PAMELA ZOSLOV'S BEST MOVIES OF 2010
I may as well confess, I never liked “Best” lists. My critical Sharpie is happier when analyzing and finding fault with things than with praising them, a job that’s better left to those of sunnier disposition. And, of course, I didn’t see every movie released in 2010, avoiding stuff I’m not interested in like sci-fi and animation, and missing films I really wanted to see, like THE TILLMAN STORY. Some of the films that made my list are movies I know are flawed (like LOVE AND OTHER DRUGS), and some that didn't make the cut are prestige films that were lauded beyond their worth (like THE SOCIAL NETWORK). I’m obviously partial to documentaries and dramas about serious issues, themes not especially popular with those who like movies as a visual accompaniment to popcorn munching. With those caveats, here are the movies I remember most fondly from this year.
- INSIDE JOB – Charles Ferguson, whose NO END IN SIGHT exposed failures in the Iraq occupation (but not, alas, its mendacious justification), this year made an important documentary that dissected, in minute detail and with cathartic outrage, the reckless and villainous greed behind the global financial meltdown.
- LIFE DURING WARTIME – The long periods between films by the misanthropic genius Todd Solondz are sadly barren, but this year, Solondz followed up his 1998 masterpiece, HAPPINESS, with a superbly mournful melodrama about the same highly dysfunctional family, entirely recast.
- JOAN RIVERS: A PIECE OF WORK – One of the rare films I wished would run longer, Ricki Stern and Anne Sundberg’s profile of the 77-year-old comedienne revealed a smart, vulnerable and endearingly self-aware woman and performer who lives obsessively for her work.
- FAIR GAME – In a coup of perfect casting, Naomi Watts played Valerie Plame in Doug Liman’s penetrating drama about the covert CIA agent outed by Bush administration officials in retaliation for the exposure by husband Joe Wilson (Sean Penn, also excellent) of Bush’s lies to justify the invasion of Iraq.
- CLIENT 9: THE RISE AND FALL OF ELIOT SPITZER – Alex Gibney, who chronicled U.S. torture practices in TAXI TO THE DARKSIDE, turned his attention to the downfall of the brilliant, disgraced ex-NY governor, examining the machinations of powerful enemies, alongside reckless hubris, that brought down the onetime “Sheriff of Wall Street.” The sections delving into the demimonde of high-end prostitution were squirm-inducing, but it scarcely detracted from the film’s fascinating character study of the complex but admirably candid Spitzer, and revelations about politics and power in New York state and the U.S.
- CATFISH – Call it the anti-SOCIAL NETWORK; CATFISH was a refreshing antipode to that overpraised bore about Mark Zuckerberg’s college days. Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost’s cyber-styled documentary about a young man’s journey to find the seemingly irresistible young woman he met on Facebook is an absorbing study of the seductions and deceptions of social networking.
- THE FIGHTER – Christian Bale, who lost weight to the point of gauntness for the part, is superb in David O. Russell’s raw, heartfelt biopic about welterweight boxing champ Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg), whose career was sidetracked by the machinations and missteps of his manager-mom (a vivid Melissa Leo) and brother/trainer Dicky (Bale), a fighter who once knocked down Sugar Ray Leonard and later succumbed, for a time, to crack addiction and crime.
- TRUE GRIT – Rare is the year when a Coen brothers movie doesn’t make my year-end list, and this year the siblings presented a lyrical adaptation of Charles Portis’ Western about a 13-year-old girl (Hailee Steinfeld) who enlists the services of a hard-drinking U.S. Marshal (Jeff Bridges) to avenge the death of her father at the hands of a drunken rogue (Josh Brolin). The movie demonstrated of the sublime harmony of the Coens’ team — Joel and Ethan’s writing and direction, Roger Deakins’ stunning cinematography and Carter Burwell’s subtle, note-perfect scoring -- and a needed literary corrective to the 1969 TRUE GRIT, which turned Portis’ story about a tough, determined girl into a boisterous romp about John Wayne.
- THE KING’S SPEECH – Tom Hooper’s lovely, if rather conventional film starring Colin Firth as King George VI and Geoffrey Rush as the Australian actor-turned-speech therapist who helped him overcome a career-crippling speech defect, was a beautifully appointed two-hander, exceptionally well acted by both stars. Look for lots of annoying "Oscar" talk about this one.
- LOVE AND OTHER DRUGS – Reviled by some critics, Ed Zwick’s movie about a pharmaceutical salesman who falls for a Parkinson’s patient (Ann Hathaway) was no masterpiece, but Zwick earned my admiration for subversively disguising its devastating critique of Big Pharma as a sexy romantic tragicomedy.
THE DREGS
Drowned in Syrup – It was a good year for fans of novelist Nicholas Sparks, with two adaptations of his godawful books, which all feature star-crossed lovers and someone's horrible fatal disease. The worst was THE LAST SONG, a sticky tearjerker that showcased the nonexistent acting skills of Disney-bred pop singer Miley Cyrus, followed by the maudlin, military-inflected DEAR JOHN, which squandered the estimable talents of director Lasse Hallström and some actual actors.
Comedy Abominations – Bad comedies will always be with us, but a couple that really pushed the boundaries of badness this year were Garry Marshall’s wretched ensemble thing VALENTINE’S DAY, which not only inflicted Ashton Kutcher on us but ran about as long as The Sorrow and the Pity, and YOU AGAIN, which teamed Sigourney Weaver and Jamie Lee Curtis as rival moms in a numbingly moronic slapstick romp. But for awfulness in comedy, few movies surpassed GROWN-UPS, in which Adam Sandler and his aging pals taxed our endurance with a flabby, grimly unfunny middle-aged reunion farce that tried to wrest laughs out of pee-in-the-pool jokes and other puerile plop. And god help any children exposed to MARMADUKE, an atrocious live-action family comedy allegedly based on the famous panel comic, with Owen Wilson voicing the hapless, surfboard-riding Great Dane. So bad it scarcely qualified as a movie at all.
A Lamentation of Swans – Tchaikovsky, the composer, had a rough time of it, dying of either cholera or suicide or suicidal cholera. But thankfully he’s not alive to see his music pressed into service by BLACK SWAN, Darren Aronofsky’s adolescent masturbatory comic-book fantasy focusing on – allegedly – the world of ballet. The movie, basically Carrie in a tutu, was a psychosexual farrago posing as high art — so putrescent it had to be seen to be believed.


"Carrie in a tutu"....brilliant! Thanks for voicing a refreshing honest opinion on Black Swan, which is 2010's "Emperor Wears No Clothes" movie.
ReplyDeleteIn Black Swan, shots of Portman's dancing are almost all from the waist up; she’s obviously not doing much of the footwork; and this would be okay (since she’s playing a part), except that it is emblematic of the fakery throughout the film. Pitched as a tragic tale of sacrifice for art, it’s actually an overheated revenge fantasy of a guy rejected by a pretty girl (if a girl rejects you, she must be frigid, blah, blah, so he urges her: “Nina, you must let go, lose yourself” . . .masturbate).
ReplyDeleteThis is a film about men. All the many producers, writers, director, etc. are men. Not that works by men can’t capture a woman’s p.o.v., this just isn’t one of them. I used to not get the criticism of films about women that lack a female point of view. Now I get the bizarreness of a film about a tortured woman that doesn’t contain a real woman’s p.o.v.
The movie I saw just before Black Swan was White Material, so I had a clear sense of what it means for a film to include a woman’s p.o.v. Also, comparison with Huppert highlights the limits of Portman’s range. For all the histrionics, a very passive performance. For the first half of the film she has a mild wincing grimace to convey general anxiety—because her subtle and specific feelings (pov) are not the point of this movie. We are meant to be voyeurs.
Given her lack of range, I guess Portman won the Oscar because of the masturbation and lesbian fantasy scenes (like Halle Berry won for her “edgy” sex scenes) because this is seen as courageous art—it’s a perverted view of courage--the courage of a masochist.
All this makes me wonder about Mulholland Drive—another male fantasy cast as a lesbian fantasy—with some definite similarities to Black Swan (good girl/bad girl…whore/virgin….wow, who still thinks this division is real?)
Good points all, cgramm. I do believe the girl-on-girl action and masturbation scenes went a long way toward winning male accolades for this really wretched film. And the dialogue! Could there ever be such a person as that cartoon ballet director ("You look like a dead corpse!"). Please.
ReplyDeleteThanks for taking the time to comment, cgramm. Speaking as a male who has been known to enjoy the occasional bit of cinematic girl-on-girl action, I think Aronofsky failed even in that respect. Like everything else in 'Black Swan', I found that scene more laughable than anything else.
ReplyDeleteI definitely agree with you that this always felt like a movie written and directed by men who had no understanding of women (see my own review on the blog at http://www.clevelandmovieblog.com/2010/12/black-swan.html). And yes, 'White Material' is a considerably better film.
Have to defend 'Mullholland Drive', though. Like all of Lynch's films, it's filled with his personal obsessions, and I don't think there's any pretense of casting the lesbian scene as anyone's fantasy other than his own.
On a more serious, artistic note, the portion of the film in which that scene takes place is meant to represent the glitzy, sexy illusion of showbiz life, fame and fortune. The flip side of the film is the "reality" of Tinseltown, although this portrait is just as exaggerated and unreal in its own way.