The Pics
(spoiler alert: spoilers ahead)The Theory of Everything
The Imitation Game
Whiplash
As a STEM graduate student, I was pretty excited that not one but two movies were coming out this year about famous scientists. It's always fun to see attempts at portraying genius in any form, especially so in a field as minimally represented on screen as theoretical physics. Unfortunately, The Theory of Everything neuters Stephen Hawking's mesmerizing accomplishments and vibrant personality down to its most bland version possible. Instead of taking a tour through Hawking's mind, we get to hear Eddie Redmayne reduce Hawking's results down to layman's terms as window dressing for an overwrought chronicle of his marriage and his virility. It's sentimental, and perhaps humanizing, but hardly a satisfying character study given the depth and complexity of the subject matter.
As a theoretical computer scientist, my excitement for the Hawking biopic was eclipsed tenfold by my excitement for the movie about the mathematician who more or less invented my field of study. This only made my disappointment greater when I saw the cliched and unflattering approach taken to by the filmmakers. Yes, Alan Turing was eccentric, but by all biographical accounts he was affable with a warm sense of humor, not some Chuck Lorre stereotype (and definitely NOT treasonous, as the film suggests). The tortured, aloof genius caricature might be the easiest path to mass appeal, but it comes at the expense of nuance and accuracy. Historical liberties and clumsy characterizations aside, I think The Imitation Game's well-paced, suspenseful plot works on a narrative level. I think the film is ambitious in juggling three different eras of Turing's life, and it manages to pull this off fairly well (although I wouldn't complain if some of the focus had been shifted from his sexuality to his invention of computability theory). If rote caricatures are the price of more publicity for the greatest mathematician of the 20th century, perhaps so be it.
Luckily, there was a film that masterfully explores genius - or more accurately, greatness. Thomas Edison described genius as 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. If The Theory of Everything may choose to focus on the 1% inspiration, then Whiplash is feverishly devoted to the (literal) perspiration that comprises the other 99%. Whiplash argues that true greatness isn't defined by eureka moments, but by an obsessive, monotonous, fanatical, and perhaps toxic relationship with perfection. To any rational outsider, Niemann's relationship with Fletcher is abusive and self-destructive (and to this end, Paul Reiser and Melissa Benoist serve as wonderful counterbalances to the main cast); but for someone like Niemann, who views greatness as a binary variable that fully determines his life's worth, this abuse isn't just the best choice, but the only choice.
JK Simmons gives the best performance of his career - there were some scenes in which I felt less would've been more, but overall he couldn't do better to sell us on the sincerity of Fletcher's single-minded perspective. But what I loved more than anything was the camera work during the musical scenes - whipping and lashing between instruments and sounds, the camera optimally highlights the various parts of the ensemble in ways of which every great conductor dreams.
Selma
When it comes to biopics, sometimes less is more. Selma could've taken the approach of Theory of Everything, and sped through the densely packed life of its rich subject. Instead, Selma focuses on a single event as microcosm of Martin Luther King's work and the civil rights movement as a whole. There's so much to love about this movie, all of which leaves me wanting to see more of Ava Duvernay's work. For starters, could the timing be better, in the wake of the growing discourse on race and police brutality? Selma almost reminded me of Mad Men in its argument that past is present more than we care to admit. I love how nuanced of a portrayal King is given by Duvernay and David Oyelowo - King's lofty goals are not lost on the film, but we also get to see what a thoughtful and pragmatic strategist Dr. King was. To this end, Oyelowo's performance deserves much more recognition than it has received, for always bringing the exact right combination of pathos, ethos, and logos to the scene. All of the supporting characters are solid, but its Duvernay's use of the ensemble is the real star. By swiftly moving between characters and locations, up until the point of panning to row after row after row after row of people at the march, Duvernay brings to life the urgency, vastness, and organization of Selma, and the civil rights movement as a whole.
Birdman
Top Five
As a discrete mathematician who loves continuous film shots, i predictably enjoyed Birdman. The "single" shot aspect is in no way a gimmick - it represents masterful directing and editing work, and more importantly it is crucial to establishing the movie's frenetic tone, apropos of the chaotic narrative. New York never sleeps, and that's especially true of those trying to stage a play on Broadway - the cast (within the cast) never stops grinding, and as such the camera can't afford to stop either, even for a cut. Even more so than making a play, the film's characters are obsessed with making truly meaningful art - but this comes off as equal parts deep, equal parts self-congratulatory, and it makes it all the more intriguing that we never find out how substantive Riggan's play actually is. But even if we don't see the result, we see the process, and Michael Keaton is great at capturing the character's turmoil, motivations, and stakes (even if the "dialogue" with his inner birdman felt a bit over the top). To me though, the real joy is seeing Ed Norton steal every scene with delightfully prickly panache. There's no shortage of abrasiveness to his character, but seeing him unleash his creative juices every time he's on the stage make it all worth it, for Riggan, for Iñárritu, and for viewers like you.
There was another movie this year about a franchise movie star trying to make serious art, and it's one I happened to enjoy even more than Birdman. Top Five has many of the same themes of art as an extension of one's identity and the nature of fame (along with Chris Rock's uniquely frank musings on race), while also a sporting funnier, faster-pased, more entertaining script. Andre and Chelsea's walkabout has just so much to like - the zingers never slow down, the digressions are purposeful, and the dialogue gracefully manages tonal shifts without compromising conversational coherency. You say the movie's premise (naming your top five favorite rappers) isn't related to the actual narrative? I say this represents such a creative and efficient way of shedding insight on a cast that is delightfully expansive without ever feeling bloated (how great was it seeing Tracy Morgan back on screen after the accident? He certainly knows that it's like for comic actor to attempt to make a serious movie). You say the movie's collection of subplots is disorganized? I say every subplot manages to entertain while revealing something about what makes Andre and Chelsea tick. Ultimately, as Wesley Morris lamented, Top Five felt like a hybrid between
Still Alice
Wild
Two Days One Night
Two of these movies are carried by arguably the best performances (male or female) of the year; the other one is a shoe-in to actually snag the best actress award. Such is life, I suppose. I certainly liked Julianne Moore's performance, but I think it would be baffling for the academy to pick her over Reese Witherspoon and Marion Cotillard.
Still Alice is a fine movie (and certainly a treat for 30 Rock nerds like me who love seeing Jack Donaghy and Nancy Donovan share the screen). The supporting performances are limp at best - poor Alec Baldwin has almost no interesting material with which to work, and Kristen Stewart playing an actress who can't act is just as meta as anything Moore/Baldwin ever did on 30 Rock. Moore's performance has garnered rave reviews, and rightfully so given the pain she packs into so many scenes. Due to Alice's early onset Alzheimer's, Moore is basically acting a different character at every scene, and at every stage she captures to a tee who Alice currently is, and more importantly what she's lost. The film puts all the usual angst of aging into fast forward, and Moore is more than up for the challenge. It's a great performance, but not the best performance.
Wild is the movie that I think Eat, Pray, Love was trying to be. It's is about pushing ourselves to overcome our self-destructive tendencies, and it works because Reese Witherspoon emotes the character's catharsis perfectly. The dialogue is usually minimal, because Witherspoon can convey so much of the character's fear and pain with a single glance. The effect of the performance is enhanced because Laura Dern's optimism and spirit in the face of adversity make for the ideal yang to Witherspoon's yin. The flashbacks in the movie break you down only for Dern's resolve to build you back up and push you forward along with Reese. I wish Wild were getting more buzz for its two lead actress's performances, because it more than deserves it.
The premise of Two Days, One Night is simple: Sandra's workers have been given the choice to take a year-end bonus, or allow Sandra to have her job back after lengthy time off due to depression. Sandra has a single weekend to save her job. Earning the audience's empathy towards Sandra is easy; the beauty of the movie is that rather than being cartoonishly self-interested, each worker is afforded the empathy they also deserve, to the point that the movie could've easily been centered on any of them. Each supporting character is fully realized with just a few short pieces of dialogue. None of them wants Sandra to be fired, but they all have perfectly legitimate reasons for needing - not wanting, needing - to take the bonus. Every supporting cast member has no trouble projecting this ambivalence with sincerity. That Two Days, One Night could've been centered on any of its characters is a testament to how well-written it is. By the end, it's not just Sandra who is our protagonist, but also every worker reduced to a replaceable cog in the industrial machine. The genius of wormy middle management is in pitting innocent workers against each other and obscuring the true antagonist.
What words can adequately describe Marion Cotillard's performance? She lays her soul completely bare for this movie, giving an unsentimental and brutally honest portrayal of Sandra's depression. That Cotillard can somehow display both the full brunt of the condition without compromising the character's strength and resolve is extraordinary. My favorite tactic used by the film is to repeatedly place Marion Cotillard on the phone, without making the other side audible. That's because we don't need to hear the other side of the conversation; Cotillard's acting manages to convey two conversations at once. She carries these scenes, often communicating just as much with subtle face and eye movements as she does with her actual words. Julianne Moore elevates a decent movie to a good one; Marion Cotillard elevates a well-conceived movie to a brilliantly executed one that should be in the conversation for best picture. If you're going to see an acting performance this year, make it this Cotillard's.
Boyhood
Richard Linklater is the best director of his generation. For 20 years and counting, no director has managed a better grasp of time - passing time, moments in time, the specter of the past and the angst of the future, and how time affects the human condition. Therefore it's no surprise that Linklater is the one to capture childhood so flawlessly and elegantly. Childhood isn't a montage; it's not a sequence of snapshots; it's not a checklist; but what is it? As Boyhood argues, it's defined just as much by the small moments as it is by the big ones. Even if the big moments are the ones we remember most, it's the small moments that compound on each other to eventually shape us. You remember escaping your abusive, alcoholic stepdad - but what about the time he forced you to cut your hair, souring you on authority? You remember the first time your photography was published, but what about the random football game you were assigned the shoot for photography class, subtly pushing you further to a career in art? In real life we don't always realize the impact of these moments until much later - but in Boyhood, with its ability to literally pass years with a single cut, we get to see with crystal clarity the exact manner in which every moment, big or small, builds up to shape Mason. When a scene changes, Ellar Coltrane's growth immediately makes visible several months of passed time, lending an authenticity to this bildungsroman that cannot be achieved by makeup, re-casting, or words. For the first time in cinematic history, we saw a family age organically; during Patricia Arquette's beautifully frank and vulnerable speech on how hard it is to see your last kid leave the nest, we can see in her and Mason's faces not just the instantaneous significance, but the entire 3 hours that preceded, making the moment hit home even harder. There may not be a conventional narrative, but there's a story brought to life in a way with which literally all of us can relate.
Despite distilling 12 years into 3 hours, Boyhood never once feels rushed, and it never feels incoherent. Everything that happens to Mason feels purposeful to his character arc - by giving equal weight to the mountains and molehills, Boyhood shows that there's meaning to be mined in every moment experienced by Mason, and by extension everyone who comes of age. To mold events without an immediately clear connection into a fully cohesive narrative is business as usual for Linklater, but it will never cease to amaze me. Even if Boyhood may not be quite as perfect as the Before trilogy, I love what it represents as Linklater's masterpiece, his magnus opus that delivers to him the recognition of which the academy so mistakenly deprived him for so many years. Boyhood is everything - moving, thoughtful, groundbreaking, gut-wrenching, suspenseful, thrilling, and endlessly introspective. It's everything that cinema should be, literalizing and expressing that for which other art is inadequate.
Big Hero 6
The Lego Movie
The Tale of Princess Kaguya
Confession: despite trying my hardest, I wasn't able to see Song of the Sea, or The Boxtrolls. But from the animated movies that were eligible this year, I definitely loved what I saw. Big Hero 6 will probably win the award for best animated feature, and it's certainly a worthy choice. The animation is splendid, the action is suspenseful; while Hiro's growth was well-executed (if predictable), turning Baymax into such a well-realized, emotionally compelling character is quite the feat.
As good as Big Hero 6 was, Lego Movie was GREAT. Not so much building as much as wielding its sets, Lego Movie's animation so perfectly visualizes the endless possibilities that legos represented for all of us who used to play with them as a kid. Even if you just view the movie as a big commercial for legos, it's an awfully fun and convincing commercial. However, that view drastically shortchanges just how subversive the script is. The legos can pretty easily be seen as a metaphor for anything we ever dreamt of creating or accomplishing as a kid. We all wanted to be master builders, but eventually we learn that we're much more likely to become someone else's replaceable part. Those who do get to be master builders can only make what they want as long as they present it as something the machine can use for mass appeal. None of this is to say that anyone should feel bad for making a living in a commercial world - but there's also value in acknowledging the grand possibilities we forsake when we eschew the innocence and idealism that we all had at some point or another. Just like their own master builders, Phil Lord and Christopher Miller manage cutting commentary on commercialism and deconstruction of the hero's tale hidden inside a humorous, fun-for-all ages piece of mass entertainment. That the academy wouldn't see the value in this disappoints.
In almost any other year, The Lego Movie would be the clear best animated feature, and I would be proportionally more upset. In 2015, Lego Movie's exclusion hopefully means more votes for The Tale of Princess Kaguya, the latest Studio Ghibli masterpiece and the deserving award winner for its category. The stunning watercolor animation is reason enough to win - what better technique for capturing the beauty, aged, and wisdom in nature's simplicity? But it's the princess's journey that will render you completely heartbroken you by movie's end. What starts as a miracle turns into a joyous process of growth and self-discovery as Kaguya forges her connection to the rusticity of the earth. As she grow older is forced to become Princes Kaguya, she is trapped in a lifestyle obsessed with appearances, presentation, and posturing - with every lesson on propriety, and every new suitor, we meet a new form of artifice. There's a lot of concise and severe commentary on depression and womanhood, and identity/class politics. The movie spends 2 hours showing princess Kaguya's lost innocence - only to subvert expectation with her final encomium on the wonderful beauty, diversity and virtue that the Earth and its people possess. This makes her eventual return to the Moon that much more devastating. In re-telling The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, Isao Takahata's masterpiece encodes complex meaning in deceptively simple imagery - complexity that I hope The Academy will reward.
Nightcrawler
I remember taking a literature and film class as a freshman. Two movies that we watched were Die Hard and Collateral, with the intent of showing us how films took advantage of Los Angeles's architecture, culture, and geography to enhance the narrative. While watching Nightcrawler, I couldn't help but think back to Collateral. The shared noir elements make for an obvious comparison, but one thing I loved about Nightcrawler is how distinctly Los Angeles it is. The film subtly but surely emphasizes LA's sprawled geography to add genuine conflict and suspense to Louis and Rick's driving scenes; without an army of nightcrawlers, Louis and Rick can't afford to miss a single police scanner item, or even a highway exit - such is life trying to cover the grisly underworld from Altadena to Gardena to Westwood to West Covina. More importantly, LA's stratification is crucial to creating a market for Louis's shamelessness. The piece of dialogue I remember most distinctly from The Grapes of Wrath involves a someone telling the Joad family to go to California, where it's always sunny and you can always find jobs picking oranges. From the outside Los Angeles's sunshine and glamor project a utopian image that obscures its dystopian gap between the highest and lowest social tiers. It's this divide that creates a market for the fear-mongering, racially-charged "poor-on-rich" crime stories that the chameleonic Lou is more than happy to provide. This market certainly isn't unique to LA, but LA's sheer size and unique urban/suburban dichotomy, provide Lou with an especially ripe market. Don't get me wrong - I adore Los Angeles for its artistic scene, its special place in American history and culture, for its diversity, and so many other things; but like the Joads found out, utopia represents both perfection and that which doesn't exist. None of this is to say that other cities aren't sprawled both geographically and economically, but LA has a very unique combination of the two. Much like Cary Fukunaga made Louisiana the star of True Detective, Dan Gilroy turns Los Angeles into an essential character; this story could've perhaps taken place anywhere, but I can't imagine LA being any better suited.
Independent of where it took place, Nightcrawler is absolutely brilliant. Lou may not experience conventional character development, but instead we learn more and more about him by peeling away layer after layer of the depths of his depravity. The more we learn about Lou, the more we learn about the society he inhabits, and the type of behavior that society incentivizes. Lou may be the cause of some truly horrible events, but ultimately he's the symptom even deeper, darker, systemic issues. The worse Lou becomes, the more he is rewarded; even when Nina and Rick attempt to stop him, Lou can get away with vindictive, sociopathic revenge because his footage is currency, and currency is power. Lou may be horrible, but the movie forces us to question whether we ourselves are guilty of the kind of horrible behavior that incentivizes and reinforces people like Lou.
After Cotillard's, Jake Gyllenhaal's performance may be my favorite of the year. Louis bloom is a snakeoil salesman on steroids, a walking talking business school textbook of cliches, a fetishist for branding who would make even Darren Rovell cringe, a stoic face masking a ruthless menace; Gyllenhaal plays every character beat to perfection, committing wholeheartedly to what Mike D'Angelo perfectly summarizes as "robotic conviction". Gyllenhaal never loses focus in bringing to life the character's internal calculus. However, the movie wouldn't work without Riz Ahmed, who is more than capable of keeping pace with Gyllenhaal. He's perfect acting as a proxy for the audience and adding a humanizing element to the escapades. We don't necessarily like Rick's unsavory job, but we understand and empathize because Ahmed sells us on the character's desperation and genuine ambivalence so well. I hope his work as Gyllenhaal's foil springboards a fruitful career.
Big Eyes
This was a fun, informative, and visually appealing movie. But it's a real shame that it never became the great movie that it could have been. Amy Adams is stellar in making the most of her screentime (more on that in a minute) to portray the walls surrounding Margaret Keane, and I was pleasantly surprised with how much restraint Tim Burton showed. But there's just no getting around how problematic Christoph Waltz is to the movie. So much of the screen time that could've been given to Adams is instead wasted on Waltz hamming it up to a cringe-worthy degree. There's no tonal consistency between the movie that Waltz is acting in and the one that every other character is trying to make. Walter Keane supposedly harbored genuine delusions of his own artistic talent, insisting to his deathbed that he created all of Margaret Keane's works. None of that comes across in Waltz's performance; instead we get a clownish charlatan, a man who lies not out of delusion but out of willful malice. I'm not saying Walter Keane deserves any sympathy, but I imagine he was certainly more complex (or at least different) than the one-note, out of tune Waltz. Ultimately the result is a film that under-utilizes Adams to focus on a character study of character not based in reality. By all means, you should take a look at Margaret Keane's work, and watch Big Eyes, but don't expect a movie that matches the greatness of its subject's art.
American Sniper
There's almost certainly a spectacular movie hiding within American Sniper. Perhaps one about Chris Kyle's PTSD; perhaps one about the isolation, worry, and constant fear paralyzing his wife (and every other military husband/wife); perhaps one about the toxicity of blurring the lines between patriotism and nationalism, one that explores the incongruity of good men fighting the not so good fight; perhaps one that humanizes the civilians of the opposing country, who are so often reduced to faceless caricatures. American Sniper ends up being none of those movies, because it is so single-mindedly consumed with the pathos of its subject's hero complex. Combine this with some of the disingenuous false equivalencies (invading Iraq was NOT a response to 9/11), and I find the film to be seriously problematic.
I should add the caveat that last year, I had similar misgivings about The Wind Rises; I felt that the film was so devoted to its main character's artistic idealism that it almost willfully lost sight of big picture causality. In retrospect, I can see that I failed to fully consider some of the imagery (particularly the final scene with Caproni and the airplane grave) and context (Miyazaki's vocal anti-war beliefs). I'm open to the idea that I've similarly misinterpreted American Sniper.
Foxcatcher
Perhaps in some alternate universe there's a good movie to be made about John Du Pont, and unchecked privilege. Foxcatcher, however, is not good. The characters are mind-numbingly one-note; the conflicts are and interpersonal beats are underdeveloped at best; the film seems to conflate Channing Tatum and Steve Carell staring sourly at the camera with deep introspection. By the time the film builds to its final reveal, it comes across as a total non-sequitur, because Carell's character is so under-developed, an issue compounded by the film skipping seven undoubtedly formative years prior to its reveal. Other than Mark Ruffalo's (the only one who manages to add any dimensionality to his character) I simply can't get behind any of Foxcatcher's nominations.
The Grand Budapest Hotel
I get that Wes Anderson isn't for everyone - what I see as a delightfully quirky aesthetic, you may see as gimmicks. All I ask is that you respect the heart and soul poured into this movie, and what it means both to Anderson and those whom with whom he resonates. This may not be Anderson's best movie, but it's certain the most emblematic of his sensibilities. The meticulous set geometry, tightly constructed dialogue (whose severity is juxtaposed to such soft color palettes), and sharp camera jumps are turned up to the max; I suppose it was inevitable that Anderson's propriety would be applied to a film specifically about prim propriety, and to this end Ralph Fiennes functions perfectly as an extension of Anderson himself. The film's zany escapades are entertaining enough to elevate this film to great heights; but its the meta aspect of Anderson creating a world in which propriety and nostalgia are all the characters have to maintain dignity in the face of atrocity is simply sublime. If Linklater hadn't been shafted for the Before trilogy, I would be rooting so hard for Anderson to finally capture the elusive Oscar.
Gone Girl
Few directors manage misdirects better than David Fincher; Gillian Flynn's script certainly has no shortage of misdirects for Fincher to manage. With its non-linear narrative, tonal shifts in the voiceovers, and shaded cinematography, Gone Girl trades in creating and subverting expectations; this subversion, combined with the inverted character beats (and Rosamund Pike's brilliance), cohere into a thrilling drama (or should I say, pulp dramedy, thanks to Tyler Perry's magnificently calibrated, scene-stealing performance) in which the viewer never knows what is real. At its best, Gone Girl manages to sharply satire the "woe-is-me" suburban black comedy, and more impressively, deconstruct the gendered archetypes that dominate the pulp genre.
I understand the critiques of misogyny - they follow logically from the events of the story. I also think this is a very literal interpretation, that shortchanges what Gillian Flynn was accomplishes. Flynn superficially hints at the impression of the "psycho bitch" trope - but then she goes on to develop Amy into a fully-fleshed out character, one whose psychology and motivations are infinitely more nuanced beyond that of a mere trope. Amy's certainly vindictive, but once we see the extremes between men in her life - creepy, controlling Desi to toxically indifferent Nick - it's clear why Amy eventually felt the need to seize control. Flynn isn't asking you to condone any of Amy's actions, but she's challenging you to, instead of pigeonholing female characters, ask what more there might be to familiar archetypes. Alternately, as Film Crit Hulk eloquently argues, Flynn dares viewers to accept the female antihero just as readily as we would accept a male. Hulk sums it up best "We don't look at Hannibal Lecter and say 'Oh he's a man'; we let him be specifically who he is". Why can't we afford Amy Dunne her own identity without serving as a referendum on females?
Into the Woods
Good musicals are loads of fun, and Into the Woods is no doubt a good musical. The songs and the acting are executed well. While it would've been nice if the film were as edgy as its broadway predecessor, neutering down the most lustful material simply comes with the Disney territory. The real issue for me was Meryl Streep bordering on overacting. There's no doubt that Meryl Streep is the greatest actress of all time, and I suppose she's earned the right to act however she pleases. But there were just so many scenes in which she owned the screen, scenes in which I thought toning it down to let Anna Kendrick, Emily Blunt, and James Corden shine would've made more sense in the narrative flow. But, I suppose there are much worse things than Meryl Streep commanding the spotlight.
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
Writing well for human characters isn't always easy. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes accomplishes this, but more impressively, it writes impeccably well for its ape characters. From the first scene, Blue Eyes and Ash's interactions delineate the tone for ape interactions. We quickly see conflict, and how the ape society mobilizes against threats, informing us to their leadership structure and cultural ethos. With every dialogue between Caesar and Koba, we learn about their past, how this informs their divergent attitudes, and foreshadows the ideological/political clash. This, along with colonial avarice, is a story that has been told before (the name Caesar is no accident) - and this blurring of the lines between ape and human pays uncountable dividends. Because the apes are just as fully fleshed out as their human counterparts (from this, or almost any movie), the director can seamlessly redirect our empathy to push forward the narrative; by the end, we don't have to pick sides, because we're able to judge each ape and human as his/her own complex individual.
P.S. That 360 degree tank shot is right up there with True Detective's famed tracking shot as the most inspired camera work of 2014.
Guardians of the Galaxy
What a fun movie! Confession: I had more fun at guardians than I did with any of the any of the other Marvel movies, or really any superhero movie from recent memory. Obviously Guardians isn't cinematically superior to The Dark Knight, but in terms of pure visceral enjoyment, Guardians represents everything I could personally ever hope for from a superhero/heist movie.
Speaking of heists, remember how flawless Oceans Eleven was? Remember how tight, purposeful, concise, (and oh yeah, funny) the dialogue was? Remember the cast's individual talents and superb chemistry elevated every line? Remember how all of this cohered to establish and regulate the movie's tone? Remember how each character's contribution to this tone revealed what intangible motivations he brought to the table? Remember how the faux-serious interactions served to heighten the stakes and emotional impact of the biggest reveals? Guardians is the first screenplay i've seen that approximates the sheer joy and finesse of Soderbergh's masterpiece (Ocean's 13 excepted, obviously). Maybe Guardians isn't as deep as Boyhood or Selma, but what's wrong with a brilliantly written, visually enthralling, charmingly acted, and suspenseful action movie? In the same amount of time Birdman spends on it soapbox bemoaning the superhero blockbuster, Guardians presents convincing evidence for the virtue of a superhero blockbuster done right.
Best of the Rest
- The science of Interstellar certainly isn't beyond reproach; neither is Christopher Nolan's ability to write for female characters. Valid concerns aside, Interstellar aptly highlights Nolan's unparalleled imagination, and his ability to methodically create and bring to life worlds that push the limits on our perceptions of the human and physical experience. I hope Interstellar wins for best visual effects, and I wish it were up for best cinematography.
- I can't emphasize enough how much I loved Edge of Tomorrow leveraging non-linear narrative for character development. Tom Cruise may be insane, but he's still Tom Cruise, and few actors can pull off the action thriller like him; not to be outdone, Emily Blunt gave what is probably my favorite performance of her career.
- I don't think I ever fully know what was going on in Inherent Vice, but perhaps the macro narrative isn't meant to be the film's primary appeal. The acting performances are great fun (who doesn't love the Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon pairing?), and my best guess (being born in well after 1970) is that the haziness of both the cinematography and the shots capture the a city and a period that may well have been one big haze.
- When was the last time a film was as forthright about abortion as Obvious Child? I suppose Fast Times at Ridgemont High? In any case, Jenny Slate brings the right mix of gravity and levity to an informative, sensitive, and refreshingly unapologetic script.
The Picks
I'll assume you've already seen the actual nominations - here's whom I would nominate, whom I'd pick to win, and whom I predict will actually win.
Best Animated Feature
3. Big Hero 6
2. The Lego Movie
The Pick: The Tale of Princess Kaguya
The Prediction: Big Hero 6
Best Adapted Screenplay
5. Inherent Vice
4. The Tale of Princess Kaguya
3. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
2. Gone Girl
The pick: Whiplash
The Prediction: Whiplash
Best Original Screenplay
5. The Grand Budapest Hotel
4. Two Days, One Night
3. Guardians of the Galaxy
2. Nightcrawler
The Pick: Top Five
The Prediction: Birdman
Best Supporting Actor
5. Ethan Hawke (Boyhood)
4. Mark Ruffalo (Foxcatcher)
3. Riz Ahmed (Nightcrawler)
2. Tyler Perry (Gone Girl)
The Pick: Ed Norton (Birdman)
The Prediction: J.K. Simmons (Whiplash)
More on Simmons in a minute.
Best Supporting Actress
5. Meryl Streep (Into the Woods)
4. Emma Stone (Birdman)
3. Carmen Ejogo (Selma)
2. Laura Dern (Wild)
The Pick: Patricia Arquette (Boyhood)
The Prediction: Patricia Arquette
Best Actor
5. Michael Keaton (Birdman)
4. Ralph Fiennes (The Grand Budapest Hotel)
3. David Oyelowo (Selma)
2. J.K. Simmons (Whiplash)
The Pick: Jake Gyllenhaal (Nightcrawler)
The Prediction: Eddie Redmayne (The Theory of Everything)
I fully believe that J.K. Simmons is every bit the star/subject of Whiplash as Miles Teller; as such, Simmons should be nominated in the lead actor category. This would create a much tighter race, and as fantastic as Simmons was, Gyllenhaal was by far my favorite lead actor this year.
Best Actress
5. Rosario Dawson (Top Five)
4. Rosamund Pike (Gone Girl)
3. Julianne Moore (Still Alice)
2. Reese Witherspoon (Wild)
The Pick: Marion Cotillard (Two Days, One Night)
The Prediction: Julianne Moore
Best Director
5. Matt Reeves (Dawn of the Planet of the Apes)
4. Wes Anderson (The Grand Budapest Hotel)
3. Ava Duvernay (Selma)
2. Alejandro González Iñárritu (Birdman)
The Pick: Richard Linklater (Boyhood)
The Prediction: Richard Linklater
Best Picture
10. Gone Girl
9. Top Five
8. Birdman
7. The Grand Budapest Hotel
6. Nightcrawler
5. Whiplash
4. The Tale of Princess Kaguya
3. Two Days, One Night
2. Selma
The Pick: Boyhood
The Prediction: Birdman
I expect Birdman to win, which disappoints but doesn't surprise me. When it comes to Selma vs. Boyhood, I think Selma was the more important, relevant, and historically significant movie; but Boyhood is the more groundbreaking work of cinematic art.
