by
Julien
Faddoul
1. David Byrne’s American Utopia (Spike Lee, Hulu)
Not
a mere concert documentary, but a balm for the current times: Aided by
cinematographer Ellen Kuras, Spike Lee translates Byrne’s gloriously minimalist
stage production into something that feels like a different, almost utopian
time. 2020, a year that became synonymous with dystopia as soon as it started,
like any terrible time in human history, proves defenseless against great art
that epitomizes unparalleled joy. And you may ask yourself: “How did I get
here?” Byrne intersperses the show with PSAs on current political issues, some
of which are mawkish but some of which are poignant. For all these reasons and
more, it has to be my choice for number one of 2020.
2. Vitalina Varela (Pedro Costa, Grasshopper Films)
The
apogee (and least inscrutable) of Costa’s austere, soul-grabbing Fontainhas
cycle with all the characteristic variables: subterranean mise-en-scène,
exquisite 4:3 compositions, dark Caravaggio-like use of lighting and a
non-professional cast who all move around meditatively and never make eye
contact with one another. Incredibly poignant, for those who are willing.
3.
Da 5 Bloods (Spike Lee, Netflix)
Powerful, kinetic, frenzied and at times even exhausting examination of assorted social issues including American imperialism, parental astringency and international racial disinformation, with Lee calling on themes from The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948), Apocalypse Now (1979) and Southern Comfort (1981). His method is almost Godardian in its sweep, with a haphazard yet decisive use of cutting, and an overpowering utilization of various kinds of cinematic techniques. It also gains immeasurably from a blazing, towering performance from Lindo as part wounded veteran, part madman.
4.
Fourteen (Dan Sallitt, Grasshopper Films)
Invoking the rigorous films of Eric Rohmer and Mauruice Pialat, Dan Sallitt is probably our greatest truly independent filmmaker. Made for under $100,000, Fourteen chronicles the relationship over a decade of a pair of childhood friends whose ties to each other are tenuous and at a crossroads. One of these women is mentally ill, though the film is too sensitive to pathologize her outright or make a point of rooting out everything that’s “wrong” with her. Like all of Sallitt’s films, the compositions here are exacting, the rhythms are invigorating and the performances are immaculate.
5.
I’m Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman,
Netflix)
Bizarre, sad, uncomfortable and as singular a work as any in Kaufman’s oeuvre. Unfortunately, the central piece of tawdry psychology from Reid’s novel is retained and as a result one wishes the film were funnier than it ever is – especially since Kaufman satirized such plot machinations so acutely in Adaptation (2002). But he deviates in both content and cadence, accentuating an onslaught of cinematic portraiture in which anything goes: A 7-minute dream ballet, a rom-com film within the film itself, surreal interludes of hand-drawn animation, and long, verbatim quotations/recreations of Pauline Kael, David Foster Wallace, Oklahoma! and A Beautiful Mind (2001). Taxing, but so formerly evocative; make of it what you will.
6.
The Vast of Night (Andrew Patterson, Amazon)
Remarkably assured attempt to concoct a piece of cinema out of very little – too little, ultimately, as both the film’s plot and rhythms become frustratingly calculable in the last act – unfolding like a radio play with rapid, Preston-Sturges-like dialogue. But the direction is consistently brilliant, with expert photography, mise-en-scène and performances. A delightful surprise, and I will unquestionably be first in line for whatever Mr Patterson does next.
7.
Sound of Metal (Darius Marder, Amazon)
The only one of this year’s big Oscar contenders that I really responded to. Darius Marder rips the rug out from under his main character via an incessant ring as his intimate, handheld style (reminiscent of Derek Cianfrance) presents Ruben’s (Riz Ahmed, brilliant) struggle with hearing loss alongside a desire to reclaim it. But as Joe (Paul Raci, equally brilliant) says, however, that thinking is destructive. A lost soul drowning in self-pity and fear must relinquish the past to be reborn—a tall order since what’s immediately gone (music) recently saved his life. But saviours aren’t beholden to their saved or vice versa. The film’s end may therefore be as painful as its beginning, but the addition of hope transcends.
8.
Soul (Pete Docter, Disney+)
Here’s a case where American animation has become far more vital and cultivated within the story of the cinema than any discerning cinephile could have predicted, that the perception of cinematic interpretation tangibly supersedes anything the narrative has to offer. For the message here is both a) hopelessly simplistic and b) a variation on themes that Docter has previously explored with more clarity. But in its joy, optimism and aesthetic achievement, it forms an irresistible cineaste feast. Had Ingmar Bergman ever made a Pixar film, this is probably what the result would feel like.
9.
Dick Johnson is Dead (Kirsten Johnston, Netflix)
Full of the quiet charm and gentle observation evident in Cameraperson (2016), Johnson this time offers up another personal diary in cinematic form as it’s happening, rather than of the past. She tries her best to leave no stone unturned and it’s that struggle that proves so moving.
10. First Cow (Kelly
Reichardt)
Part capitalist allegory, part dissection on America’s mournful past, part bittersweet characterization of a friendship between two ostracized strangers. Shot in 1.33:1, which beautifully emphasises the framing of the characters. Reichardt’s tempo is slow, but her humanity proves irresistible.
Honourable
Mentions:
I’m
Your Woman
The
Nest
