Top 15 of the 2000s: #1

Christ almighty, we're finally here. We've covered quite a few genres, looking at everything from westerns to musicals. So what's at the top of my list? None other than the biggest film trilogy since The Godfather and Star Wars. At #1 is...




#1. "The Lord of the Rings Trilogy" (2001-03) by Peter Jackson: [NOTE] If these comments seem awkward (and long winded), it's because I already poured my heart out about this films when I talked about the entries on IMDB's top 15 list. Therefore, I've decided to take a large part of my three separate rants on each entry (starting with the second chapter: The Two Towers).
First off, right from the get go the effort is obvious. The stunning score starts to play and we hear Cate Blanchett's narration of the stunningly rendered prologue, tracing the first War of the Ring. It's still hard for me to watch the scenes in the Shire and not get slight chills by how beautiful and earthy it feels. And of course there are the other beautiful settings: immaculate Rivendell, white and glowing Lothlorien, the Mines of Moria, etc... Yet even with the prologue, there's still a lot for Mr. Jackson to set up, and he does so flawlessly. Though there are plenty of scenes that have no buildings or markings of the cultures of Middle Earth, they still feel like they're part of another world. Thrilling, dark, haunting, and beautifully rendered, it's a brilliant start to a towering trilogy. In both scale and detail these films are masterfully directed, aided by near perfect casting and of course Howard Shore's magnificent scores. On The Two Towers specifically, this one showcased Jackson's impressive ability to handle large scale action scenes (the Battle of Helm's Deep) and introduced us to one of cinema's greatest character creations: Smeagol/Gollum, as portrayed by Andy Serkis. When he first hisses "my precioussssssss", it was like a sign flashed up on the screen that said "ICONIC PERFORMANCE". In capturing both sides of Smeagol Serkis and Jackson created a rich, despicable, memorable character that leaps off of Tolkien's pages and becomes frighteningly real (credit also goes to the amazing use of motion capture technology). On a different note, one thing that also deserves mentioning is the way that Jackson and crew really made you feel the malevolence of the One Ring. Throughout the trilogy there are moments where almost all background noise is muted and all we hear is either a strange tone or a strange "whoom" sound. The effect is nothing short of hypnotic and it makes us understand why whenever characters hold the ring before their eyes, they feel compelled to just stare at it. Best example of this effect? The scene at the end of The Two Towers where Frodo, Sam, and Smeagol, captured by Faramir and his men, pass through the ruined city of Osgiliath, under siege by Orcs. Suddenly, the fearsome Nazgul and their lizard-like winged beasts soar overhead, and right on cue the sound gets turned down and people start to move in semi-slow motion as that "whoom" effect pulses from the speakers. Frodo, as if in a trance, eerily mutters "they're here" and walks up some steps, out into the open. Not missing a beat, we see one of the Black Rides rise up on his steed, the great leathery wings slowly propelling them up. The first time I saw that scene in the theater, I was so sucked in and so mesmerized, that when the Nazgul popped up I almost couldn't breathe. And that's just one of the many brilliant this magnificent (and LONG) trilogy got right. Many believe that either Fellowship or The Two Towers was the shining moment in the film trilogy, but I think that Jackson just kept topping himself, even with those 5 million endings. Yes it's long, but so were the other two, and even so there's soooooooooo much to love. Visually, this one may be the richest, grandest looking one, with grand vistas of Mordor, Minas Tirith, Minas Morgul, and the jaw dropping panoramas of the siege of Gondor and the Battle of Pelenor fields. The music is as gorgeous as ever, the bad guys as menacing, and the story as strong. Once again, Jackson is a master at making us "feel" certain situations, most notable when Frodo and Sam, beaten and exhausted, begin their ascent of Mount Doom. As they crawl up it's hard to not feel the weight that the Ring has put on them, and Sean Astin's delivery of the "I can't carry it, but I can carry you!" line, which could have been silly, is just fantastic and a wonderful testament to the story's underlying themes of friendship and loyalty. And don't even get me started on the collapse of Mordor. Call me a sicko, but it's one of the most jaw droppingly phenomenal scenes of destruction (but hey it's the bad guys, so give me a break) ever put on screen, and as it happens it's hard not to feel the sense of relief that washes over the characters. But even then it's not done. I still get chills and even a little teary eyed at the scene where Aragorn, at his crowning ceremony, sees the four Hobbits and says "you bow to no one" and everyone in the audience kneels before the four shortest people there. And with all of those endings, where did they finally cut it off? Annie Lennox's hauntingly beautiful song "Into the West". Icing on a glorious cake.

Final Grade: A++

Best Performance: Sean Astin and Ian McKellan

Best Scene: The very definition of epic - The Fall of Mordor

Top 15 of the 2000s: #2

No more explanations, no more "oops-I-did-it-again" sentences about how I keep delaying. I'm getting this countdown done this week, and that's final. Here's #2...





#2 "No Country for Old Men" (2007) by Joel and Ethan Coen: There have already been quite a few films from 2007 on this list, but none of them, amazing though they were, come close to scratching the immense brilliance of the Coen brothers' quadruple Oscar winner. Gorgeously adapted from Cormac McCarthy's novel of the same name, "No Country" showcases the Coens at the height of their cinematic powers. The emptiness of McCarthy's world is beautifully conveyed thanks to focus almost entirely on primary characters (down with the extras!) and Roger Deakins' beautifully bare opening shots of the Texas prairie combined with Tommy Lee Jones superbly restrained narration. Such an opening is eerily reminiscent of the first frames of their debut, "Blood Simple" (1984); it's a beautiful homage as well as a symbol as to how far this powerhouse directing duo has come without losing their identities. But emptiness is not all that is impressive. One thing I admire immensely about McCarthy's prose is his ability to switch from simple, "plain" dialogue to careful back-and-forth exchanges that keep you on the edge of your seat. The Coens and crew don't dissappoint here, and the fact that there are actors (damn good actors, too) saying these incredible words is enough to make me think that this is one adaptation that's as good or better than the book. Case in point: the instant-classic gas station scene, in which psycho hit-man Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem, in a chilling Oscar-winning turn) engages in a bizarre analysis of a humble store clerk. The whole interaction between both men builds beautifully, with the Coens ratcheting up the tension at a slow but effective pace. The fact that its end is so mystifying and even lightly humorous only adds to the overall effect and to Chigurh's mystique. But Bardem isn't alone as far as great performances go. Josh Brolin, often overlooked, certainly gives the least powerful performance in the film, but to totally dismiss it seems wrong. As the closest thing to a hero, Brolin makes Llewellyn a someone worth caring about, albeit from a distance. Kelly Macdonald and Garrett Dillahunt have their own small moments as Llewellyn's wife and Sheriff Bell's deputy respectively, as does Woody Harrellson as a mysterious man trying to hunt down Llewellyn's cash-filled suitcase. But the real stand-out, aside from Bardem, is Tommy Lee Jones as Sheriff Bell. He changes expression little, but there's a beautifully restrained gravity in his delivery as posture that is quite effective, especially in the divisive final minutes of the film. But ultimately, the performance that gets everyone talking is Bardem, and it's understandable. Everything from the menacing stares to the bizarro page-boy haircut seems instantly iconic, and Bardem's chilly delivery and occasionally wicked facial expressions are brilliant to experience. The New York Times' A.O. Scott put it best when he wrote, "...At its center is a figure of evil so calm, so extreme, so implacable that to hear his voice is to feel the temperature in the theater drop". As for the Coens themselves? As both directors and editors (Roderick Jaynes is the Coen's editing pseudonym), they're at the top of their game. The tension, the quietness, the pacing, and most of all their beautiful understanding of McCarthy's prose are just incredible. In many movies it can be frustrating when a film seems to either forget to tell us everything, or does so on purpose. But the Coens understand that no everything needs to be explained. When Woody Harrelson tells Brolin's Llewellyn, "you don't understand" it's a message: Llewellyn is in WAY over his head, and since he is our protagonist for most of the film, its appropriate that the audience not fully understand everything either. But what about the ending? Easily the most controversial aspect of "No Country", I was never someone who hated the film's ending. Mystifying and surprising? Certainly. But "pointless" or "stupid"? Not so fast. "No Country for Old Men" is an extremely layered film and with each viewing I pick up something new, some new detail, or some new subtlety in an actor's inflection. As for the ending, I won't rant about my theories about "what it all means", but I will say that it all begins and ends with the title of the film. It's a beautifully thematic puzzle to the best film of 2007, and my second favorite film of the decade. It is a masterwork in every sense of the word, and deserves to take its place as one of the Academy's most inspired picks for Best Picture in a long while.

Final Grade: A+

Best Performance: Javier Bardem

Best Scene: apologies about the video quality

Top 15 of the 2000s: #3

Remember when I said I was going to try and finish this list quickly in the previous installment? Yeah...I kind of lied. We've covered pretty dark territory and even though today's entry is somewhat lighter, it's not exactly a feel-good film. We're delving into fairy tale/fantasy today, and though there's plenty of beauty, there's also plenty of horror. Number 3 on the list is...





#3. "Pan's Labyrinth (2006) by Guillermo Del Toro: Though more people have certainly seen both of Del Toro's "Hellboy" films, what he deserves to be known for is "Pan's Labyrinth", his follow-up to the similarly themed ghost story "The Devil's Backbone" (2001). But while "Backbone" stayed strictly in ghost territory, "Pan's Labyrinth" moved into full-blown fantasy, and the results are nothing short of stellar. By beautifully switching between the real and the fantastical, Del Toro gives us a haunting tale of imagination, hope, fear, good, and unspeakable evil, in the context of fantasy and in the very-real Spanish Civil War. And while this film may have significantly fewer fantastical creatures than "Hellboy", they carry more weight and seem to have more thought: the mystic faun who guides protagonist Ophelia on her three tasks, the slimy toad draining the life from the twisted tree in the woods, and most memorably, the terrifying creature known only as the Pale Man, whose eyes reside in sockets cut into his palms. Theirs is a realm filled with both beauty and ugliness, often in the same frame, thanks to the gorgeous set design and photography (and I know I'm in the minority, but I still think that this film deserved its cinematography Oscar much more than the wildly overpraised "Children of Men"). But it's not just the fantasy creatures that leave an impression. The real world sequences can both be soft and light, or dark and grimy with flashes of unsettling violence and cruelty. And what better way to epitomize cruelty than in the Capitan, played with mesmerizing intensity by Sergi Lopez, who firmly deserved a Supporting Actor nomination for creating such a singularly sinister character without ever devolving into caricature. His mere presence, particularly in the latter half of the film, is enough to evoke both fear and disgust. It certainly doesn't hurt that the other major roles are played so well. As Ophelia, Ivanna Baquero brings a lovely doe-eyed innocence to the role that makes her willingness to accept the faun's (Doug Jones) proposal that much more effective, and her fate(s) that much more powerful. Backing her up are Jones, who spends the entire film in different sets of astonishing makeup, and Maribel Verdu as Mercedes, the maid in the Capitan's woodland home who develops a bond with Ophelia. But what's truly so mesmerizing about the film is Del Toro's skill as a director and writer. The film is neither overwhelmed by reality or fantasy, and the characters, though firmly divided in regards to whether they are good or evil, feel grounded in some sense of reality. But his greatest achievement is how he is able to evoke so much without ever going overboard. We can feel the pain of injuries inflicted on characters without being subjected to over-the-top gore, feel tension without cheap tricks, and feel uplifted or heart-broken by the various turns in the story, aided beautifully by Javier Navarrete's score (why exactly did this lose to "Babel"?). As dark as it can be, there remains something beautifully hopeful about Del Toro's often somber fantasy. It is a fairy-tale for adults whose impact can best be summed up by its tagline: Innocence has a power Evil cannot imagine.

Final Grade: A+

Best Performance: Sergi Lopez

Best Scene:

Top 15 of the 2000s: #4

We're getting closer. Who knows, maybe we'll eventually get done with this damn thing! Alas we come to #4, and let me preface this by saying that if you thought #5 was a downer, you ain't seen nothin' yet. How much more bleak can my selections for this list get? Let's find out. Number 4 on the countdown is none other than...






#4. "Dancer in the Dark" (2000) by Lars Von Trier: The year 2000 seems to have been a strong one (this being the third entry from that year), and what better way to top it all off than with one of the most bleak, but also most powerful films of this, or any decade. I've mentioned the misogyny arguments made against Von Trier before, so I won't go into much detail with this film, despite its unrelenting hardships that it throws upon its protagonist. What I will comment on is how damn moving this story of betrayal is, not to mention how shockingly well-acted the central role is. You may remember the 2001 Oscar ceremony, where internationally renowned Icelandic pop singer Bjork made headlines (and more than a few Worst Dressed lists) when she showed up wearing the now-infamous "swan dress". Turns out, THIS is the movie she was there to support, because she was nominated for Best Original Song. What's a shame is that she herself wasn't in contention for Best Actress, because under Von Trier's direction, Bjork gives what may just be the most powerful female performance of the decade. Her character, an increasingly sight-challenged Czech immigrant, is immediately one we can feel for, and Von Trier manages to evoke strong emotions without yanking at our heartstrings. Whether it's through conversations with neighbors or friends, or listening to her in a courtroom (you'll have to see the film for yourself to understand why), or watching her burst out into bizarro fantasy musical numbers, we develop a connection to Selma, making her unbelievably unjust trials and tribulations all the more devastating. The punishments Von Trier inflicts on Selma are almost unbelievably cruel, but the amount of emotional release at the finale is so overwhelming, so staggering in its emotional devastation, that it's difficult to not be impressed with what Von Trier have pulled off. Aside from Bjork, there are excellent performances from Catherine Deneuve as Salma's worker and friend, David Morse as a less-than-honest neighbor, and Siobhan Fallon as a prison guard, making surprising impact in very limited time on screen. But the film ultimately belongs to Bjork, who, even if she never ever acts again, deserves to be remembered for this performance, and less for a questionable dress.

Final Grade: A+

Best Performance: Bjork

Best Scene:

Top 15 of the 2000s: #5

Yes, folks, we've finally made it here: the top 5 on my increasingly sluggish countdown. We've gone through everything from westerns to musicals, and at last we've reached the top of (or rather the bottom of the top of) my favorite films from the decade (so far...). My #6 entry was a rather dark film, and so is today's. If you've been following the countdown closely, you might want to start taking some "happy pills", because #5 is none other than...






#5: "Requiem for a Dream" (2000) by Darren Aronofsky: Drug addiction. Not exactly the sort of subject matter that makes one rush to the theater, is it? Understandable, but if you can gather up enough courage to take the plunge, you'll find yourself handsomely rewarded (and extremely depressed). Perhaps Aronofsky's most well-known film, "Requiem" is easily one of the most bleak films I've ever seen, but it is also one of the most compelling. From its strange opening frames bolstered by kinetic camera work and Clint Mansell's haunting score, it is a gripping downward spiral that never lets go, highlighted by a host of stellar performances from Ellen Burstyn, Jared Leto, Jennifer Connelly, and Marlon Wayans (yup, same guy who was in "White Chicks"). Leto and Wayans are both likeable and convincing as a pair of friends who go down the wrong path in order to earn some extra cash, and Connelly is excellent as Leto's emotionally ill-fated girlfriend. However, this film ultimately belongs to Ellen Burstyn as Leto's mother Sarah, who slowly succumbs to addiction in order to be on TV and look good. It's a truly staggering achievement that never fails to strike a rich emotional chord. Watching Burstyn's descent from simple old lady to gaunt drug addict is certainly disturbing, but also compelling and heartbreaking. But what's always the most surprising part of "Requiem" for me is the way Aronofsky injects his grimy story with some sense of style. It's not "pretty", but the edits (namely in the first half) give the story a sense of momentum, allowing the story to develop without getting bogged down in its own weighty subject matter. Particularly effective are the rapid shots used when Leto and company are getting high, which always end with an extreme close up of an eye relaxing. It's an effective visual device that gives us a glimpse at what it feels like to be high, without going into too much detail. The detail, of course, is wisely placed in the finale, where all four characters go into downward spirals so horrible that it can be hard to watch, not because of the images on screen, but simply because of the nature of what is happening. Suddenly Leto develops an infection on his arm, Connelly, is forced to sell herself for money, and most disturbingly, Sarah's fantasies turn into nightmares, one of which will leave you permanently terrified of refrigerators. All along the way, we're guided by Mansell's haunting music, which in one sequence is used in place of electronic shocks given to Sarah, and in another adds to the emotional horror felt by Connelly when she first performs a sex act for money. What's amazing is that through it all Aronofsky never goes overboard in his decision of what to show and what to hide. Sure, some of it is going to be uncomfortable, but he never shoves it in your face just for pure shock value; he shows you something horrible in order to make you feel, and get the slightest sense of desperation and pain these people are in at the film's close (which might be one of the most heartbreaking fantasy scenes of all time). With "Requiem for a Dream", Mr. Aronofsky and his monumentally talented cast and crew have taken a difficult subject and turned it into a film that is compelling on all levels, despite being hard to watch. If this one doesn't scare you away from drugs, I don't know what will...

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Ellen Burstyn

Best Scene: The best scenes all occur near the end and deserve to be seen in full context, so once again I'll post the trailer. Apologies to those who wanted a clip...

Top 15 of the 2000s: #6

Well, we've come quite a ways, and now we're just outside of the Top 5. However, there's still one more before we get there, and it's a doozy. Not only is it on the obscure side (it barely made $2 million at the box office despite some big names), but it's a bit slow and runs quite long, AND it's extremely experimental. It's also a bit confusing to determine what year it was released, because it came out in different places over a stretch of time. For my own purposes, I've labeled it as the year in which it received a US release, thereby qualifying it for the Oscars it richly deserved, but never got close to obtaining. If you haven't guessed already, the #6 film on the countdown is none other than...





#6. "Dogville" (2004) by Lars Von Trier: Ask someone why he/she hates Lars Von Trier and one of the standard responses is that he's a misogynist when it comes to storytelling. His female characters often go through slow, tortuous, drawn-out Hell, before reaching an ending that's even more unpleasant. There isn't too much that's different in "Dogville", save for one aspect...but let's save that for later. Von Trier's films always straddle the thin line between art and madness, and this one is no exception, its length (3 hours) not helping matters. However, it's on my list, so obviously I have quite a few good things to say about it. First, on the issue of length, I will concede that the first 45 minutes are slow without being terribly interesting. This is the film's greatest hurdle, BUT if you can make it past that, the film does begin to become increasingly fascinating even while keeping more or less the same pace. Adding to the interest is the production as a whole. Von Trier is basically credited with starting the Dogme 95 movement, which seeks to strip down films to their bare essentials, and the ideas of Dogme 95 are without a doubt best showcased in "Dogville". Shot entirely on a soundstage, the film has no full sets, with white chalk outlines taking the place of buildings or rooms, often with labels like "Ma Ginger's Store" or "The church" or "the sage garden". There aren't even doors, requiring actors to mime the movements of knocking on or opening them while sounds play at the same time. This technique which so easily could have become annoying soon becomes seamless, because Von Trier never makes a big deal about it; it's just another part of the background. This also applies to John Hurt's brilliant, sickly-sweet, irony-soaked, narration, which despite often giving us internal glimpses into glimpses that could have been illuminated via dialogue, never feels like a cheat. In fact, Hurt, only present in voice, gives one of the best performances of the whole film. But of course there's still the issue of Von Trier's "misogyny", and for most of the movie, it might seem a bit hard to deny. Grace (Nicole Kidman), an outsider who does nothing wrong and only wants to help the townspeople to repay them for sheltering her, soon contracts "Scarlett Letter"-syndrome, and becomes subject to the wrath of people hiding under the guise of morality. She is abused mentally and physically, even becoming the town whore. At one point she is even forced to wear a chain with a hubcap at the end, so that she must drag it along everywhere she goes. And happens when people see her wearing the device? Local children sit on the hubcap and pelt her with snowballs, while their parents look on and do nothing. Throughout all of this, the entire cast is superb, with the best being Kidman, Paul Bettany, and Patricia Clarkson (who shares the film's most powerful scene with Kidman). In what I refer to as Von Trier's "Suffering Women Trilogy", Kidman perhaps gives the second best lead performance, which is high praise considering that she's in the company of outstanding work from Emily Watson and Bjork (yes, that Bjork). And for a film set on such a bare stage, I remember being impressed by the set design, cinematography, and the limited score. But of course, at the end of the day, there's still the question of misogyny, and honestly, I think the way Von Trier ends the film might be the most wickedly clever way of fighting back at those claims (at least temporarily). Once I finally realized what the film was about to do in its final minutes, I had trouble repressing a slight smile, a smile which might not have happened without such an extensive run-time around which to slowly build tension. It's too good to spoil, but I'll just end by saying that while "Dogville" may only be #6 on my list, it's certainly #1 as far as endings go.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Nicole Kidman AND Patricia Clarkson

Best Scene: Unfortunately, the clips I was able to find weren't available for embedding, so I've posted the trailer instead...

Top 15 of the 2000s: #7

I just realized that I was intent on having this list totally done by the beginning of this week. Hmmm. Looks like I've fallen out of sync with my plans. Well, for those of you who've been waiting, here's the next entry on my countdown...






#7 "Chicago" (2002) by Rob Marshall: The second part of the one-two-punch musical revival at the start of the new century, "Chicago" introduced us to a very special type of musical. Whereas "Moulin Rouge!" was a successful ORIGINAL musical (sort of...), "Chicago" had concrete source material. And not just any source material, but material that was often deemed "unfilmable". And this is where I get to segue into my rant about the brilliance of Rob Marshall. Ah, how I've waited for this moment. There's plenty to praise, but if there's one refreshing trait that Mr. Marshall brought to the stage-to-screen musical film, it's his understanding of what makes a coherent, consistent musical. Instead of simply shooting the musical sequences exactly as they would have appeared in the context of the story, Mr. Marshall wisely came up with the idea to tell "Chicago"'s story via a smart framing device: the show in Roxie's (Renee Zellweger) mind; every song in some way involves Roxie, whether she's getting involved, or simply listening. It also allows for Marshall to stage many of his numbers on more sparesly decorated, "stagey" minimalist sets without looking awkward or cheap. This was why the song "Class" (which was actually filmed), sung by Catherine Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah, appears nowhere in the film. "But wait a minute," you say, "Mr. Cellophane doesn't involve Roxie at all!" That's right, it doesn't. So why does Mr. Marshall still include this, and not "Class"? Because he understands the material so damn well. Jones and Latifah's characters appear in at least one other number in the film, whereas John C. Reilly's character Amos gets nothing other than "Mr. Cellophane" (also, "Mr. Cellophane" is ten times better than "Class"). The song is also more compelling than "Class", and in a film filled with cynicism and satire, gives us a surprisingly powerful moment and makes us feel for a character who is just a dope. But that's not to discredit the power of the other songs. While songs such as "Cell Block Tango" may be as satirical as you can get, there's an undeniable impact from watching such a song so expertly staged and ferociously well performed (especially Zeta-Jones, who puts in 120% even when everyone else is already putting in 100%). Then there's the brilliance of the song "Roxie", which may actually deserve an award for minimalist opulence. Using nothing but a dark sound stage, cleverly arranged mirors, and Zellweger in a shimmery silver dress, the scene is a true artistic triumph on all fronts. And let's not forget the cast by any means. First of all, there's Zellweger, who no one would have ever picked for a singer, and yet under Marshall's guidance she blossoms and gives the best performance in her whole career. Richard Gere is another surprise and the slick lawyer and his chemistry with Zellweger is off the charts (the "They Both Reached for the Gun" number is genius). Latifah is yet another surprise. Not because of her singing, but because of the presence and attitude she brings to the role; it's a joy to watch her. John C. Reilly, like Latifah, is another cast member who takes only having one song and making it count: His rendition of "Mr. Cellophane" is gorgeous and charged with passion. But nothing comes close to Zeta-Jones, who won a well deserved Supporting Actress Oscar for the role of Velma Kelly, the singer turned murderess who becomes Roxie's competition for fame. She sings with so much energy that I'd question if you have a pulse if you didn't get chills during "Cell Block Tango", and she moves across the sets with immense verve and power, her legs pounding up and down like pistons on a six cylinder engine. Add in the fact that she was pregnant while filming, and the accomplishment becomes even more impressive. So that's "Chicago", the movie that completed what "Moulin Rouge!" started a year earlier. It works surprisingly well as a companion piece to Luhrmann's work, as it takes a minimalist route while "Rouge" goes all-out, and together the two created a dazzling revival of a genre many had assumed was dead and buried. At this February's Oscar ceremony, host Hugh Jackman at one point declared that the musical was back due to the success of "Mamma Mia!". While I think Mr. Jackman did a great job as host, I did take issue with the comment, because, really, the musical has been back since 2001/2002, and we shouldn't forget it. Besides, if we're going to credit just ONE film with bringing back the musical, do we really want it to be "Mamma Mia!"? I don't think so...

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Catherine Zeta-Jones

Best Scene: Honestly, almost every one is a masterpiece of staging and singing, so I'll cheat and pick THREE. Enjoy.

Top 15 of the 2000s: #8

A quick note about today's entry: I made a mistake in the last post, and labeled it as #10, when it is in fact #9, thereby making today's film #8. All clear? Right then, here we go...






#8. "There Will Be Blood" (2007) by Paul Thomas Anderson: Yes, yet another film from 2007 has made it onto this list, and is unique particularly in regards to its director. Why? Because he is what Rottentomatoes.com refers to as a "VCR filmmaker": someone who learned about movies simply by watching lots of them, as opposed to going through intensive film school programs. But even there, the film differs from Anderson's other films. It is the furthest back in time that Anderson has even ventured with a story, and also lacks the presence of two key themes in his films: divine fate and the serendipitous nature of love. What we are given instead is a ferocious, sprawling battle between faith and capitalism at their worst. In adapting Upton Sinclair's novel "Oil", Anderson created one of the most striking films of this or any decade. Let's start with the most obvious success: Daniel Day-Lewis as Daniel Plainview. Much like co-winner Marion Cotillard, Day-Lewis' Oscar winning turn immediately brings to mind words like "triumphant" and "staggering", and indeed he is. Even the voice, which could have easily become cartoonish in less capable hands, adds to this tremendous work. Plainview is driven by no code except his desire for success and wealth, even if it means pretending to accept Christ to do it; the character is larger than life without feeling like it was created by broad strokes alone. It's still fascinating to watch the way Plainview reacts to his "son" H.W.; is he using him purely for profit, or does he actually have *gasp* feelings for the boy? It's just more evidence towards the argument that Day-Lewis is one of the greatest currently-working actors around. But he isn't alone on screen. The only significant character is Eli Sunday played by Paul Dano, who gives a performance that wasn't quite as well received as the former. Honestly, I keep flip flopping on the performance. I don't think that it's bad, but there are times when Dano seems to hit more false notes than true ones, and vice a versa. He certainly does have his brilliant moments - the scenes when he's in "preacher mode" are fantastic - so for now I'll give him a pass. Besides, his chemistry with Day-Lewis is just too good to discredit. Luckily, we have more than just performances. Despite clocking in at nearly 3 hours, there's a steady sense of intrigue which is superbly set up at the beginning. With little to no dialogue in its opening, only a few noises along Johnny Greenwood's brilliant score (which was disqualified from the Oscars for petty reasons), it's a brilliant way to start a film, even if one's gut reaction is to point at the screen and yell, "2001: A Space Odyssey!!!" It's the momentum established at this opening that helps make the first half of the film the strongest. It starts in silence, then moves on to Plainview's first encounters with the Sunday family and the town where they live, to the construction of the oil rig, to the film's stunning central "action" sequence: the oil derrick fire. The derrick hits a gusher, only to catch fire. Yet even as the pillar of flame cuts across the darkening sky like the stroke of a paintbrush, Plainview sits and starts to smile, even as he sits covered in oil and HW lies injured. But of course those visuals don't just appear by themselves. Much credit goes to Roger Elswit, whose work beat Deakins' stellar work in "Jesse James". While I still think Deakins did a superior job, it's hard to ignore the impact of Elswit's camera work and lighting. In one fantastic scene of symbolism, we cut to a shot with the camera placed on railroad tracks, looking on, waiting for a train. But a train does not come. Instead, riding on the road beside the tracks comes Plainview in a car, charging into the new town like modernization incarnate. It's just of several brilliant artistic/technical moments that the film has to offer. But while the first half of the film is close to perfect, it does make a few missteps in its second half. A subplot involving Plainview's "brother", while somewhat important, seems to drag, while also giving us the most confusing usage of the phrase "brother from another mother". It's hard to tell if Anderson wants a wicked laugh, or if the line is funny unintentionally (though knowing Anderson, I'd suspect the former). And then there's the ending. Oh lord, the ending. As if the film wasn't filled with enough madness in the clashes between Plainview and Sunday before, it's the final 20 minutes that mark the unapologetic descent into total chaos. At first it's a little off-putting, but on rewatches the finale has, for me, come to showcase pitch black humor at its most grandiose. And the film's final line, uttered by a heaving Plainview? Just the cherry on top of a warped sundae.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Daniel Day-Lewis

Best Scene:

Top 15 of the 2000s: #9

The much like the previous entry, the next film on my list is part of a genre that has fallen on recent times. And, like the previous entry, #10 is quite different in terms of storytelling conventions. While it certainly fits into its genre, it's a artful, more meditative example that will make you re-think the ways in which these sorts of films can be made. That film and its genre are...





#9. "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" (2007) by Andrew Dominik: It didn't help this film's prospects in that it was a western, a genre that had long since fallen out of favor in Hollywood. Making things worse? It boasts little to no "action" and suffered delays and re-edits, leading many to worry about the finished product. When the final product finally arrived, some were still not pleased (The New York Times called it, "a gorgeous snooze"), but the film received mostly positive reviews, two well deserved Oscar nominations, and a steadily growing fan base. And many, myself included, would argue that this, and not "3:10 t0 Yuma" (also 2007) is actually the "best western since 'Unforgiven'" (Houston Chronicle). So why is it so damn good? Well, at the risk of spewing Western-blasphemy, because it lacks action; no gunfights, no fist fights in a saloon, no dusty frontier towns, nothing. Instead, we are given a compelling (albeit quite long) look at two men - Jesse James (Brad Pitt) and Robert Ford (Casey Affleck) - and the way their lives interact on the way to the ultimate, tragic consequences. If there's one thing I will agree with the NYT on, it's that the film is gorgeous. Lensed by master cinematographer Roger Deakins (who still doesn't have an Oscar...WHY?), the film is unbelievably gorgeous. The scenes of characters sitting in golden wheat fields, or the way light filters through smoke/steam during the nighttime train robbery scene, are just a few scenes that demonstrate Deakins' brilliance. But of course there's more than just looking pretty, and luckily everyone else is playing at the same level of excellence as Deakins. Pitt, who is infinitely better here than his recent Oscar-nominated turn in "Benjamin Button", makes a surprisingly powerful Jesse James, giving the somewhat mythic western figure a sense of power, while also showing his vulnerabilities, namely in a scene where he begins to beat a young boy before letting him go and quietly crying to himself. But he's also intimidating as hell. During conversations in which his face is filled with confidence, Pitt keeps us on edge, and leaves us wondering what, if anything, will make him snap. Of course, as many have pointed out, the real star of the show is Affleck, a role that some actually consider to be just as much, if not more of, a lead than Pitt (Affleck was nominated for Best Supporting Actor). While I still haven't come to a clear decision on that matter, what I do know is that Affleck's performance is a work of quietly unsettling excellence. Never going into hysterics or over-the-top idiosyncrasies, the most telling sign of his character is in his manner of speech, which leads James' uncle to say early on in the film, "you give me the creeps, boy". But even better is when the fame-hungry Ford rattles off an eerie list of similarities between he and James. The combination of Affleck's sullen attitude and Pitt's intimidating presence is what I'd like to call "quietly electrifying". Aiding these two superb performances are a whole host of small supporting roles, including Paul Schneider, Jeremy Renner, Sam Rockwell, Garrett Dillahunt, Allison Elliot, and Zooey Deschanel. The only weak link of the cast is Mary Louise Parker as James' wife. There's nothing wrong with 99% of this small role, but in Parker's one "BIG SCENE", she's less compelling and more awkward. Luckily she's a tiny tiny tiny part of the film, and there's still more to compensate. Andrew Dominik's superb, level-headed direction keeps the story moving along, and the massive 2 hr 45 min film rarely lags. The mood and tone are both beautifully established by Dominik and crew. Last and certainly not least by any means is Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' gorgeously elegiac score, which soars in several spots, without ever becoming overwhelming; it always stays in sync with the meditative tone of events on screen. So while Dominik's work was sorely ignored and the box office and only marginally better recognized in Awards Season, it stands as a long, elegiac, character driven work of art, bolstered by two compelling co-lead performances that is haunting in sight and sound. It may be quiet, but it's anything but a snooze.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Casey Affleck

Best Scene: This may be Deakins' crowning moment in the whole film, especially towards the beginning...

Top 15 of the 2000s: #10

The next entry on my list is a tricky one. Not only does it come from a highly divisive genre, but this particular film from said genre is one of the definitive "love it or hate it" films of this, or any, decade. Obviously I'm on the "love" side of the argument, and here's why...








#10 "Moulin Rouge!" (2001) by Baz Luhrmann: The first half of the one-two-punch musical revival in the early years of the 21st century, "Moulin Rouge!" is a film that simultaneously enthralls and turns off sectors of the audience in its first 25 minutes. After a brief but somber opening, we flash back to a world of color, decadence, Absinthe-induced hallucinations, and anachronistic singing, nearly all of which takes place under the titular dance hall/brothel. The humor is wacky and broad, the editing frenetic as all get out, and the combination of past and present and everything in between seamless, albeit a tad jarring at first (it's not everyday the Green Fairy whisks you off to a nightclub before turning into Ozzy Osbourne). So while the first portion of the film may hectically cover everything from Nirvana to classic Broadway tunes, it does so on its own terms, and thus the songs fit into Luhrmann's wild vision instead of sticking out awkwardly and clashing with each other. By turning to more modern music, Luhrmann is able to give us a better perspective of the decadence of places like the Moulin Rouge. But it's not just a pleasure for the ears; visually it's one of the most beautiful things ever put on film, with rich reds filling up the background while golds, blues, greens, and just about everything else take up the rest of the space, whether it's in the sets or the stunning costumes, both of which won well-deserved Oscars. Performances are nothing short of a delight. McGregor's evolution from shy, nervous, and appropriately named writer (Christian) to true-blue bohemian is a joy to watch, made even better by his remarkable singing voice. Jim Broadbent as the larger than life Harold Zidler, John Leguizamo as Toulouse Lautrec, and Richard Roxburgh as the villainous Duke only add to the color on screen. But the film ultimately belongs to McGregor and the as-yet-unmentioned Nicole Kidman as Satine, the jewel of the Moulin Rouge. Whether she's singing a sexy and stunning rendition of "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend", or tearing up and desperately trying to escape from her arranged marriage to the Duke with old Hollywood style, she's absolutely radiant, and gets to loosen up and play a warmer character than usual. As one critic put it in his review, "Kidman does not let the costumes wear her; she most definitely wears them." Where Lurhmann also succeeds is in his ability to move between comedy, drama, and tragedy effortlessly. A scene involving a tragic incident is followed by a hilarious and outrageous rendition of "Like a Virgin". But Luhrmann is no slouch when it comes to the serious stuff. Appropriately, as the film draws toward its climax, the pacing gradually decreases, which helps to build and emphasize the emotions being played out on screen, and in both dialogue and song, the film can be serious, but always with a dramatic flair. Indeed, this being a musical, the film's best and darkest sequence is a stunning rendition of The Police's "Roxanne", which is turned into a passionate tango. Yet for all its style, the film's ending never loses impact, not only thanks to the strength of the leads, but also due to Mr. Luhrmann's ability to make us care for these people amid all of the visual chaos. So for all of its strangeness and creative liberties, there's still the matter of the story. Yes, when you strip away all of the bright lights and gorgeous costumes it IS your typical "boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy tries to get girl back" love story, but what makes Mr. Lurhmann's polarizing, visually overwhelming movie a success can be summed up in one simple saying: sometimes you don't need to tell a unique story, but just tell a story that's been done before in a way so refreshing and different that it makes it feel new all over again.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Nicole Kidman

Best Scene:

Top 15 of the 2000s: #11

I mentioned that the last film on my countdown was one that not too many have seen because of its central figure. This is not the case for today's entry. You might have a hard time finding people who haven't seen it. Yet despite the colossal hype, and the often ridiculous hard core fans, enough rewatches have convinced me that it wasn't just the hype that led to my reaction; I just feel that the film is that damn good. And if that means running the risk of being lumped together with a bunch of pyschopaths, then so be it. The next film on the countdown, coming in a #11 is none other than...





#11. "The Dark Knight" by Christopher Nolan: In someways I'm not at all surprised that this is number 1 on IMDb's list. For one, it's quite recent and exceeded sky high expectations. Naturally fanboys appeared. Hell, there was an online uproar when the film wasn't nominated for Best Picture, one that certainly didn't happen all of the times that Pixar has been left out of the running for the big prize. In fact, it may have been the biggest outpouring of rage since *gasp* the "Eternal Sunshine" snub. Of course, with anything so insanely popular with both critics and audiences, there's going to be some backlash. And y'know, there are some good reasons to label this film as overrated (however, this does NOT include using the "the movie wouldn't have been anything special without Heath Ledger argument". He WAS in it. A is A. You can't create a reality where he wasn't in it so the "criticism" is invalid). In fact, this was part of why I saw the movie multiple times (twice in theaters and twice on DVD), each time fearful that suddenly I would see something that would make me say "yup, I bought into the hype. The movie is good but it isn't THAT good". Well, four viewings later, I still love the movie, and the only reason I don't like it's being on IMDb's list is that it will only make the vocal haters that much louder. So, why do I love this film so much? It all comes down to the relentless energy. Though, when you really look at it there isn't a whole lot of action, it's engaging and exciting the entire way through, thanks to the editing and camera work, in which there are rarely scenes in which the camera doesn't move at least a little. In some ways, the Joker's scenes, which are filled with such intensity, almost create what one might call "dialogue-action scenes". The opening heist, aside from being a wonderul homage to "Heat", showcases everything that's right with the movie. The editing is tight, the score perfectly matching the rhythm and energy of events onscreen, and best of all, it feels, dare I say it, real. It's a "superhero" movie, yet it feels so grounded in reality, and really this could only have been done with a hero like Batman, who has no superpowers (not to mention that his outfit is black, making it seem less cartoony). And best of all, there are none of those "cute" little moments that are there to remind you that it's a superhero movie (I'm referring to scenes like one in "Spiderman 2" where Peter Parker, in normal clothing, jumps super high out of the way of a truck. Two little kids look at him and ask "how did you do this?" to which we get the oh-so-precious reply of "y'know, go to school, eat your vegetables". Eh...). One of my favorite aspects of the movie, which has received more discussion than I would have thought, is the score. Some find that it adds unecesary tension to scenes that are already tense on their own. It's a fair point: The Hurt Locker had plenty of tension with virtually no music. Even so, I stand by the score. "The Dark Knight" is a big movie in every sense, and the music only helped to push scenes that were tense into the territory of "holy crap I can't breathe". Most notable was that one drawn out note on a violin/electric guitar/cello(???) that was more or less the Joker's "theme". It would play, and gradually increase in volume, and that one simple effect was enough to make my heart race. The scene where the Joker corners Rachel and starts to tell her how he got his scars, as the camera menacingly circled around them? Part of the reason that scene is etched in my brain is because of the presence of the music. And then there's the Joker. If there's one part of this film that even the detractors won't diss, it's Ledger's performance. And the more times I see it, the more I realize that it doesn't matter if he's dead or not, it's just an amazing performance, all around, and totally worthy of the massive hype. Both terrifying and darkly funny (the pencil scene, anyone?), it's hands down one of the greatest villains ever created, and a true testament to Ledger's talent. In fact, in the course of the 2.5 hour movie, he's only on screen for 20 minutes. That's right, 20. Before I found this out, I would have sworn he was in it for at least double that. That's how much of an impact he has. That's not to discredit the rest of the cast, who often get overlooked due to their much less colorful roles. Aaron Eckhart in particular is excellent, and Maggie Gyllenhaal brought a refreshing toughness to the role of Rachel (although this might have been due to the fact that, unlike Katie Holmes, she doesn't look like she's 12). So, do I have anything bad to say about this movie? Actually, yes. Even in the countless raves of this film, the one thing that people will take (slight) issue with it Christian Bale's "Batman voice", and I have to admit, I'm not a huge fan either. It's not gut-wrenchingly awful, or bad enough to seriously detract from the movie, but it's still a bit much. Specifically at the end of the film, where everyone is probably emotionally drained beyond all belief, and yet he still has enough energy to maintain the voice, even delivering a mini-speech to Gary Oldman's Lt. Gordon? Really? However, is the voice, which isn't there too much anyway since much of the film has Bale as Bruce Wayne, enough to make me think any less of the movie? Not at all. Is it important? At the risk of sounding totally silly and pretentious, I still say yes. Why? Because it showed us that a "comic book movie" could be something more, to the point where the only thing comic-like about it is the fact that a guy wears a cape for parts of the story. Other than that it isn't a comic book movie; it's a full blown epic crime thriller. But if we're going to put it on a list that honors the best efforts of this incredible decade, maybe it doesn't need to be all the way at #1...

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Heath Ledger

Best Scene: If there's one moment that really captured the madness of the Joker, it's this. Honestly, this scene freaks me out more than many horror movies do in their entirety.

Top 15 of the 2000s: #12

It's not an easy task to balance entertainment value with the Ick Factor. When the subject matter at hand has the potential to creep out the audience to the point where they just want to get out of the theater, one has to be careful. Today's entry is an example of how to balance ick with entertainment. It is a look into the twisted mind of a man fighting against excessive censorship by publishing some of the most lewd, sexually perverse texts ever written. But despite the central character's unnerving mind, the film in question never goes overboard in its exploration, and presents us with an informative portrait of its protagonist (if he can be called that) without creeping us out so much that we feel nauseous while watching it. The film I'm talking about is...





#12. "Quills" (2000) by Philip Kaufman: A movie about part of the life of the Marquis de Sade...not exactly something most people would rush out to the theater to see. Yet Kaufman's film, highlighted by a stunning lead performance by Geoffrey Rush, is a film that deserves to be seen, for giving us the portrait of a disturbing individual, without disturbing the audience too deeply. It opens with the execution of a young woman. From a window up above, the Marquis looks on, the slightest look of erotic pleasure etched in his face. It's a simple but effective intro to the rebellious man we're going to get to know over the course of the film. Rush is at his best here, blowing his Oscar-winning turn in "Shine" (1996) out of the water. He is demented, sly, perverted, and filled with a delicious black wit, that provides several surprising moments of dark humor. When he starts playing mind games with Abbe dul Coulmier (Joaquin Phoenix) and even hints at trying to seduce him, Rush, although not handsome by any means, manages to be eerily alluring and mesmerizing, even as he stands before the Abbe with his pale lumpy form totally exposed. Phoenix, Winslet, and Michael Caine are also strong in their respective roles as the well-intentioned Abbe, the mischievous maid, and the prudish doctor, but at its core, this is Rush's show, and Kaufman and crew couldn't have had a better leading man to work with. But what's also impressive about "Quills" is its pacing and storytelling. The events are set almost entirely within extremely confined settings, and yet the story never feels limited or stagey (the film is adapted from Doug Wright's play of the same name), because of Kaufman and cinematographer Rogier Stoffers' wise choices to include well timed shots of hallways, and the occasional wide shot of a room, giving the confines of the mental institution a greater sense of space. Adding to the overall atmosphere are the production values and Steven Warbeck's deliciously strange score, which alternates between low-key seduction with violins and cellos and eerie unnerving clacking sounds. "Quills" is also worth recognizing for its achievement in editing. It's not entirely true, but there is a stereotype that period pieces tend to be sluggishly paced, but such is not the case here. The film clips along beautifully, never feeling rushed, and always keeping the audience interested to see where the story is going next. Kaufman's film, elevated by Rush's towering work has managed to retain its impact as a wickedly fascinating treat the beautifully weaves between disturbing character study and pitch-black comedy, and manages to turn de Sade into a character who's worth rooting for. Well...almost.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Geoffrey Rush

Best Scene: The Marquis tries to seduce the Abbe. I couldn't find the clip; here's the trailer to make up for it.

Top 15 of the 2000s: #13

The next entry on our countdown comes from cinema's grand maestro of the weird and deeply disturbing. When I saw this film, it was my first brush ever with his work, and I've been fascinated and frightened by him ever since. Originally conceived as a TV series, it was then completed and tweaked to make a movie for theatrical release, and what a movie it is. At times delightfully weird, eerily mysterious, and disturbing and scary as hell, it is a beautifully acted, challenging, and above all else, original, cinematic achievement that earned its director his fourth Best Director nomination, and gave one of Hollywood's current most talented actresses the role of a lifetime. The film in questions is none other than...






#13. "Mulholland Dr." by David Lynch: As unbelievably disturbing as David Lynch can be (I'm still recovering from "Blue Velvet"), he does know how to create atmosphere, and "Mulholland Dr." is no exception. And while portions are certainly mind-benders, even the segments that present unanswered questions still remain compelling, because of the way Lynch is able to, whether by means of framing, lighting, sound, or dialogue, create a sense of mystery and dread. Even when scenes are bright and sunny, he still has the ability to create terrifying scenarios. Take the scene in the diner, early on in the film. A nervous looking man relates to his friend about a scary figure who he is convinced can see him through the walls. He then walks with his friend out behind the diner. As they approach the fence at the back of the gravel covered space, a dirt covered figure simply slides out from the abyss to a blaring flourish of music. The man falls to the ground screaming while his friend looks on stoically, and the sound is all but cut out. It's a prime example of how Lynch can turn scenarios that should either be laughable or just plain nonsensical absorbing, scary, and haunting. Performance wise, the film also contains some of the best work in Lynch's career thanks to Naomi Watts. Her transformation from pure, wide-eyed aspiring actress into self-destructive mess is a strange thing of beauty to watch unfold. But it's quite early in the film that Watts blows us away. We see her audition in front of some casting agents, and the way in which she slips from wide-eyed innocent to compelling seductress is nothing short of mesmerizing. Her chemistry with Laura Elena Harring is strong as well, given the film's central mystery a solid core as the weirdness escalates. Of course, then we get to the Club Silencio scene, in which once again Lynch demonstrates how well he can blend light and sound to create atmosphere (the color blue is used to great effect throughout the film). It's after this scene that the film becomes a little harder to understand, as the story becomes concrete and begins its slow descent into an abyss of oddity. But even if you're left baffled as to what the last hour of the film means, it's hard to deny Lynch's ability to create an absorbing piece of strangeness with such lasting impact.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Naomi Watts

Best Scene:

Top 15 of the 2000s Countdown: #14

Today's entry, and #14 on my list, comes from one of my favorite directors, and is one of the best of the recently revived musical genre. However, this man's name and "musical" aren't exactly a match one would instantly make. For one, the material would have to be suitably dark and weird, but also with a quirky and darkly humorous edge. But even then, the risk still remained that this man might not be able to successfully stage musical sequences, whether on a small scale or involving a full company and complicated choreography. Thankfully he succeeded beyond my expectations, and the result is #14 on my list. The film I'm talking about is:






#14. "Sweeney Todd" (2007) by Tim Burton: Like all Burton films, this one boasts a visual stimulating opening credits sequence, but almost instantly the differences become apparent: Blood flows down a barber's chair. The sequence takes us down further and further, until we end in the sewers. In Burton's long line of whimy-coated quirkfests, such an opening seems freakishly dark. And to make it all more unsettling, this is supposed to be a musical. Add into the mix that none of Mr. Burton's toplining stars have been blessed with stellar vocals, and such a project seems doomed from the start. So the big question is, "what on earth went so damn right?" Quite a bit, as it turns out. First, there's Burton's decision to not be slavishly faithful to Sondheim's original material. In eliminating "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd", a song sung by a ghostly Greek chorus of sorts, along with at least one minor supporting character, Mr. Burton accomplishes two goals: he makes his production un-stagey, and keeps his focus tighter. Burton was wise enough to see that the heart of the story is the oh-so-devilish relationship between Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter). There is a separate "couple" of sorts played by Jamie Campbell-Bower and Jane Wisener, and if they weren't tied to such a crucial part of the story, it's likely that Burton would have (wisely) cut them out entirely, just to keep the film all the more focused on his central duo. And what a duo they are. While Depp and Burton have quite a history together, and while this may be their first time together where Depp doesn't knock one out of the park. And that's where Ms. Bonham-Carter gets to shine. Having long been relegated to small roles in her husband's films, this is her first chance to truly make an impact under her husband's direction, and make an impact she does. She tackles Sondheim's fast paced, clever lyrics like a true pro, making her rendition of "The Worst Pies in London", in which she makes a pie while singing, all the more impressive. In interviews, Carter has labeled this role as one of her most physically and mentally demanding, but she makes it all look easy. She also provides us the heart of the film. Her interactions with Toby (the wonderful Ed Sanders, who has the film's strongest voice) provide the emotional core in a world filled with filth, corruption, and murder. Watching her listen to Toby promise to protect her forever, or seeing her lock Toby in the basement to shield him from Mr. Todd is nothing short of magic; it's a performance for which Ms. Carter was most definitely robbed of a second Oscar nomination. She is funny, kooky, adorable, and eerie, all in one, without feeling inconsistent or schizophrenic. Along with Sanders, the supporting cast also boasts good, albeit slightly routine performances from its two villains, played by Alan Rickman and Timothy Spall, along with a surprisingly strong turn from "Borat" star Sacha Baron Cohen. But the biggest and most delightful surprise is in the way Mr. Burton is able to direct his musical sequences. None of them involve any sort of choreography, and so Burton shoots the singing parts simply, letting the presence of his stars and the cutting (no pun intended) wit of Sondheim's lyrics bask in the spotlight. Such focus on the performers allows us to really see their emotions as they perform the songs, and makes the scenes riveting in a way that elaborate staging or snazzy choreography never could have. Watching Depp and Carter's movements and faces as they sing "A Little Priest" is nothing short of a wicked delight. On the artistic front, the film is also a knockout. The sets are appropriately sparse and dirty, or lush and flooded with color, and Colleen Atwood's fantastic costumes match the personalities of the characters note by note. Visually the film mostly keeps things filled with grey and black, making those moments filled with bright colors all the more startlingly beautiful. As far as editing goes, the story, save for one or two blips, moves between dialogue and song seamlessly. But it's Burton's direction that is the most impressive. Though he's known for having an engaging visual style, his stories sometimes run a tad too long in certain areas. In "Sweeney Todd" we see Mr. Burton focused and driven like never before, and the results are quite commanding, particularly in moments when there are tiny but bloody bursts of violence. In a way in which I was never expecting, these moments of violence also manage to create a striking amount of intensity, most notably in the finale which, after all of its chaos, Mr. Burton ends by a simple zoom-out before fading to black. It's a stunningly crisp, un-flashy ending to a movie filled with bloody mayhem, and the impact is a sense of quiet astonishment. My only criticism of the story is that there are times when Mr. Burton's desire to tighten the pacing result in a near-rushed feel. At times right when one character leaves, another person arrives within seconds to deliver the latest news to maintain the forward momentum. I used to have some issues with Depp's performance, and even on re-watches, his brooding and staring doesn't have quite the depth that he thinks it does, but it's certainly far from the soul-sucking black hole that some have labeled it as. It's just that, in a movie filled with so much excellence, it's a surprise to see one of Hollywood's most talented actors deliver a performance that doesn't knock our socks off.

Grade: A

Best Performance: Helena Bonham Carter

Best Scene:

Not All Texans Ride Horses to School's Top 15 of the 2000s (so far...)

Sometime in the past two weeks, IMDb released the top 15 highest user-rated films of the 2000s, and after giving some commentary on each one, I decided to make my own list. However, instead of simply giving a list, I'm going to count down my top 15 favorites of the 2000s one day at a time. I took into consideration performances, editing, emotional impact, and rewatch value, among many other criteria and tt certainly wasn't easy, but after several days of comparing and reevaluation, I think I've finally made a (ranked) list that I'm ecstatic about. So, without further delay, let's get this started.


Coming in at #15 IS...




#15. "Zodiac" (2007) by David Fincher: Given proper marketing and a better timed release (ie: NOT mid-February), "Zodiac" could have been a significant player in awards season 07. Unfortunately, Fincher's lengthy, exhausting, expertly executed real-life thriller was a bit of a box-office failure. Despite making it onto a number of critics' Top 10 lists was a relief to see, but this didn't convince the studio to take notice and launch any sort of Oscar campaign, which is unfortunate. For despite its lengthy running time, "Zodiac" was a masterful, intelligent, and at times downright terrifying thriller. From its opening scene, where a cheating wife and her lover are attacked on the side of the road, Fincher does a brilliant job at bringing out the tension, aided by the eerie green-blue and orange flooded nighttime visuals. Yet while the few times we actually see the Zodiac killer attack his victims are frightening, the movie actually gets even better the less we see of him. It makes his threats of attacking a school bus full of children, or his taunting faxes and letters all the more unnerving. Deftly maneuvering the twists and turns of the Zodiac story, Fincher and writer James Vanderbilt manage to keep the film from sinking to the level of a slasher flick, and instead let truth, which here is much much stranger and freakier than fiction, play out in full. The ways in which Fincher and Vanderbilt navigate the complexities of the Zodiac case, keeping so much detail intact without any of it ever feeling extraneous or boring, is a remarkable achievement in its own right. In some ways, the film is like a fact-based, more epic version of Mr. Fincher's "Se7en", although its villain lacks any sort of "gimmick". The film's only weakness is that, unlike "Se7en" or "Fight Club", which boasted few primary characters and excellent performances, "Zodiac"'s characters aren't nearly as interesting and neither are the performances, no doubt because of the fact that they are constrained by reality. However, everything else, from the tension to the storytelling, is so phenomenally well done, that such a flaw fails to register strongly against the overall success of this gritty, fascinating thriller.

Final Grade: A

Best Performance: Mark Ruffalo (I never thought I would say that about a film)

Best Scene: The Basement Scene, which might be one of the most terrifying, hold-your-breath moments ever put on screen.