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TOP TEN: DON SIMPSON'S FILMS OF 2010

Dean (Ryan Gosling) and Cindy (Michelle Williams) in Blue Valentine.

The year 2010 will go down in my memory as the year that audiences and critics began demanding more transparency in non-fiction cinema. I’m Still Here and Catfish rode on an early wave of pre-release hype, but both films drowned in an onslaught of negative publicity concerning allegations of their deceitful tactics; yet somehow Exit Through the Gift Shop slid under the radar of most negative publicity and has been garnering Best Documentary nods all across the universe.

Also, 2010 was clearly a year that was ruled by the ladies of the silver screen, with a plethora of commanding leading roles for women and girls alike: Blanca Engström (The Girl), Lena Dunham (Tiny Furniture), Katie Jarvis (Fish Tank), Heather Kafka (Lovers of Hate), Zoe Kazan (The Exploding Girl), Jennifer Lawrence (Winter’s Bone), Robin McLeavy (The Loved Ones), Birgit Minichmayr (Everyone Else), Chloë Grace Moretz (Let Me In / Kick-Ass), Natalie Portman (Black Swan), Stella Schnabel (You Wont Miss Me), Hailee Steinfeld (True Grit), Tilda Swinton (I Am Love), Marzieh Vafamehr (My Tehran for Sale), Lotte Verbeek (Nothing Personal), and Michelle Williams (Blue Valentine). I could go on...but you get the picture.

I saw a heck of a lot of films in 2010 (I lost count shortly after I broke the 300 mark), so the torture of narrowing this year-end list down to just 10 films was just shy of waterboarding for me. With the helpful guidance of “eeny, meeny, miny, moe” and some keen insight from my always-faithful Ouija Board, the following is an alphabetical listing of my favorite films of 2010.

Black Swan -- I think I am the only film critic who picked up on the strange attraction to Nina’s crotch throughout Black Swan. I am not sure what that says about me, but I just wanted to throw that out there. Black Swan has received a fairly rough reception by some film critics, and as a long-time hater of Darren Aronofsky’s films I can definitely understand their perspectives. From my perspective, Black Swan is the least pretentious and most playful of Aronofsky’s oeuvre. I read Black Swan as an over-the-top horror flick that is not supposed to be taken seriously at all. Above all, Black Swan made my favorites list this year because of its unrivaled ability to enrapture and transport me into the fantastical black and white and red world which Aronofsky created with cinematographer Matthew Libatique.

Blue Valentine -- The emotionally tumultuous Blue Valentine is guaranteed to rip the insides out of even the most romantically ambivalent. So why see it? First of all, because it features two of the best acting performances of 2010: Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling. Secondly, because writer-director Derek Cianfrance is able to portray the relationship of Cindy (Williams) and Dean (Gosling) so frankly that it hurts to watch.

Exit Through the Gift Shop -- More so than any other film of 2010, Banksy’s Exit Through the Gift Shop has stuck with me ever since my initial viewing. It also seems quite appropriate to dedicate my #1 position to one of the “documentaries” from 2010 that really got audiences contemplating the reality of the images, as well as the amount of disclosure that “documentary” filmmakers should be required to offer. I would be very surprised if Banksy reveals the truth behind Exit Through the Gift Shop any time soon, so you will just have to make that judgment on your own.

Fish Tank -- As an heir apparent to the British social realist tradition of Ken Loach’s working class dramas, director Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank is a painfully bleak portrait of modern life on an Essex estate. First-timer Katie Jarvis gives a bitterly honest lead performance as Mia, one that is schizophrenic mix of tenacity, meanness and fragility.

The Girl (Flickan) -- The naturalness of Blanca Engström’s acting debut — a primarily facial one at that — is what really makes The Girl a fantastic film. Her interpretation of the purity, freedom and solitude of childhood is a transcending experience to say the least. Engström is a transfixing presence, and we the audience are left as helpless observers, stuck on the other side of the screen wanting to extend a kind and caring hand to assist her.

Lovers of Hate -- I have an infinite amount of love (and absolutely no hate) for Bryan Poyser’s Lovers of Hate. Lovers of Hate is an exquisitely written and acted film. The plot itself seems relatively simple (three characters, two locations), yet Poyser’s directorial vision is complex and even somewhat unconventional. Lovers of Hate is ridiculously funny but also a thrillingly emotional roller coaster ride – a cinematic achievement that few directors and actors have pulled off as successfully as Poyser, Chris Doubek, Heather Kafka, Alex Karpovsky have here.

The Milk of Sorrow (La Teta Asustada) -- Based on Kimberly Theidon’s book Entre Prójimos, Peruvian director Claudia Llosa’s allegorical film details the long-lasting effects from the Sendero Luminoso’s shameless raping of Peruvian women. Llosa’s magic realism sensibilities allow her to walk the fine line between the grim natures of the content and visually lyrical yet absurdly comedic moments.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World -- Functioning as a hypertextualized mash-up of pop culture references from the 1990s and 2000s (thus lending the film a certain timeless quality), Scott Pilgrim vs. the World does well to push the boundaries of reality in all kinds of directions -- as long as your good senses are not insulted by some shameless stereotypes and a splattering of hyper-violence (though very little blood is shed), Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is an entertaining flick with a fantastic soundtrack.

A Town Called Panic (Panique au village) -- Neither sense nor logic exists in the world of A Town Called Panic; this is essentially a cinematic representation of the playtime fantasies of a dangerously imaginative and hyperactive five-year old child (it makes the Toy Story films seem like snooze-fests written by stodgy and stuffy Hollywood studio hacks). The sets are constructed with papier-mâché and cardboard; the characters are plastic toy figurines — most of which stand upright with the aid of a flat base to which their feet are attached — of mismatching dimensions, as if the aforementioned child was let loose in a vintage toy shop for 10 minutes and given enough funds to buy a bucketful of toys. Coherency and cohesion be damned, A Town Called Panic is pure unadulterated anarchy en Francais!

The Yes Men Fix the World -- Directed by Andy Bichlbaum and Mike Bonanno (a.k.a. the Yes Men), and co-directed by Kurt Engfehr (editor-producer Bowling for Columbine; Fahrenheit 9/11), this humor-injected political documentary makes Michael Moore’s most recent effort (Capitalism: A Love Story) seem grossly uninspired. Posing as high-ranking representatives of evil corporations, the Yes Men con their way into business conferences and television interviews in order to wake up their audiences to the dangers of passively allowing greed to rule the world. The results are more than just silly activist pranks; the actions of the Yes Men are thoughtfully conceived acts of protest designed to reach the largest possible audiences, inciting discussion, debate and action — this is exactly what all great political documentaries should do.

A scene from Even the Rain.

Collective colonization

By John Esther

Director Sebastian (Gael Garcia Bernal), producer Costa (Luis Tosa) and their Spanish crew have just arrived in Cochamba, Bolivia to make a film about Columbus' arrival in the Americas during the late 15th century. An examination in racism, religious hypocrisy and resistance, the film within the film of director Iciar Bollain's Even the Rain takes an unflattering view of the Spanish crown's gold crush in the 16th century.

While on location, the local "Indians," many of whom are involved with the film at significantly lower pay than their Spanish counterparts, are involved in a struggle with powerful forces (back by foreign corporations) over the local water supply. The locals have virtually no rights to the point they are prohibited from collecting the rain.

If making an epic historical film were not daunting enough, the local struggle threatens the film, the filmmakers' safety and the filmmakers' ideas about what it means to make a film about historical oppression while contemporary oppression is surrounds you and what it means to make a film about an oppressed people of the past without oppressing people of today.

Written by oft-Ken Loach collaborator, Paul Laverty (Bread and Roses; Looking for Eric) Spain's Oscar submission for Best Foreign Language Film swirls on a wide range of levels and topics. The film about a film or films (someone is shooting a documentary on the making of the film) thoroughly analysis the limitations and possibilities about making films to address (adjust?) social injustices, whether they are past or present, and that film is never the same as reality, regardless of accuracy, yet this is being illustrated in a film.

Highly recommended.

(Even the Rain screens Jan. 7, 6 p.m., Palm Springs Regal 9; Jan. 08 10 a.m., Palm Springs Regal 9. For more information: http://www.psfilmfest.org)

Watching him watch others Enter the Void.

Between the blank space

By John Esther

Enter. Friedrich Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence; Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey; George Bataille’s Erotism; Velvet Underground’s “Heroin”; Arthur Schopenhauer; The Germs; Candide (Voltaire); David Lynch’s Inland Empire; Ultravox’s “Western Promise”; Akira Kurosawa’s The Bad Sleep Well; Yasujiro Ozu’s Tokyo Story; Radiohead’s There, There; Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation; Ingmar Bergman; Ingmar Bergman’s Thirst; Beatles’ “Within You, Without You”; Michelangelo Antonioni’s phenomenal final tracking shot in The Passenger; the over-the-shoulder viewpoint works here as opposed to Darren Aronofsky’s misdirection in The Wrestler; those cowardly critics in the trades; Ultravox’s “I Want to Be a Machine”; Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers; Richard Kelly’s Southland Tales; this makes those tracking shots in Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas all the more boring and seem light-ed years away; Wenders’ Wings of Desire; Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s epilepsy a la the opening credits; James Joyce’s Ulysses; Lars von Trier’s Zentropa; the “book drop shot” in Krzystof Kieslowski’s Red; Michel Foucault’s ideological accretions and deletions; Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark; Solaris (both); Carl Cox and the three turntables; Peter Greenaway’s A Zed & Two Noughts; Philip K. Dick – in particular, A Scanner Darkly; so the circle is not dead; film academic William Van Wert; CGI is in the Art House; Sigmund Freud; exchange cock for car and the protagonist becomes impotent a la Chinatown; Cabaret Voltaire’s “Crackdown” and “Sex, Money, Freaks”; Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York; Thorton Wilder’s Our Town; and taxonomies are perhaps, perchance, per se, pure say, purr/stay, for the PRSA and precisely a few of the legible thoughts which crisscrossed, circumnavigated and swerved while watching Gasper Noé’s cinematic construct.

According to Noé’s testimonies, the atheistic-educated, adolescent pot smoker-turned-screenwriter/director/cameraperson/co-editor/associate producer had some similar (i.e. Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey; Dick and dick) yet more differing thoughts (i.e. Lady in the Lake; Robert Moody’s Life after Death; Katherine Bigelow’s Strange Days; and Tron), put into the text, although, at the least, his oeuvre proves he is no stranger to post-Sartrean French intellectual thought.

Divided by a hallucinatory scene of illustrious colors during two world-class tracking shots – that mirror in the bathroom scene! -- transports a young drug dealing American expatriate named Oscar (Nathaniel Brown) to a Tokyo nightclub where the setup by a friend-turned-fiend named Victor (Olly Alexander) because of Oscar’s sexual relationship with Victor’s mother (Sara Stockbridge) leads to Oscar’s death at the hands of Japanese police and the post-life recollections and recreations of Oscar’s life.

Brilliantly shot from Oscar’s, and only Oscar’s point-of-view, Oscar and the camera hover and circle over the past, present and future of the dead, young man’s life: the cataclysmic car crash that took the lives of his biological mother and father (Janice Sicotte-Beliveau and Simon Chamberland, respectively); the birth canal/blood oath he shares with his sister, Linda (Paz de la Huerta); copulating scenes of family members –- including a hilarious “money shot”; his relationship to his only true friend, Alex (Cyril Roy); his relationship to Victor; sake and Saki (Sakiko Fukuhara -- put pun pere); his interactions with others; the lives of others before and after his demise; etc., back and forth, flotsam and jetsam, great highs to grave depths; tenebrous to the incandescent-ing ; in and out of the minds of Alex and others; disco-rd to umbilical cord; wound to womb; adulthood in the east (Japan) to childhood in the west (Canada, because Made in USA would have been too expensive). In other words, the twilight’s last gleaming of a young, wild, and damned (promising) man is captured.

A groundbreaking “psychedelic melodrama” by any “cinematographic means” necessary, if you think last year’s Avatar broke boundaries, for every breakthrough James Cameron’s film offers technologically, Noé’s film does artistically. There is much more to experience and any other attitude may be cowardice.

Writing of which, judging by the ridiculous responses reported at the 2010 Sundance and SXSW Film Festivals, it seems viewing the film requires a certain cerebral capacity in dIs-Order to b-are/ear its roughly 160-minutes of sense and sensory overdrive. (The Cannes Film Festival 2009 screening was not the film’s “definitive form,” said Noé). Then there are the themes/d-reams/scenes of incest (“Ah, the western syndrome!”); a personal dioramic orgasmic porno(é)graphic personal apocalypse; drug induced hallucinations; various s(t)ink hole shots, an abortion and its dis/car-de(a)d/contents; Linda learning about the death of a family member -- from the spontaneous (parents) to the protracted (brother); a strip club; a roller coaster car crash; philosophical discussions based on The Tibetan Book of the Dead and the drug, DMT; the fear Noé is going to give us another shocking scene on par with Irreversible’s bludgeoning and rape scenes (he does not); parental loss; “average characters” at fault for their untimely deaths; etc., to endure. This film is not for the squeamish (or epileptic). At least English-speaking audiences do not have to worry about subtitles.

Unless this is Oscar’s omniscient/omni-potent(cy/see) drug induced trip in wastelandedUcated, and it legitimately could be, the film’s primary underachievement (which seems an unfair word to use here) is the beyond-the-grave narrative. I almost always loathe such reactionary narratives (i.e. Our Town; It’s a Wonderful Life; American Beauty; Lovely Bones), but here it is forgivable because it works without being sentimental, superstitious or spiritual in any traditional meaning or affirmation of the afterlife. (The film’s neo-structuralism could do wandering wonders for a reeled real historical figure.)

Highly likely to make my top ten of 2010, even if the film is not the best film of the year, the increasingly talented Noé has made the film event of the year. Lead grip Akira Kanna deserves kudos, too. Void.

Allen Ginsberg (James Franco) in Howl.

The beauty of the beasts

By John Esther

Back in 1997 during his last year alive, I had the great fortune to spend some time with the astounding American poet, Allen Ginsberg.

Among the many things Ginsberg imparted on me was that the worst thing in the world is for people to deliberately ignore one’s existence, especially when it comes to the poor.

“When some street person asks you for money and you don’t want to give it,” said Ginsberg, “at least acknowledge they exist. Don’t just ignore them.”

Since then I have tried to follow Ginsberg’s advice. After watching Howl, I remember why.

Directed by Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman, Howl looks at Ginsberg, circa age 29, and the influence his magnum opus and first published poem, Howl, had on America during the mid-1950s.

In some ways a poetic equivalent of Orson Welles and Citizen Kane (the artist’s first work for public consumption was his best), Ginsberg’s Howl defined a country hell bent on making every unhappy face smile as they ignored and perpetuated the misery around and behind him and her.

Rather than tell a straightforward biopic, Howl, which was an opening night film at Sundance Film Festival 2010, is essentially divided into four equal parts using four different mediums/tropes to convey the power the poet and his poem had on the people and the powers-that-be.

One part is essentially theater, with Ginsberg (a marvelous James Franco) reading his poem at the Six Gallery on October 7, 1955, to an enthusiastic crowd, including the writers/future “absent lovers,” Jack Kerouac (Todd Rotondi) and Neal Cassady (Jon Presscott). The second part uses animation (designed by Eric Dooker) to illustrate the meanings/feelings of the poem -- at least one accurate interpretation thereof. The third part is the dramatic poetic justice of Howl, and thus free speech, on trial for obscenity (People vs. Ferlinghetti). And the fourth part is a pseudo documentary where Ginsberg answers questions to an off-screen interviewee.

Highlighted by Edward Lachman’s magnificent direction of photography, Howl intermingles these four sets to brilliant heights.

While the poem Howl said so many things about America and Howl the film says so much about America then and now, the greatness in this film lies in the fact that the filmmakers managed to capture both Ginsberg and Howl at its vital essence: the voice of desire and fulfillment of communication and acknowledgement by and for those who have been ignored by society at large through malice, ignorance or indifference.

Without a significant flaw in sight after two viewings, I will be very surprised if Howl is not one of the 10 best films of the year.

Leeds United team as depicted in The Damned United

Fare thee well 2009

By John Esther

It may have ended the decade on a grand -– millions of them -– note at the box office, but 2009 was a resounding dud of a year at the movies.

Granted I saw a fewer films last year than usual -– including a few possible winners such as Antichrist, The Hurt Locker, Where the Wild Things Are, Moon and Capitalism: A Love Story -– but what I did see left greatness to be wild-eye-ly desired.

Having written that, here are my top picks, placed in no particular order:

Dawson, Island 10 – After the democratically elected president of Chile, Salvador Allende, was assassinated by an United States-backed military coup, many of Allende’s closest political friends and allies were sent to a prison on Dawson Island. Brilliantly reconstructed by noted Chilean filmmaker, Miguel Littin, the conditions of the illegal imprisonment were brutal but these good men endured, thanks to their superior intellect and good humor.

The Road – In this desolate dystopian future, those who tend to survive are cannibalistic hicks chasing down the remainders of the family unit in director John Hillcoat’s adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel. A worthy futuristic film in the vein of Robert Altman’s Quintet, brilliant direction, set design and solid acting mark the bleakest, and thus most courageous, feature of 2009.

The Damned United – A healthy look at English soccer right before it took off into a massive corporate enterprise where players made multimillionaire contracts, director Tom Hooper tells the story of Brian Clough’s (Michael Sheen) 44-days as the coach of Leeds United. A smooth, essentially flawless film The Damned United features the best acting ensemble of the year.

Invictus - I never thought I would see the day when I would pick a Clint Eastwood film as one of my favorites, but this film about one segment of political prisoner-turn-President Nelson Mandela’s (Morgan Freeman) plan to reconcile the post-Apartheid nation of South Africa through professional sports was an inspiring master stroke of inspiration by a director who finally put his machismo inclinations to good purpose. Timely.

Avatar - Picking a Clint Eastwood film as a top ten pick is one thing, but when writer-director James Cameron makes one of the best films of the year, something strange this new decade comes. Years in the making, Avatar was a much smarter film than I ever expected and certainly was the most fun I had watching a movie in 2009.

A Single Man - Worthy of Christopher Isherwood’s writing, Tom Ford's feature directorial debut story about a lonely gay man living in Los Angeles, 1962 burst with radiant images of love, loss and lust in rather equal measures. And Colin Firth’s lead performance was on the three or four best performances I saw all year.

Precious: Based on the novel “Push” by Sapphire - Speaking of exceptional acting, I do not know where she was channeling it from, but Mo’Nique’s performance as a lousy mother in Lee Daniels’ film about a pregnant, undereducated and obese 16-year-old girl (Gabourey Sidibe) born under the punches and kicks of a terrible home was stunning –- a highlight to a wonderful film about a rarely-wonderful world.

Burma VJ - When the Buddhist Monk protests of 2007 inspired people to take to the streets of Rangoon and elsewhere to protest the junta’s illegitimacy -- only to meet the strong arms of the martial lawlessness –- a small group of guerilla reporters were right there to capture the heroism and the horrors of the citizens and their relationship to their rulers. Working at great peril if the reporters are caught recording, they are in serious trouble. Very important on many levels, director Anders Østergaard’s documentary reminds us firsthand how valuable the media are to a free society and not-so-free society.

The Cove - A sad inversion to March of the Penguins, Louie Psihoyos’ thrilling and chilling documentary follows a small group of brave activists as they try and save dolphins from the annual slaughter conducted in the picturesque town of Taijii, Japan and elsewhere. That its box office receipts did not even break a million dollars, compared to the 100-million plus March of the Penguins had, only compounds the tragedy for all those Flippers around the world.

The Wedding Song - One of the most original voices to emerge during the first decade of the millennium, director-writer-actor Karin Albou’s film about a Jewish girl, Myriam (Lizzie Brocheré) and her Arab friend, Nour (Olympe Borval) in Tunis, Tunisia, 1942, explored multiple dualities -- culture-faith; Jew-Arab; pro-Semitism/anti-Semitism; femininity-masculinity; tradition-modernism; etc. -- against an original World War II backdrop.

Slumdog Millionaire: Best film of the year?

Barking and batting for the others

By John Esther

Judging by the majority of mainstream accolades and conversations from film reviewers and consumers alike, one would believe that the best the films of 2008 had to offer were Slumdog subjective dazes and replayed dark knight narratives where Horatio Algers of the world rise from the hells of poverty and alien-nation while billionaire playboys dress up and save the world; growing young has its disadvantages, and non-German Germans speaking English could write a more genial and gentler German history in these not so happy-go-lucky times.

What was that Godarian remark about art being the reality of the reflection of reality? Egad, if unabashedly reinforcing the status quo vis-à-vis Victorian-valued fantasy is the cinematic community’s reaction to the best in the best of all possible worlds then, apparently, The Class’ François (François Bégaudeau) is not the only one reluctant to have others to read Voltaire’s Candide.

If it were not for the notable exceptions of Milk and Waltz with Bashir it would seem that in the days of President-Elect Barack Obama, the Hollywood apparatus, along with the apologists and admirers, are even more behind the American political centrist-left curve than they were with the promotion of last year’s politically reactionary film, No Country for Old Men, as the best picture of 2007.

While it would be lengthy, albeit perhaps more useful, to discuss the faults with the forerunners of 2008, as we look ahead to January 20, 2009, let us praise here the extraordinary works of art of 2008 rather than tear down mediocrity moviemaking. (There is much to criticize elsewhere anyhow and, besides, criticisms can be fully explored during the month-long Oscar race between nominations on January 22, 2009, and the award ceremony on February 22, 2009.)

Like any other social text, a film needs to be judged on numerous tropes, agents and assets implementing ideas, events and characters with intensity, innovation and intelligence. No film is an island free from complacency, criticism and kudos.

There were plenty of exemplary films of 2008 achieving considerable accomplishment(s) yet it was not a particularly great year for cinema. More specifically, on at least three memorable occasions, weeks went by where, basically, I saw films I would essentially forget altogether had it not been for the occasional reminder thanks to a visit to the video store or channel surfing through cable television.

Ergo the alphabetic list of best 2008 films below may have risen to the top of the year, but it is highly unlikely any of them will make my “best of the decade” at the end of this year.

Funny Games U.S. – In light of and in contrast to promising times such as these, it is a grand thing when someone shoves a Schopenhauerian story of non-visually accepted brutality into our non-olfactory cephalic orifices. An American remake of his 1997 film, Michael Haneke’s precisely directed film examines the mean means and wayward ways of American movie violence when a staunchly upper-middle class mother (Naomi Watts), father (Tim Roth) and son (Devon Gearhart) are terrorized by the polite duo of Peter (Brad Corbet) and Paul (Michael Pitt). Superior to that other hyperbolic praised film attempting to address the same subject yet concluding with a disgusting display of suburban romanticism, A History of Violence, not since Gaper Noe’s Irreversible (which is also guilty of David Cronenberg's adoration of suburbia and urban mistrust) has a feature film crawled under my skin, for very good reason, like this non-funny match of “Bonehead” and “Hellraiser” images and ideas.

Hunger – Stylistically brilliant with an excess of poetic license that prevents the cinematic story of IRA resister and hunger-striker Bobby Sands from being a grand masterpiece, Steve McQueen’s film is as stark, brutal, unappetizing and relentlessly pessimistic as any historical recreation of the highest orders. When you know there is no hope for the historical characters in a film -- and this is not a Hollywood movie so there will not be any here – there is little else to do than sit back and taste the misery. Cops do not stop torturing and let their victims go. Others do not watch on as the horrors of oppression merge on. This is a story about pain, resistance and lasting victory. There is a human dignity personified in this film, far beyond the machinations of a cynical Hollywood apparatus.

Milk – Wonderful in so many ways, Gus Van Sant’s story of slain civil rights leader Harvey Milk is the kind of story that offers not just one person a chance to make it in this world while millions watch on in status quo oblivion, but a community, if not a nation (world), too. What is there to legitimately say wrong about it? Sean Penn’s performance as Milk is typically brilliant yet, in addition, propelled by the excellent supporting cast. Van Sant’s skilled direction is manifest and loving. Danny Elfman’s score is the most significant of his film career. The film has direct political resonance of our times and it will be watched for years to come. Okay, Diego Luna’s character and his character’s wig are quite annoying but, otherwise, Milk may be the best film of the year.

Nothing But the Truth – In her best performance as the year’s best female character (which is not saying much), Kate Beckinsale plays Rachel Armstrong, a reporter for a major newspaper in Washington, D.C. who exposes the identity of a covert CIA agent, Erica Van Doren (Vera Farmiga). The government, lead by Patton Dubois (Matt Damon), demands Rachel release the name of her source. At considerable cost, Rachel refuses to cave in -- thus saving face, protecting democracy and her source, plus offering “hope” for journalists, women and parents who lose family in the name of a larger unit. While writer-director Rod Lurie’s previous works have had their moderate and modest merits, he progresses professionally and politically with this picture.

Seven Pounds – In the best lead performance of his career, Will Smith, in his follow up to the stupid Hancock, plays Ben Thomas, a man so riddled with guilt the only thing left to live for is others. Ben is ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for the right people; he just needs to make sure the people he picks deserve his generosity. Along the way he discovers some of the kindest, quietest people; including a heartbreaking, lonely, blind man played to near-perfection by Woody Harrelson (only that hairdo diminishes his character’s pathos). Surprisingly, for a film about an African-American making the grandest personal sacrifice he can for the greater good during the time of an upcoming African-American African president talking about sacrifice for the greater necessity, director Gabriele Muccino’s authentic “feel good” film has, unfortunately, been discarded during awards season by lighter weight works.

Special – Beyond Michael Rapaport’s outstanding performance, this is a small film with a lot of phenomena going for it. Dealing with drugs as both self-realization and self-destruction; deconstruction of the comic book narrative; the fantasies of the working class person; paying and playing to advertise brand names as an act of hero worship and identification (albeit false); working class dupe as guinea pig and wild horse; as much as you push down the working class person, he (she, they) will eventually rise; and special as in stupid; this widely disregarded film is filled with ideas and style, which is all the more important considering its obviously low budget. Special in its own way, this was the most overlooked film of the year.

Synecdoche, New York – Writer extraordinaire Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut film allows the kind of rigorous thought, attention, reflection and reward akin to obvious, and not so obvious, predecessors like James Joyce’s Ulysses, Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past (and Pamela Hansford Johnson’s Proust Recaptured) , Laurence Stern’s Tristram Shandy, Luigi Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author, Jean-Luc Godard’s Pierrot Le Fou (and some recent films by Jacques Rivette), and theories advanced by Umberto Eco (Travels in Hyper Reality) Terry Eagleton (“Subjects”) and Frederic Jameson (simulacrum!) – to name just a few -- plus the music of Wire (ITABA and “Drill”). The difficult acting challenges required by the story's/ies demands are superbly met by the likes of Philip Seymour Hoffman, Dianne Wiest, Tom Noonan, Michelle Williams, Samantha Morton, Hope Davis and others.

Tony Manero – Set against the awful reign of General Auguste Pinochet’s military grip on Chile, 1978, Raul (Alfredo Castro) is an everyday fascist obsessed with impersonating Saturday Night Fever’s disco do-nothing doll (John Travolta). Grounds for a social satire, Chile’s official Oscar entry is one of the more violent and vicious films of the year (up there with Funny Games). If it suits Tony, he will steal or kill. A jerk being jerked around, like the leader of his country Tony cannot get a rise from people but he can sure put people down – for good. He should be dancing in jail but who is going to notice in a land gone mad with might? Selflessly acted by Castro and others, and bravely directed by Pablo Larrain, Tony Manero is a brutal portrait of a country rotting from the arms to its goosesteps. Not surprisingly in this time of romance with happy endings, Larrain’s film is been widely reviled by the mainstream movie reviewers.

Tropic Thunder – Every year there is a movie-- usually one of those quieter summer releases -- I have a blast watching. It may not be a masterpiece, but it possesses enough wit and verve to make the top ten. Director/actor/producer/co-writer Ben Stiller’s film within a film about the making of the ultimate war movie clinched-fisted America’s fascistic fascination with the image of war – plus other less than noble endeavors -- and punched it right in the funny bone. From the opening scene to the ridiculous panda-cide to the hilarious send up of the serious actor by this year’s most overlooked “Best Supporting Actor” Robert Downey, Jr., to Tom Cruise’s anal-releasing performance as a foulmouthed billionaire and so on, this was a riotous ruckus. You people know what I mean.

Waltz with Bashir – The only documentary or animated film to make the list this year (note: I have not seen Wall-E), Ari Folman’s non-“Love Song” into the Lebanon massacres of 1982 by the powers that be – Lebanese, Israeli, or otherwise – engages viewers on several levels with its important historical insights, clear anti-war message, contemporary political impact, outstanding animation and deft soundtrack. In contrast to those Disneyesque derivatives of Charles Dickens, Alexandre Dumas and DC Comics, for the children of the Sabra and Shatila slums, there was no millionaire reward or going back, and the only thing the dark night brought was terror. They lit up their deaths.

TOP TEN: DON SIMPSON'S FILMS OF 2010

PSIFF: EVEN THE RAIN

FILM REVIEW: ENTER THE VOID

FILM REVIEW: HOWL

John Esther's Top Ten of 2009

FILM FEATURE: TOP TEN FILMS OF 2008