushed this into the next echelon but what’s here is pretty damn unforgettable.

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Lost After Dark — In a genre where throwbacks to previous eras have become not only more popular but virtually expected, finding a new horror film that apes a ’70s or ’80s horror film really isn’t that hard. Finding one with the consistent quality, high production values and subtle wit of Lost After Dark, however, isn’t quite so easy. While writer-director Ian Kessner doesn’t do anything radically different, he does manage to nail all of the stylistic quirks of his intended homage, all while conducting things with a modicum more seriousness and less meta tongue-in-cheek than we usually get. If Lost After Dark really were an ’80s film, I’m pretty sure we’d be seeing homages to it right around this time.

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Extinction — Like Lost After Dark, Extinction doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel but, instead, doubles-down on what makes its particular sub-genre (zombie films) such an intrinsic part of our horror-loving culture. The performances are solid (Burn Notice’s Jeffrey Donovan is particularly good), the twists and revelations come across as fairly organic and the whole “zombie outbreak in a frozen wasteland” scenario is explored to good effect. Is this one of the best zombie films ever? Not even close. Was it the best zombie film of 2015? Maybe.

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Stung — Going in, I expected this to be another silly, over-the-top horror-comedy: after all, caterers standing as the last line of defense between a mob of giant, mutant wasps and the sniveling local aristocracy at a posh garden party sounds like the kind of thing that could, troublingly, be dubbed “zany.” Imagine my surprise and delight, then, when Stung turned out to be much more serious than that. Essentially an old-fashioned “giant insect” film with deft touches of pitch-black humor, this was just about a grand slam. Fantastic creature effects (easily in the Top 5 of this year), fun performances (Lance Henriksen gets a nice bit as the elderly, tough-as-nails mayor), some really great setpieces and some genuinely smart tweaks to convention (suffice to say there’s more than a little bit of Cronenbergian body horror here) make this an easy recommendation.

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Zombeavers — In a year with more top-notch horror-comedies than you could shake a funny bone at, Zombeavers wasn’t the creme de la creme but it still held its own. With an intriguingly gonzo premise (mutant, zombified beavers attack partying young people, all hell breaks loose), an all-in cast, some fairly outrageous gore effects and a helluva lot of impolite, politically-incorrect humor (the bit where the “wild girl” doffs her top, for no reason, only to be chided by a stereotypical backwoods yokel for making a spectacle of herself is but one example of the filmmakers biting the hand that feeds), Zombeavers is pretty much the perfect party film. Silly, funny but distinctly horror-minded, Zombeavers is one horror-comedy with real teeth.

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The Midnight Swim — Beautifully made, expertly acted and genuinely unsettling, writer-director Sarah Adina Smith’s The Midnight Swim was one of the most thought-provoking films I screened all year. This is a subtle film, certainly more sororal relationship drama than hard-core fright film. Look closer, however, and you’ll see that the concepts being discussed here (loss of the self, life after death, the dark mysteries of bottomless bodies of water) are the same sort of things explored in plenty of more “traditional” horror films. While those looking for gore and explosions should keep walking, anyone with a thirst for genuinely smart, evocative cinema should have no problem diving into the deep end.

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Suburban Gothic — Essentially a lesser version of Peter Jackson’s superior The Frighteners or Gerard Johnstone’s far superior Housebound (or a much, much better version of the inept Odd Thomas, if you prefer), Suburban Gothic stars Criminal Minds’ Matthew Gray Gubler as a grown man who moves back into his parents’ house and immediately begins seeing spooky things. Kat Dennings and Gubler make a fairly cute couple, Ray Wise is typically excellent as Gubler’s hateful, racist dad and the whole thing has a light-hearted feel that makes it endlessly breezy and rather pleasant. Barring a few scenes of extraordinarily stupid physical comedy, this was definitely a sleeper.

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Spring — Of the two indie-romance-inspired “guy dates a monster” films that were released in 2015 (the much more problematic Honeymoon being the other), Spring is definitely the better one. Featuring strong performances from both Lou Taylor Pucci and Nadia Hilker, great use of the picturesque Italian countryside and a decidedly Lovecraftian bent, this metaphor for the joys and terrors of new relationships is appropriately icky, when necessary, while also managing to be genuinely heartfelt and emotionally resonant. Small surprise that this is from Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead, the filmmakers behind the stunning Resolution and two of the most promising new filmmakers out there.

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All Hallows’ Eve 2 — One of the biggest surprises of the whole year for me, All Hallows’ Eve 2 was the equivalent of finding a golden ticket in my Wonka Bar. While I genuinely liked and respected the ultra-gory, no budget original film, nothing about this more polished and expensive follow-up inspired early confidence. Turns out I was wrong, however, since this modest little anthology ended up being one of the best I’ve seen in the past few years. While nowhere near the feral insanity of the original, this is still a rock-solid horror film with plenty of good ideas and no shortage of red stuff for the gorehounds. It’s no Trick ‘r Treat, mind you, but really…what is?

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Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead — Gleefully bonkers, this outrageous splatter film manages to deliver just what the cover promises: Mad Max meets Dawn of the Dead. Detailing one badass mofo’s trek across the zombie-ravaged Australian Outback, in search of his sister (kidnapped by mad scientists), while wearing homemade armor, there really aren’t a lot of films like this out there. Although the film is frequently quite funny (Leon Burchill provides excellent comic support as the sassy Aborigine sidekick), it’s actually more of a straight-forward horror/action flick than the synopsis might make it sound. While the exterior scenes provide plenty of tension, it’s the sweaty, claustrophobic sequences in the scientist’s lair that pack the biggest punch.

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Circle — With a simple concept, obviously low budget, largely unknown cast and lack of unnecessary backstory, Aaron Hann and Mario Miscione’s Circle instantly recalls another sci-fi sleeper: Vincenzo Natali’s classic Cube. Like Cube, Circle is a film that purposely keeps the audience off balance, wondering just what the hell is happening onscreen. By the time we get the full story, the film is already rolling the final credits, which is just the way it should be. Smart, economical and legitimately fascinating, I have a sneaking suspicion that Circle will enjoy the same favored status as Cube in the next decade or so. I went in expecting nothing and was completely blown away: that’s the definition of a nice surprise.

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Deep Dark — This year saw the release of two excellent films about sad sack losers receiving life advice from holes in their grimy apartment walls (if this baffles you, we obviously don’t run in the same circles): we’ll get to Motivational Growth later (I know, I know…”spoiler alert”)…Deep Dark is the other one. Although I prefer the batshit insanity of Motivational Growth, that has less to do with the quality of Michael Medaglia’s Deep Dark than it does with my personal sensibilities. Needless to say, if Motivational Growth wouldn’t have dropped this year, I’m pretty sure that Deep Dark would’ve got called up to the majors. This dark fable of a starving artist who seeks inspiration from a strange, fleshy hole in his apartment wall features blood-spraying art mobiles, man-on-wall sex and that all important warning: be careful what you wish for. Indeed.

 

The Year in Review: The Ones That Got Away

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Best of 2015, cinema, films, missed films, Movies, op ed, personal opinions, year in review, year-end lists

Every year, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I always end up missing a bushel (or two) worth of films that I would probably love…or, at the very least, get a huge kick out of. These could be films that have a tremendous amount of critical/award season buzz, productions by filmmakers/actors/writers that I follow or just things that look like they’ll be pretty interesting.

The reasons for this are myriad (my intense dislike of going to the theater; my general focus on horror and genre films, especially in the month of October; a desire to intersperse watching “new” films with past favorites; my tendency to binge-watch TV shows in between screenings) but the results are always the same: I spend the year cruising along, only to realize that it’s the end of December and I still need to see between 30-50 films.

Here, then (with very little rhyme, reason or sense of ranking), are all of the films that I missed out on this year. Needless to say, I’ll be trying to catch as many of these as I can before awards season hits but, for purposes of our end-of-the-year lists, these are all the ones that got away.

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Bridge of Spies

Creed

James White

Steve Jobs

Krampus (missing this one hurt)

Chi-raq

Spotlight

Room

Trumbo

In the Heart of the Sea

45 Years

The Big Short

Joy

The Revenant (missing this one really hurt)

Anomalisa

Amy

Timbuktu

’71

Appropriate Behavior

Love & Mercy

Going Clear

Clouds of Sils Maria

The Hunting Ground

Mr. Holmes

Far From the Madding Crowd

Goodnight Mommy

The Salt of the Earth

When Marnie Was There

Still Alice

Mistress America

Carol

Sicario (another near miss that I still regret)

The Visit

Straight Outta Compton

The Diary of a Teenage Girl

99 Homes

Crimson Peak

Condemned

Movement + Location

Dementia

Anguish

Scout’s Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse

12/26/15: Daisy, in the Snow, With Violence

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70mm, auteur theory, Best of 2015, bounty hunters, Bruce Dern, Channing Tatum, cinema, Dana Gourrier, Demian Bichir, Ennio Morricone, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Fred Raskin, Gene Jones, isolation, James Parks, Jennifer Jason Leigh, John Ford, Kurt Russell, Lee Horsely, Michael Madsen, Movies, mystery, paranoia, Quentin Tarantino, Robert Richardson, Samuel L. Jackson, suspense, The Hateful Eight, Tim Roth, Walton Goggins, Western, writer-director, Zoe Bell

Since the dawning of the ’90s, few filmmakers have so ably embodied the “love ’em or hate ’em” aesthetic as Quentin Tarantino has. If you’re in Camp QT, you consider him to be a bona fide auteur, a stubborn iconoclast whose complete love of everything under the sun has led to some of the most unforgettable, indelible films of the last 20-some years, films which have burrowed their way into the very fabric of pop culture in ways that few other films have. If you’re a fan, there are few things in life quite like getting the next Tarantino flick: his unique blend of ultra-violence, cutting dialogue and fractured narratives are the rare “art” films that play to all four walls of the multiplex, immersing viewers in an almost overpowering sense of watching films that are vitally, potently, alive. That’s one side of the coin.

If you’re not a fan, however, you’ll tend to lean a different way towards QT. On the flip side of the coin, Tarantino is a ridiculously self-indulgent enfant terrible who confuses style for substance (or, worse, doesn’t care) and is, at best, ruthlessly unaware of the problematic nature of some of his material. At worst, critics can call QT racist, misogynistic, homophobic (in Tarantino’s cinematic universe, male-on-male sexual assault is still the scariest thing that can happen to a guy), vain, a windbag, a thief or, worse yet, the luckiest hack in the biz. That’s the other side of the coin.

The thing is, Tarantino is both sides of the coin: the artist and the ego-maniac; the wish-fulfiller who appropriates cultural elements as needed, yet gives avenue for satisfying revenge, in return; the misogynist who creates fascinating, three-dimensional female characters only to put them through hell and back; the gore-hound who understands restraint. He’s a guy who loves movies, all kinds of movies: the good and the bad, the forward-thinking and the repulsively backwards, the trash and the art…this ability to bring absolutely everything to the table, for better or worse, is what makes Tarantino films actual events. In a world where everything is carefully crafted to reach the widest possible paying audience, QT feels like one of the few who’s willing to say “Fuck it” and just do what he feels like.

This exceptionally long-winded preamble is by means of bringing us to Tarantino’s newest film (his eighth, overall), the star-studded, ultra-violent, relentlessly grim and audaciously funny old-school Western, The Hateful Eight (2015). Coming on the heels of another film with a decidedly Western setting, Django Unchained (2012), Tarantino’s current offering couldn’t be further from his previous one. This is a huge, sweeping film (shot and screened in 70mm, for the first time in 40 years), that kind that looks to John Ford for inspiration even as it utilizes legendary Spaghetti Western composer Ennio Morricone for the exquisite score. It’s a film that trades in the hard-edged wish-fulfillment of Django and Inglorious Basterds (2009) for the kind of weary fatalism more associated with Cormac McCarthy. It’s a film that takes an awful lot of chances, many of which fall flat as a bad souffle. It’s also a minor masterpiece and proof positive that Tarantino remains one of our most interesting, surprising and uncompromising cinematic voices. Love it or hate it, there’s no way to ignore (or deny) The Hateful Eight.

Encompassing six chapters and some three-hours of run-time, The Hateful Eight takes its time in the early stretches, yet pays off patient viewers by the final third. Beginning with a stage-coach racing across the pristine, snow-covered desolation of Wyoming, ahead of a crippling blizzard, the film wastes no time in blowing minds with Robert Richardson’s jaw-dropping, wide-screen cinematography. From the very first shot, this is a film that announces its epic intentions and then (for the most part) fulfills them: you have to admire that sort of conviction.

The stagecoach contains two of the titular Eight, along with the driver, OB (James Parks), who’s probably the least hateful person in the entire film. The passengers, however, are a different story: John “The Hangman” Ruth (Kurt Russell, channeling latter-day John Wayne) is transporting vicious murderer/casually-virulent racist Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh, absolutely feral and quite wonderful) to the town of Red Rocks so she can hang. Ruth is a bounty hunter and pretty much the antithesis of every Russell role ever: he’s mean, has a hair trigger, revels in watching his wards hang and genuinely enjoys smacking the shit out of Daisy, which he does as frequently as possible. Daisy, for her part, is pretty much just an awful human being, spitting, cussing and hocking loogies (and nasty insults) at anyone within easy reach.

Along the way, the merry company picks up another couple members of that illustrious Eight: Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson, in the apex of his history with Tarantino) and Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins, simply phenomenal). Warren (a former slave-turned-Union soldier-turned bounty hunter) and Mannix (a former Confederate raider/outlaw supposedly turned sheriff of Red Rocks) are seeking shelter from the impending storm and the stagecoach presents a much better option than freezing to death.

Arriving at renowned half-way spot Minnie’s Haberdashery, the five uneasy companions find the place all but vacant, save for an additional four individuals: foppish, smarmy, Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth, having a blast); surly, silent cow-poke, Joe Gage (Michael Madsen, with a ridiculous hairpiece); aging, nasty former-Confederate General Sandy Smithers (Bruce Dern, impish as ever); and “Mexican” Bob (Demian Bichir, completely surprising and consistently wonderful), the guys who’s in charge of the way-station.

Snowed in, the eight strangers (plus poor OB), must strike up an increasingly unsteady live-and-let-live arrangement, as they wait for the blizzard to pass and the road to Red Rocks to reopen. As several characters make a point of saying, however, transporting a live, desperate criminal is a lot more dangerous than transporting a dead one. Will Ruth’s insistence on seeing Daisy swing prove his downfall? Are these various varmints and rascals really strangers or is there more going on here than meets the eye? As suspicions grow and lies begin to surface with disturbing regularity, one thing becomes quite clear: there will be blood…lots of it.

Posited as a bracing combination of John Ford and Agatha Christie, The Hateful Eight definitely stands as Tarantino’s most straight-forward (barring a few customary flourishes) narrative, a film that’s more mystery than fractured narrative, ala Pulp Fiction (1994). It’s also his most accomplished, fully realized film, a work that displaces the aforementioned Pulp Fiction as the pinnacle of his career (at least to this humble reviewer). It’s by no means a perfect film, as I’ve mentioned earlier. In fact, let’s address those issues right now.

Many of Tarantino’s stylistic quirks fall flat: the narrator is completely ill-advised (for many reasons) and manages to change the tone instantly, while some of the effects (the slo-mo on Jackson during one scene, for example) just don’t work: they pull us out of the story completely rather than accentuating what’s going on.

The constant racial slurs and casual misogyny become all but unbearable, over time. Unlike the “necessary evils” of Django Unchained or Death Proof (2007), the virulence in The Hateful Eight seems to exist only as shorthand for how awful these people are. These are “hateful” individuals, ergo it’s only understandable that they’re all racist (pretty much to a person). Likewise, Daisy is a really shithead, so no harm/no foul when Ruth constantly clocks in her in the face. One can make the case that Tarantino is just presenting these aspects and letting the audiences decide but why did Daisy’s truly awful racial slurs and subsequent beatings always produce the biggest crowd reactions? Hateful people deserve to get beat down, obviously…but you have to show how hateful they are first, right?

The film is slightly too long. Not drastically too long, mind you (even at three hours) but slightly too long: there are pacing issues, late in the film, that make it seem longer than it is and the finale features more false endings than a Terminator film. This wouldn’t really be a problem except that it’s obvious Tarantino would rather sacrifice flow and pacing instead of trimming any of his goodies.

And now, to reference the dear, departed Roger Ebert: let me find my other list. The Hateful Eight is a beautiful, exquisitely made film, maybe one of the loveliest of the last few decades. There’s an art and poetry to Richardson’s imagery that is, to beat a dead horse, simply stunning. When viewed in the theater, in glorious 70mm, The Hateful Eight feels more cinematic and epic than anything I’ve seen in my three-decades of going to theaters. Toss in the “Overture” and the “Intermission” and it’s clear this isn’t just something to have on in the background: this is an honest to god event.

Ennio Morricone’s score is simply amazing, possibly his single best work since The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. When that impossibly epic theme kicked in, blasting out of the surround speakers, I actually teared up. This is what films should feel like: they should rattle every one of your senses, smack around in your skull like a pinball and rocket out of your over-loaded brain cavity like a gilded rainbow.

The performances, to a tee, are sheer perfection. Even though several of the characters are nothing more than broad stereotypes (Bichir’s take on Bob is so ridiculously, sublimely cliched that he was able to bring the packed crowd to a road by nothing more than his intense pronunciation of Spanish swearwords, while Roth’s Oswaldo is one feathered-cap away from a Musketeer), every single actor commits to their roles with a dedication that borders on the psychotic.

To be frank, The Hateful Eight has one of the most fascinating groups of characters since…well…since Pulp Fiction. From Kurt Russell’s “John Wayne as a wife-beater” impersonation to Jackson’s stellar, multi-facted turn as Major Warren (Jackson finally gets to lead a Tarantino flick AND play Sherlock Holmes…a two for one!) to Leigh’s spiteful Daisy, these are characters that either Ford or Peckinpah would have killed for.

Chief among greats, however? Walton Goggins knockout portrayal of the former rebel/current (maybe?) sheriff is a study in contradictions that actually works, leading to one of the great “odd couple” match-ups of recent years. Goggins has been proving himself, more and more, over the years but The Hateful Eight should stand as proof that he need prove himself no more: Goggins has fully arrived and it’s glorious to behold.

Biggest surprise here? The Hateful Eight is genuinely, subversively funny, maybe Tarantino’s most inherently humorous film since Basterds. Going in, I expected this to be a fairly grim, relatively po-faced film: nothing could be further from the truth. Whether indulging in some of that patented “talk about nothing” that Tarantino revels in or setting up sight-gags that pay off outrageous returns (never before has one filmmaker wrung so much merriment out of people being shot in the face), this is primo, tongue-in-cheek Tarantino all the way.

Ultimately, how does QT’s newest stack up with what came before? Obviously, individual results may vary but I honestly think this is his best film yet. While there’s plenty of room for continued discussion here (folks can and should continue to examine Tarantino’s insistence on racist characters, particularly in light of this film), there should be no debate as to the actual merits of the film: this is a modern classic, from start to finish. All one has to do is take a look at the film’s disparate elements (that iconic score, the groundbreaking cinematography, all-in performances, intricately-plotted storyline) that so that: whether judged on its parts or as a whole, The Hateful Eight is as rock-solid as the icy ground its characters trod.

Love him or hate him, one thing is abundantly clear: The Hateful Eight is not a film that you’ll forget anytime soon. Is it the best film of 2015? I think it might be. As mentioned before, however: individual results may vary.

A Few Thoughts After A First Viewing of Mad Max: Fury Road

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Best of 2015, Charlize Theron, cinema, film reviews, films, first thoughts, George Miller, Mad Max, Mad Max: Fury Road, Movies, Tom Hardy

In almost all cases, I prefer to ruminate on a film before I sit down and try to attempt any manner of critique or discussion. In honor of George Miller’s rule-breaking little film Mad Max: Fury Road, however, I’ve decided to break my self-imposed rules and offer some initial thoughts on the film, straight from my very first viewing (the credits have just finished, as we speak). Keep in mind that, as with any and everything on The VHS Graveyard, these are the thoughts of a very stubborn and obnoxious individual and should, of course, be taken with the utmost caution. In that spirit, then: my initial thoughts:

— There is no better paced action film this year than Fury Road. After thirty minutes of break-neck, ceaseless action, Miller takes a little breath…before going into the next half hour of ceaseless action. It’s the same concept behind the best songs: build to epic proportions…wait…and then…slam the guitar solo in your face. Fury Road is the Pixies song of action films.

— Isn’t it about goddamn time we had an action film that not only featured a kickass female lead but an overtly female focus? This isn’t simply the case of having CT whip ass from one sandstorm to the next (more on that later): this is the case of having a film in a traditionally misogynist genre (I can rib cuz I love) where the female characters are not only not helpless damsels in distress but are active participants in their own salvations. This, friends and neighbors, is not the status quo.

— And while we’re talking about kickass heroes…holy shit…did ya get a load of Furiosa? Effortlessly, casually, leisurely amazing (her quick fix with the wrench is poetry), Theron’s Furiosa is, without a doubt, an iconic character, easily in league with a genre mainstay like Lt. Ripley. It’s tempting to call Hardy the lead, simply because he’s got his name in the title, but take a look at who really moves the machine.

— And what about Hardy? I’ll admit: I’ve never been bonkers on the guy, although I’ve enjoyed him from time to time. Here, his Eastwood (but mumblier) routine is so good it hurts. Or looks like it does, at least. As a total geek for the original trio, it was always gonna be hard to replace Gibson in my head: with Fury Road, Hardy went a long way towards showing me my fears were unfounded. Max Rockatansky: thy name…just might be Tom Hardy, after all!

— The world-building in this is simply stunning. And I mean that in an age where that particular term has probably lost a lot of luster: the world-building is stunning. This isn’t some half-assed “five years in the future,” people in a white office, funny lights on the wall kinda bullshit…this is the real McCoy, Jack! This is the kind of fully immersive world that lets you leave your questions at the door and just live it: there’s so much getting thrown at the screen, at any given point, that’s all but impossible to pick up the details on one viewing (says the guy who’s only seen it once). The fact that there are no easy answers only makes it that more mysterious, leading us into our next point…

— There are no hands held here and no desire, whatsoever, to dumb the film down to fit a modern aesthetic. Need an info dump to keep up? Stay confused, sunshine. Need a preexisting set of characters in order to feel safe within the chaos of a complicated storyline? Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Unlike pretty much every superhero, comic book, fantasy or sci-fi film in recent memory, Miller’s Fury Road doesn’t see fit to hammer audiences with all the pertinent backstory, minutiae, repetitive details and tedious A-B bullshit that they think they need: Miller knows that the film stands on its own and he’s more than happy to let audiences come to it that way or not at all.

The film starts in high gear and only ratchets up from there: any breaks in the action aren’t to allow for needless information downloads (so-and-so is the so-and-so of so-and-so so blah di blah) so much as to give audiences a chance to take a breath and relax for a beat. Same basic idea behind roller-coasters. Most importantly, let Miller be the shot across the bow in a new war on information: audiences don’t have to know every single aspect of a film. Once upon a time, we were allowed to use our imaginations to supplement what we saw: Miller is giving us the greatest gift of all by giving that back to us. We’d be fools not to take it with open arms.

— The effects and actions sequences in Fury Road are so astounding that Miller just throws away sequences that would be centerpieces in other films.  It’s like a car maker saying, “Well, it’s a Stingray but it’s not a Rolls Royce…toss it on the scrap heap.”

— Immortan Joe is a great villain but never really gets the chance to be a truly despicable one, ala Toecutter in the first film. I’m not saying he’s not one totally cool dude, mind you, but I have a feeling the most interesting part of Joe’s tale happened just prior to this film.

— There’s a lot of sensory overload in the film but that axe-rockin’ mutant dude is always gonna be a highlight. That’s what I see whenever I headbang to Maiden.

— This film manages to (inadvertently) make a better version of Dune than the actual film.

— The “blue swamp” scenes (capped by that bit that stomps Sin City into mush) are pretty damn amazing.

— I spent the entire two hours on the edge of my seat. That’s actually a lie: I spend a fair portion of the time standing up, as well.

— In a very full, very rich year of genre cinema, Mad Max: Fury Road still manages to effortlessly rise to the top of the pack. Is it the best film I’ve seen this year? I believe it is. With a week to go, will The Revanant and Hateful Eight top it? To be honest, I’m not sure. They don’t make movies like Fury Road any more. Well, actually, someone does. His name is George Miller and I think he just sent everybody back to square one.

The Best of the 31 Days of Halloween (2015 Edition)

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31 Days of Halloween, A Christmas Horror Story, All Hallows' Eve 2, Asylum Blackout, Best of 2015, Bone Tomahawk, cinema, Circle, Cooties, Curse of Chucky, Deathgasm, favorite films, film reviews, films, Gravy, Halloween, Halloween traditions, horror, horror films, Lost After Dark, Love in the Time of Monsters, Movies, October, personal opinions, Tales of Halloween, The American Scream, The Boy, The Final Girls, The Houses October Built, The Midnight Swim, The Nightmare, We Are Still Here, What We Do in the Shadows

In the spirit of completion, I now offer my list of the very best films that I screened during this year’s 31 Days of Halloween. For purposes of this list, I’ve excluded any films that were screened in previous years (otherwise, American Mary and Trick ‘r Treat would become the equivalent of political incumbents). Since some of these were slightly older films that I was seeing for the first time, I’ve lumped them in with the 2015 films: I’ll separate everything out once I put together my Best of 2015 write-up, however.

– – –

The Best of the 31 Days of Halloween (2015 Edition)

(in no particular order)

There’s one very good reason why this list is in no particular order: in most cases, it would be like trying to choose your favorite child at gunpoint. Whether it was a fistful of some of the best horror-comedies I’d ever seen, two of the most kickass anthology films ever created , the best horror Western in ages (forever?) or one of the most gripping, disturbing examinations of young evil that I’ll never be able to scrub from my brain, the best films of October really took things to another level. It’s pretty much a given that at least some of these will end up on my years’ end Best of lists.

Cooties (2015) — I try to keep my enthusiasm for new films tempered somewhat but I was anxiously anticipating this little treasure for too long to play it safe. Good thing, then, that Cooties not only met but massacred every one of my expectations. No two ways about this, this is a modern classic and one of the funniest, most outrageous and radical horror-comedies that I’ve ever seen.

The Boy (2015) — There’s an awful lot to recommend here: the frequently lovely cinematography…the intense, immersive performances from David Morse and Rainn Wilson…the unflinching violence…the measured pace that allows for maximum character development and audience identification. Perhaps the number one reason to see writer/director Craig William Macneill’s exceptional sophomore film, however, is the unforgettable performance by young Jared Breeze (also in Cooties) as the titular character. In an era where disturbed individuals commit violence on an increasingly wider scale, The Boy takes us right to the genesis of this internal evil: for this fact, alone, it may very well be the scariest (and most essential) film of 2015.

What We Do in the Shadows (2014) — Essentially a re-do of the almost as worthy Danish film Vampires (2010), this brainchild of Jemaine Clement (half of New Zealand’s Flight of the Conchords) and Taika Waititi is one of the smartest, funniest, most incisive and well-made films of the year, hands down. While the main emphasis is on laughs (the vast majority of which hit with laser-guided precision), What We Do in the Shadows isn’t afraid to hit the big, emotional beats, either, resulting in a film that’s equal parts hilarious satire and genuine character study. Needless to say, I don’t think we ever need another mockumentary about modern-day vampires dealing with the toils and humiliations of daily life: Clement and Waititi slammed that door and welded it shut.

Tales of Halloween (2015) — Until I screened Tales of Halloween this October, I was 100% sure that Michael Dougherty’s Trick ‘r Treat would always be the undisputed king of the Halloween anthology film. Now, however, I’ve been forced to admit the obvious: there are no absolutes in life. While not all of the segments manage to stick their landings, the ones that do emerge fully-formed and perfect, lovely little blood-flecked pearls that represent some of the very best horror shorts around. Looks like the Pumpkin King’s gonna have to share his throne, in the future!

Gravy (2015) — Outrageous, unrelentingly gory and violent and almost impossibly offensive, Gravy is one of those films that should split audiences right down the middle. If you prefer your horror-comedies tame, polite and conventional, please keep moving to the end of the line, nothing to see here, thanks very much. If, however, you’re the kind of viewer who prizes genuinely quirky characters, mature, thought-provoking humor, needle-in-the-red bloodshed and actual heart/emotion over shallow “attitude,” I suggest you grab a beer and come pull up a chair next to me: we’ve got ourselves a movie to watch.

Bone Tomahawk (2015) — I love horror movies, Westerns, and Kurt Russell pretty much unconditionally: ergo, any film that manages the hat-trick of tossing these divine elements into the same movie is going to have an automatic reservation in my heart. Good thing, then, that S. Craig Zahler’s debut manages to not only throw these ingredients together but manages to craft one of the tastiest cinematic dishes I’ve ever had the pleasure of devouring. Hell, just the supporting cast, alone, would vault this head and shoulders over most “prestige” films, let alone horror flicks. Another strong contender for my “Best Films of 2015” list.

Deathgasm (2015) — The second Kiwi export to make my “Best of…” list, writer/director Jason Lee Howden’s Deathgasm may just be the most perfect intersection of form and function that I’ve ever seen. Tackling the inherent connection between horror and heavy metal, the film’s biggest coup is its utter, unabashed love for its head-banging heroes. While most other genre efforts would relegate Deathgasm’s protagonists to the stereotype-plagued background, Howden moves them up front and treats them with the respect they deserve (us metalheads have to stick up for our own kind, after all). Hilarious, heartfelt and ridiculously fist-pumping (just like a good metal song!), Deathgasm is a jean-jacket-bedecked hessian’s dream come true. Lots of extra points for allowing Kimberley Crossman’s sweet-as-pie, goody-two-shoes to organically become one of the most kickass “final girls” out there.

A Christmas Horror Story (2015) — While this is nowhere near as consistently awesome as either Trick ‘r Treat or Tales of Halloween, the high points here are more than capable of heavy-lifting this onto my “Best of…” list. Truth be told, the only story that’s a complete letdown is the most conventional one (the one about the teens exploring their haunted school, natch): the rest of the material, including the wraparound starring the inimitable William Shatner, finds interesting and unique ways to twist and screw around with traditional horror tropes and storylines. If nothing else, the “Santa Claus vs. zombie elves” segment is worth the price of admission alone, finishing up with a deliciously demented twist that ends the film on the strongest note possible. Lots and lots of fun, with the added bonus of being a perfectly suitable December viewing. Huzzah!

Curse of Chucky (2013) — One of the biggest surprises of the entire month of October, franchise creator Don Mancini’s return to the shortest serial killer in history was never supposed to be more than a time killer in my schedule, something disposable to cleanse the palate between the “real” films. Imagine my surprise, then, when Curse of Chucky revealed itself to be an absolute masterpiece of sustained suspense, intelligent, Hitchcockian set-pieces and pure, unadulterated, snarky attitude. The film is fast-paced, ruthlessly smart, gorgeously shot and possesses the coolest Chucky visualization of the entire series, thus far. It’s a glorious return to form for Mancini and, more importantly, singlehandedly jump-started my lapsed interest in the Child’s Play franchise. Suffice to say, I can’t wait for the follow-up.

The Final Girls (2015) — Despite having an utterly gonzo premise (a group of modern teens step through a theater screen, ala The Purple Rose of Cairo, and end up in the ’80s slasher flick that stars one teen’s now-deceased mother), The Final Girls has more genuine heart than just about any film on this list. The interaction between Taissa Farmiga (as the daughter) and Malin Ackerman (as the mom) are spot-on and lead to some actual heartrending moments in the latter half of the film, while the entire ensemble cast plays off each other beautifully. Laugh-out-loud funny, never skimpy with the horror elements (certain moments actually reminded me of Adam Green’s grue-fest, Hatchet), possessed of a unique and clever premise and never condescending, The Final Girls is the perfect film for horror fans who aren’t afraid to let emotions besides “revulsion,” “fear” and “blood-thirsty glee” into their dark little hearts.

Love in the Time of Monsters (2014) — Yet another horror-comedy, Matt Jackson’s Love in the Time of Monsters throws a kitchenful of ingredients at the screen and, surprisingly enough, most of it sticks like glue. We get another great concept (toxic waste turns the Bigfoot-suit-bedecked employees of a Bigfoot-themed tourist trap into bloodthirsty “zombie-Squatches”), a fantastic ensemble cast (including great performances from genre vets Kane Hodder, Doug Jones and Michael McShane), a smart, funny script (courtesy of Michael Skvarla), great, gory action set-pieces and an outrageous final battle royale that features more genuine surprises than a bakers’ dozen of M. Knight movies. If the dance-off featuring the Big Kahuna and Brandi doesn’t turn you into a quivering mass of uncontrolled giggles, your heart may be smaller than the Grinch.

– – –

The Best of the Rest

(in no particular order)

I ended up seeing so many quality films in October that determining the minuscule separation between “Holy shit…that was amazing!” and “Wow…that was really good!” became quite the Herculean effort. In that spirit, here are the films that “coulda woulda shoulda” been contenders in pretty much any other year. In the interest of space/time, I’ll just go ahead and list these here. Hopefully, in the future, we’ll all get a chance to explore these in a little more detail.

The Nightmare (2015)

The Houses October Built (2014)

We Are Still Here (2015)

All Hallows’ Eve 2 (2015)

The Midnight Swim (2015)

The American Scream (2012)

Circle (2015)

Lost After Dark (2015)

Asylum Blackout (2012)

– – –

And there we have it: my favorite eleven films of October, along with nine runner-ups. Coming soon, I’ll take a look at the other side of the coin: the worst films and biggest disappointments of the 31 Days of Halloween. Stay tuned, gentle readers…stay tuned!

8/8/15: Find Your Swan

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Alan Tudyk, awkward films, best films of the year, best friends, Best of 2015, borderline personality disorder, casinos, cinema, dark comedies, David Robbins, dramas, Eric Alan Edwards, favorite films, film reviews, films, independent films, indie comedies, indie dramas, indie films, instant millionaire, James Marsden, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Joan Cusack, Kristen Wiig, Linda Cardellini, Loretta Devine, lottery winner, mental illness, Mitch Silpa, Movies, narcissism, obsession, Oprah Winfrey, patient-psychiatrist relationship, psychiatric care, Shira Piven, talk shows, therapists, therapy, Thomas Mann, Tim Robbins, Welcome to Me, Wes Bentley

If there’s one unifying theme to this crazy, modern era that we live in, I’m willing to wager that it’s narcissism. Never before in the history of humanity has it been so easy to be as completely self-absorbed as it is now. Not only easy, mind you, but also immensely profitable: when average, normal, “every-day” people can clear millions of dollars in ad revenue via YouTube channels devoted to everything from watching them play video games to watching them taste-test sodas, well…it doesn’t really seem to get more “me”-oriented than that, does it? This isn’t even the same thing as watching celebrities shill products: this is watching your next-door-neighbor do the same thing with (presumably) none of the resulting name recognition.

Thanks to the continued explosion of social media, technological advancements, “reality TV” programs and “the 24-hour news cycle,” the unwashed masses now have as direct a pipeline to the cultural zeitgeist as the glitterati. One need not release the “next, great American novel” in order to vault to the top of the literary heap: one need only draw as many curious visitors as possible to their newest blog entry. Want to be a world-famous pop star? Forget paying your dues on the club circuit: start uploading as many videos as possible of you covering that Florence+the Machine song and wait for the offers to start rolling in. In the past, anyone who wanted to “break through” to mainstream fame had a much steeper uphill climb: nowadays, it’s never been easier to shout your opinions to the rafters and actually have someone pay attention. Warhol wanted to give everyone 15 minutes but, nowadays, is there anyone actually watching the clock?

Actor-turned-director Shira Piven tackles this particular phenomena head-on with her spectacular new film, Welcome to Me (2014), a bittersweet ode to wish-fulfillment, mental illness, friendship and self-interest that might just come to define this era in the same way that Easy Rider (1969) would come to define the transitional time between the ’60s and the ’70s. Across the span of 87 minutes, Piven and screenwriter Eliot Laurence put us through the wringer, moving from extreme pathos to extreme hilarity with such stop-on-a-dime dynamics that the whole film becomes a masterclass in how to move your audience. In the process, Piven, Laurence and comedic wunderkind Kristen Wiig present us with one of the greatest cinematic creations of the 2000s, a performance that all but assures Wiig a shot at some genuine award-season gold: Alice Klieg. To paraphrase that most inimitable of comic book possums: we have seen Alice and she is us.

Opening with a quote from French philosopher Michel de Montaigne that might be the best modern mission-statement ever (“I study myself more than any other subject. That is my physics. That is my metaphysics.”), Welcome to Me wastes no time in plunging us into the day-to-day routine of Wiig’s Alice. We see her obsessively arranged house, everything organized by color, shape and whatever random internal qualifiers make sense to her. We witness Alice’s obsession with swans of every size, shape, make and model, along with the seemingly endless rows of videotaped TV shows that seem to fill every available bookshelf in her patently crammed home.

We see her recite every line from a taped episode of Oprah in the kind of off-hand manner that indicates she probably has every line from every Oprah episode memorized. We see her ask a complete stranger if there’s any “rape” in A Tale of Two Cities, a question which is as esoteric as it is mildly disturbing. We watch Alice as she goes about her lonely, oddly structured life, a ghost-like presence in a world that doesn’t quite make sense to her, a world that seems to have no more interest in her than it would any other roadside curiosity or “quirky” bag-lady. She doesn’t even seem to have any friends or casual acquaintances, aside from her mousy BFF, Gina (Freaks and Geeks’ Linda Cardellini). From our first glimpse of Alice, it’s painfully obvious that she has mental health issues, possibly more than one. She seems harmless, however, like so many others, so we just leave her alone to her own devices: what we don’t see can’t affect us, after all.

Alice, however, is destined for much grander things: in a modern era where everyone wants to be heard, why should she be any different? After winning a whopping $86 million lottery, Alice finally gets her chance: she’s going to make a difference in the biggest way possible, all while paying tribute to her greatest idol and influence, Oprah Winfrey. She approaches brothers/TV station owners Gabe (Wes Bentley) and Rich Ruskin (James Marsden) with a proposition: for $15 million, she’ll get her own TV talk show (100 two-hour episodes) and a chance to become as famous/watched/influential as Oprah. The subject? Why, Alice Klieg, of course, in all of her boundless glory.

From the jump, Alice’s show is as insane as expected. She’s wheeled out in a massive swan boat to a pre-recorded theme song that she, herself, croons. Her show features segments like the one where she cooks and consumes a meatloaf cake while the audience watches in confused silence or the numerous reenactments of various moments in her life (the one where she calls out old enemy Jordana Spangler ends with Alice bawling and screaming “Fuck you to death, Jordana!”as the crew frantically cuts to commercial). “Why doesn’t it look like Oprah,” Alice tearfully asks, only to be given the only sensible answer: “Because you ate a cake made out of meat and cried?”

The whole thing is a mess, obviously, the kind of talk show you might expect from someone who proudly discusses her borderline personality disorder as if it were a gluten allergy. It’s not like Alice isn’t seeking professional help, after all: she was happily seeing shrink Daryl Moffet (Tim Robbins) before she decided to quit her meds and regulate her moods with string cheese (always sound medical advice). Now that she’s finally getting what she most wants out of life, she’s happy enough to mitigate the need for mood stabilizers: living well, as always, is its own reward.

But the show is still a mess. Program director Dawn (Joan Cusack) thinks that Alice is a loose cannon waiting to go off, Rich thinks she’s the answer to all of his financial woes, Gabe isn’t quite sure what to make of her (but he kind of thinks he’s falling in love, at least a little bit) and Gina is almost super-humanly supportive, even as Alice seems openly dismissive of anything that doesn’t have to do with her. Hell, Gina even uproots her everyday routine in order to move into a reservation casino with Alice and several dogs…that’s friendship, ladies and gentlemen, no two ways about it!

In order to make her show “better,” Alice throws more and more money at it, all while Rich rubs his hands together and salivates like Scrooge McDuck at an estate sale. And then, of course, the expectedly unexpected happens: “Welcome to Me” starts to gain a following. Before she knows it, Alice has a full studio audience, her ratings are up and she even has her own super-fan, in the person of Rainer (Thomas Mann), an odd man-child who studies Alice in college and wants her show to air five times a week rather than once: he really hates to wait, after all.

And then, of course, the other shoe drops, like an airborne piano through a skylight: as Alice’s show gets bigger and she gets more of a platform, she becomes increasingly unstable and problems begin to crop up everywhere. Alice’s talk show becomes bigger, stranger and more controversial, as each and every whim from her extremely fertile imagination is given life, for better or worse (usually the latter), right through to her decision to spay and neuter dogs on-camera…with Alice actually performing the procedures.

As our erstwhile hero is battered about by any number of external (and internal) forces, Alice finds herself standing on the precipice of the most important, painful decision she’s ever made: embrace the anonymity of “normal” life and give up on her dreams or boldly forge her own path, disregarding the desires, wishes and feelings of all those around her in order to create a more complete version of herself. After all, as the lyrics from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “Happy Song” inform us on the soundtrack, “if you don’t have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?” Like all of us, Alice has a lot of dreams…will she have what it takes to make them come true?

Let’s get the obvious stuff out of the way: Welcome to Me is a helluva film, easily one of the year’s best (thus far, at least). Piven, who has only one other directorial effort in her background (2011’s Fully Loaded, which she also co-wrote) is a sure hand with the material, guiding the film (and audience) through its/our paces with an exceptional amount of subtlety and skill. There are plenty of big, laugh-out-loud moments in Eliot Laurence’s excellent screenplay, no doubt about it, but some of the most effective parts of the film are also the simplest, quietest and most subliminal: the powerful scene where we see Alice framed within the solitude (and virtual imprisonment) of her own home…the heartbreaking look on Gina’s face when she sees her secrets laid bare before a television audience…the impossibly beautiful, uplifting moment where we finally see how much faith the crew actually has in Alice…these would be genuinely impactful moments in any film but hit especially hard here.

Indeed, one of Welcome to Me’s greatest strengths is its ability to make us laugh like idiots one minute (the scene where Alice tries to push an ornery dog into a carrier is absolutely sublime) while ripping our hearts out the next (Alice’s “dark night of the soul” moment, in the casino, has to be one of the rawest, most painful and devastating scenes I’ve seen all year and that’s saying quite a lot). Like the very best films, Welcome to Me wants to entertain us but it also wants to make us think: think about the strangers we pass by every day, think about the world around us, think about our own hopes, fears, dreams and inadequacies. Piven isn’t interested in easy, dumb laughs, although there’s still kneeslappers aplenty here: she knows that you can’t have comedy without tragedy and Welcome to Me is tragic, in the very best way possible.

On the technical side, Welcome to Me packs plenty of firepower behind the scenes. Veteran cinematographer Eric Alan Edwards’ resume reads like a virtual ‘who’s who’ of some of the most iconic films of the ’90s (My Own Private Idaho (1991), Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (1993), Kids (1995), Cop Land (1997) and Clay Pigeons (1998), to name but a few) and he presents some immaculately framed, beautifully composed shots here. There’s an almost fairy tale quality to the film’s narrative that’s handily echoed by Edward’s camerawork.

We also get an appropriately whimsical, well-utilized score by David Robbins, the composer behind films as far-flung as Bob Roberts (1992), Dead Man Walking (1995) and Cradle Will Rock (1999). The score is never obvious and manages to downplay clumsy emotional cues in favor of mood-setting that always feels organic, especially in regards to Alice’s wacky TV show. Between the narrative, cinematography and score, Welcome to Me has a complete singularity of vision that reminded me of another of my favorite films of the year, Marjane Satrapi’s The Voices (2014): both films utilize the lush visuals of someone like Wes Anderson, while tweaking them in some pretty impressive ways.

Then, of course, there’s that cast…I mean, seriously…get a load of this mob of unduly talented performers: Joan Cusack, Tim Robbins, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Wes Bentley, Thomas Mann, Linda Cardellini, James Marsden, Alan Tudyk, Loretta Devine, Jack Wallace…that, friends and neighbors, is how you cast your film! Regardless of the amount of screen-time, each and every member of the cast comes together to form an absolutely unbeatable ensemble. I hate to pull out the “Wes Anderson” card, again, but there’s certainly a similarity between his high-octane casts and Welcome to Me’s featured players. Hell, Cusack and Cardellini turn in two of the year’s brightest performances and neither of them has a tenth of Wiig’s screen time.

The glittering, dazzling star on the top of this particular tree, however, is the one and only Kristen Wiig. While she’s been a reliably great comic presence since her formative years on SNL, Welcome to Me marks a huge leap forward as far as her dramatic performances go. To not put too fine a point on it, Wiig is absolutely flawless as Alice: this is the kind of organic, well-rounded and utterly human performance that deserves to be lauded by every awards organization under the sun. There are no seams, no notion of where the actor ends and the character begins: like Leland Orser and Mary Elizabeth Winstead in the similarly amazing Faults (2014), Wiig isn’t playing Alice…she IS Alice, at least for the 90 minutes that we spend we her.

Whether she’s bawling uncontrollably, propositioning Rainer in the most awkward way possible, throwing a temper tantrum after she gets cut-off for mentioning “masturbation” on-air or sweetly making amends to everyone she’s wronged, Wiig’s Alice is the undisputed master of this particular universe, the sun around which everyone else orbits. Fitting, of course, since the film is all about the eternal struggle for self-validation and personal worth: this is a film about Alice and Wiig towers over the proceedings like the Colossus of Rhodes. Mark my words: Welcome to Me is where Wiig picks up the dramedy mantle dropped by the recently departed Robin Williams and it fits her like it was tailor-made.

Ultimately, the true mark of an unforgettable film is how hard it hits you: from the first minute to the last, Welcome to Me was like a never-ending barrage of body blows, albeit in the best way possible. I’m not ashamed to admit that the final 10 minutes turned me into a bit of a mess: the film’s payoff is undeniably bittersweet but there’s a life-affirming quality to it that’s anything but depressing. Throughout the film, Alice only really wants one thing: to be just like her idol, Oprah Winfrey. While she tries mightily (and fails wretchedly) to emulate her TV show, there is one aspect of her hero that Alice manages to internalize: in the same way that Winfrey derived joy from giving her audience things and helping them, so, too, does Alice learn that the real value of her platform is in her ability to make a difference in the lives of others. Alice’s show is called “Welcome to Me” but, in the end, it could just as easily be called “Welcome to Us.”

As we continue to find new and improved ways to make our own, personal impacts in an increasingly chaotic, cluttered world, it might help to keep one thing in mind: we may all have our own stories, our own triumphs, despairs, victories and losses but, in the end, they’re all part of the same autobiography…the story of humanity, in all its beautiful, terrible, wonderful and hideous forms. We may want to tell our own stories but, in the end, it’s all part of the same narrative. Like Alice, all we can do is strive for happiness and ride our swan boats into the horizon.

Halftime Report: The Best Films of 2015 (So Far)

Tags

A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night, Best of 2015, best-of lists, Buzzard, cinema, Creep, Faults, film reviews, films, Motivational Growth, Movies, op-ed pieces, personal lists, Reality, Slow West, The Voices, Welcome to Me

With the year more than halfway through, what better time to take a preliminary look back at the films that, in my humble little opinion, have been the very best of a pretty good eight months? Since there are still 4.5 months left and plenty of potentially incredible movies still to be seen (Goodnight Mommy, The Martian, Crimson Peak, Suffragette, Scout’s Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse, Cooties, Tales of Halloween, Bone Tomahawk, Before I Wake, Final Girls, Trumbo, Krampus, The Hateful Eight and Revenant are all on my “must-see” list, along with a raft of others), this is by no means a complete list: there is no particular order to anything, no sense of ranking or any of that jazz…yet, at least.

And now, with no further ado, my nine favorite films of 2015 (so far):

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Welcome to Me

I absolutely adored everything about this smart, quirky and endlessly charming look at a woman with borderline personality disorder who wins the lottery and decides to launch her own talk show. In an era where narcissism seems to be the new norm, Shira Piven’s constantly surprising film has plenty to say about the way we view ourselves, the world around us and all of the wonderful misfits that inhabit it. Above all else, Kristen Wiig is a complete marvel and one of my early picks for Best Actress of the Year. I dare anyone to watch this and not be pounded senseless by your own emotions.

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Slow West

Not only one of the very best films I saw this year but one of the very best Westerns I’ve seen in longer than I can remember, Slow West has “modern-day classic” written all over it. The story of a teenage, Scottish greenhorn and the “reformed” outlaw who chaperones him through the wild and woolly West, Slow West is full of masterful performances (I predict a Best Supporting Actor nod for Mendelsohn), gorgeous cinematography and a wildly unpredictable streak of magical-realism that feels like the Coen Brothers by way of Wes Anderson. Nearly perfect and essential viewing.

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Faults

Nothing about this effortlessly bold, thought-provoking film is spoon-fed or obvious and that’s just the way I like ’em. While Faults may seem overly familiar on the outside (if anything, the “male deprogrammer vs female cult member” synopsis makes this seem like a riff on Jane Campion’s odd Holy Smoke (1999)), the film manages to spiral out into a million different directions, like meteors vaulting into the sky instead of the other way around. Essentially a two-person character study, Leland Orser and Mary Elizabeth Winstead prove so magnetic and compelling that we don’t really need any other characters: I would have happily spent 3 hours with these two, making this the rare case of a film where I just didn’t want it to end.

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Creep

If you look at him, Mark Duplass is probably the very last person you’d cross the street to avoid: with his constant grin, sarcastic demeanor and doofy “every-man” bearing, Duplass seems like the epitome of the comedy “lifer.” Immense kudos to Duplass and co-writer/director Patrick Brice, then, for managing to make the character of Josef such a thoroughly unnerving, unsettling and, ultimately, absolutely terrifying presence. The film gradually ratchets up the tension, lulling the viewer into a false sense of security until it’s too late to realize that the subtle increase in temperature we’ve been feeling has been the duo turning the knob from “simmer” to “blast-furnace.” By that point, it’s far too late: our geese have already been cooked.

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A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night

Like the mutant offspring of Jim Jarmusch and John Hughes, Ana Lily Amirpour’s A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is equal parts art and nostalgia, teen angst and existential angst. Billed as “the first Iranian Vampire Western” and shot in gorgeous black and white, there’s a narcotic, hallucinogenic quality to the film’s gauzy cinematography and even hazier moral outlook that’s not quite like anything else out there. When Amirpour wants to draw blood, however, she’s as fearless as any horror auteur before her.

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Buzzard

As a big fan of both counterculture and “weird” films, Buzzard is the very best example of getting peanut butter in my chocolate. Fiercely anti-authoritarian, casually offensive, as fidgety as a meth addict on a bender and given to breaking minds at the drop of a hat (the film’s finale is almost as mind-melting as the conclusion to Villeneuve’s Enemy (2014), which is no mean feat), Buzzard is one of those films that’s best experienced…no mere plot description could do justice to this fundamentally cracked depiction of a day in the life of one of the most staunchly individualistic antiheroes since Holden Caulfield first flipped off the phonies some sixty years ago.

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Reality

Full disclosure: I’ve never met a Quentin Dupieux film that I wasn’t madly in love with. Period. In a world where filmmakers seem to outnumber grains of sand on the beach, Dupieux is a true visionary, a genius filmmaker whose surreal paeans to the absurdity of modern life just don’t look or feel quite like anyone else. While Reality isn’t quite as perfect as either Wrong (2012) or Wrong Cops (2014), it’s still a thoroughly mind-blowing, utterly insane and completely wonderful trip through a true artist’s immensely fucked-up mind.

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The Voices

If you would have told me that one of the most amazing, stylish, disturbing and original horror films of the year would star Ryan Reynolds and be directed by Persepolis’ (2007) Marjane Satrapi…well…I would have absolutely agreed with you, hands down. You see, advance word of mouth was so strong with The Voices (Satrapi’s first ever attempt at a horror flick) that I was already predisposed to love it before I even had a chance to see it. Luckily, this was one case of the hype being downplayed: The Voices isn’t just an amazing film…it’s a goddamn revelation and should have achieved instant classic status. Instead, this dark fable about an exceptionally disturbed man and the talking cat and dog who “guide” him is the very definition of a sleeper. In a perfect world, Reynolds would be looking at a Best Actor nomination for his performance and Satrapi would be looking at a Best Director nod for hers. If dreams really do come true, I hope Puppy Goo Goo fetches this one just for me.

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Motivational Growth

I had zero idea of what to expect going into this (the synopsis was intriguingly gonzo and it featured Jeffrey Combs, so I was definitely on-board) and precious little idea of what I had just seen when it was over. The only thing I did know? I wanted more, more, more, just like that greedy little shit, Oliver T. Motivational Growth is genuinely weird (as in “early David Lynch on acid” weird), incredibly grungy, more than a little gross, completely disturbing, uncomfortably thought-provoking, a little sad, totally outrageous, certainly not for polite company and, without a shadow of a doubt, one of my very favorite films of the entire year (the film officially received festival play in 2013 but didn’t get any kind of wider distribution until this year, hence, its relative age vs release discrepancy). What’s it about? In a nutshell, a shut-in receives life-coaching advice from a large patch of talking fungus on his bathroom wall. Terrible, hilarious, gross things ensue. In other words: this is unmitigated greatness not seen in these parts for some time.

And there you have it: my favorite nine films of 2015, thus far. I’ll leave you with a short list of the runners-up, those films that just fell short of making my short list. Let’s check back and do this all over again in 4.5 months, shall we?

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Runner-Ups (So Far)

Digging Up the Marrow

Honeymoon

Wolfcop

Zombeavers

It Follows

Spring