2007 in Film

            Okay, I have to retract my previous statement that 2007 hasn't had that many biggies.  To clarify, what I meant, I guess, was that it doesn't seem like there are a few Oscar frontrunners (which has changed now that we're closer to the season).  But that is not a translation to there not being many great films, because while I liked a lot of movies in 2006, I loved a lot of movies this year.  Even better, I can't even think of a single critical or popular darling that is getting so much attention that it's increasing my hate.  There's no Dreamgirls, no Crash, and certainly no Million Dollar Baby.  In the Valley of Elah is inexplicably well-liked (well, it's not inexplicable: the people who like it are suckers), but it's not garnering any awards attention!  Everything that's up, and I mean everything, has been at the very least good with me.  And that makes this year the best film year since I've cared about film. 

            I wrote a lot about some of the movies this year because I haven't really been reviewing any of them as I see them.  So I kind of want to get right into it.  But first, because this year saw a rise in musicals/music-dependent films (like Sweeney Todd, Hairspray, Across the Universe, Once, Walk Hard, I'm Not There, etc.), my little extra thing this year is that I assigned each film in my top 25 an accompanying album from the year that I feel complements it in some way (you know like how I did the overrated/underrated thing from the movies in 2005).  I'm pretty sure I used all of my favorite albums of the year, so this'll act as a teaser as to those, though unranked. 

And now, I present, my ranked list of 2007 in movies, with a standard deviation of 4.78 places.  But I would suggest not reading about a movie you haven't seen, because, as usual, I have been fairly loose with spoilers.

Still haven't seen:  Michael Clayton, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Lust Caution, probably other biggies

Honorable Mentions
(in alphabetical order)

Across the Universe--At the time I saw this, I liked it, but I didn't love it.  Weeks later (after seeing the Beatles' Love and listening to their music constantly), I want to own the special edition.  When I went in, I was hoping for more realism, more of an actual plot with character motivations and realistic lines.  And I let that color my experience.  Now, without expectation, I can enjoy Julie Taymor's enchanting tale of the '60s.  Jim Sturgess, despite the mullet, has that perfect Liverpudlian voice for the Beatles, and Dana Fuchs (Sadie) has that perfect Helter Skelter-rock voice of the Beatles.  All of the singers are magnificent, and Evan Rachel Wood is as impressive a musical talent as she is an actress.  The real highlight though, other than the songs, is the fantastic imagery and elaborately theatrical numbers that have become Taymor's trademark. 

American Gangster--Here's a movie I loved when I saw it (not as strongly as many of my other loves), but that doesn't really demand that I watch it again.  It's a great one-off, just not really innovative.  Washington and Crowe are tremendous, and you kind of have to see this just for the continuation of Josh Brolin's comeback year.  Plus, the climactic showdown takes like forty minutes or something.  I loved seeing how Frank Lucas built his empire, particularly taking advantage of the Vietnam War and visiting the drug suppliers directly at the source.  It was really brilliant.  Ridley Scott certainly knows how to make great movies, but this and Gladiator aren't really convincing me that he's got much more innovation left.  I hope Body of Lies proves me wrong.  And since it sounds like I'm not that keen on the film, I just want to reiterate that it's on my honorable mentions, in excellent company, for a reason.   

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead--Sidney Lumet is one of the old masters still working and still churning out greatness.  12 Angry Men is from 1957, people!  That's 50 years worth of Lumet, probably peaking in the '70s with Network, but nevertheless cranking out stuff worthy of his name (Find Me Guilty not included).  In the past couple years, Altman, Antonioni, and Bergman died, Coppola divided (though frankly, I think Youth Without Youth looks incredible and can't wait), and Scorsese seems a rare exception in maintaining quality.  In a year where modern auteurs like the Coens, Paul Thomas Anderson, Wes Anderson, David Fincher, David Cronenberg, and Todd Haynes are developing masterpieces, it's nice to see an old master's still got it.  The timeline-screwiness provides the perfect structure for the most unstable, amateurish crime family, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Albert Brooks, and Marisa Tomei's boobs turn in excellent performances.  I can't get behind putting this film at the top of the list for the year, but it certainly is a great film that I highly recommend. 

Charlie Wilson's War--One of my favorite political films of the year features Phillip Seymour Hoffman as its highlight.  Tom Hanks is as great as you'd expect, and his jailbait squad is one of my favorite things from the movies this year.  Amy Adams, Julia Roberts, and John Slattery were wonderful but fairly inconsequential in my mind, as Hanks and Hoffman are the leaders of the operation, which effectively ended the Cold War.  I wish the movie would lose the frame; without that opening with the medal (which is unearned in the beginning, before we know anyone), the film would have been a grade better.  But regardless, I loved seeing all the political stuff, particularly during an interesting time period, and I highly enjoyed seeing how the three leads played off each other.  I'll probably own this next year. 

Control--About the lead singer of Joy Division, Ian Curtis, Control is filmed in stark black and white for reasons that I feel differ from the common interpretation.  People seem to think that Curtis was depressed all the time and saw everything in black and white, but I disagree, and I think the film does too.  The black and white focuses on the people, rather than distractingly colorful surroundings, and forces us to look closer at Curtis.  I don't think he was constantly depressed, and the film shows him enjoying life quite a bit.  Samantha Morton and Sam Riley (Curtis) convincingly play teenagers and twenty-year-olds, and I found myself enthralled with the story.  Definitely check it out. 

Gone Baby Gone--Ben Affleck's directorial debut is incredible.  It's based on a book by Dennis Lehane (Mystic River), and it shows.  Set in working class Boston, it's about a PI couple who are contacted when a little girl is kidnapped.  The mystery is incredibly densely-woven, but what really makes this film so amazing is what's going on behind the plot.  Affleck (and presumably Lehane) examines America, opening with shots of Boston full of patriotic imagery like prominent American flags, and the final moral quandary is one deeply concerned with American government.  In the end, it comes down to whether Casey Affleck (who is outstanding) should obey the law or not, and frankly, he makes the right choice.  We have social services for a reason, and while children often fall through the cracks, their responsibilities should not be usurped by one man.  On the other hand, Affleck puts the media on trial throughout, ending with a subtle touch of Casey and the little girl sitting watching t.v., and it's the subtlety of the direction that captivated me. 

Lars and the Real Girl--What an incredibly sweet film.  It's not quite Stranger Than Fiction sweet, and it's certainly got that indie-brand plot you'd expect from a Ryan Gosling film.  But it is undeniable unless you're stone-hearted EW critic Owen Gleiberman.  And probably Ryan.  Ryan Gosling here plays not a man with a diagnosed mental disorder (demanding the question of what makes a disorder anyway?  After all, Lars just needed to break out of his shell.  An important message for overmedicated times) but a crippling fear of people.  He can't be touched without hyperventilating, and he has trouble communicating even the smallest of desires.  He's simple, but it's not a permanent thing; if he could change, he would.  Enter Bianca, a real sex doll who he, the village, and the audience fall in love with.  Okay, so it's a little far-fetched, but you need to take the advice of Dr. Patricia Clarkson, who tells Lars' brother and his wife to go along with it.  If you do, you'll find a wonderful little film perfect for Christmas.  And can I just say that Paul Schneider (Lars' brother) is not only extremely attractive but very talented and picking some great work this year. 

Persepolis--I read the story and almost immediately began the film.  The movie covers all four volumes of Persepolis, but over half of it is dedicated to volume 1 (which is the one I read).  So while I knew most of the story, I did still get some surprises.  I loved the animation and the little-girl's-perspective on society-shifting political events, but, having read the first book, I couldn't help but feel it was a little rushed.  They skipped over a lot of the revolutionary movement, and while the film itself is paced rather well (and is really quite incredible), I put myself at a disadvantage by reading it right before.  On the other hand, the story is quite touching, and really gets to the heart of Iranian culture today. 

Movies I Loved but Need to See Again--Ratatouille, Hot Fuzz, and Sunshine are three early-2007 films that I enjoyed immensely, but can't really claim to rank with any accuracy.  I highly recommend them based solely on my initial enjoyment, but I couldn't include them in my list.  That said, I liked Hot Fuzz better than Shaun of the Dead, Sunshine is brilliant (even if you choose not to go along with the twist, the rest of it is fantastic and greatly directed), and Ratatouille features Pixar's best (most realistic) animation.  I wish I could say more, but just know that these three films are the wild cards of the list this year, and any of them could move up the rankings at some point. 

2007:  Best Film Year in a While

25:  A Mighty Heart--A wonderful, moving little film that does far more than prove why Angelina Jolie is famous.  Her turn as Mariane Pearl is extraordinary, a strong and almost stoic example in what might seem a sentimental film.  Michael Winterbottom's latest effort feels like a documentary, focusing on the procedural that follows the kidnapping and ransom of American journalist Daniel Pearl in Pakistan.  We not only come to understand the precise connections between US, international, and Pakistani organizations with intricate detail, but we catch plenty of human moments as Mariane, her Indian neighbor and powerhouse Asra, Daniel's Washington Post partner and boss, and the special agent heading up the investigation played by Will Patton try to keep positive.  The humor is often and completely endearing, and we get sidetracked with subplots involving mudslinging Pakistani journalists trying to discredit each member of Mariane's support group.  It's short, and like Mariane, saves its sentimentality for the end, when it's certain that Daniel Pearl has been killed.  All that aside, what draws me back to this film is the humanity of the film, the little moments between the major characters, and the subtle (rather than grand) flashbacks to Mariane and Daniel's honeymoon. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  In Our Nature by Jose Gonzalez, particularly "How Low," "In Our Nature," and "Time to Send Someone Away."  Notable in its simplicity, much like A Mighty Heart, the album sees Gonzalez gradually worn down by the darkness that's in our nature.  Thematically, the two are a great match. 

24:  Lions for Lambs--This is what I wrote back when I saw it, which I repeat only because it really is exactly how I view this weirdly inspiring film:  "I'm a disillusioned political science student.  Honestly, I felt like Robert Redford made Lions for Lambs just for me (a sentiment which I've felt a lot this year, with Into the Wild among others).  But these films are all entertaining, artful, and packed with interesting and provocative thoughts.  Lions for Lambs may be too talky for some, or maybe it's aimed at my generation so the old, tweed-wearing critics didn't "get" it, but it's unequivocally a portrait of the political landscape of America circa 2006.  This is Criterion-level culture-funneling.  In 2056, when I'm trying to explain to the robots what the political discourse was like one tenth of the way through the Iraq War, I would show them Lions for Lambs.  The film has its flaws, but it is otherwise successful in capturing the culture.  I've read some reviews that fault it for boring them--which I don't understand given the relative importance of the issues at hand, and it's only an hour and a half--and others that say it doesn't bring up anything new--which I'll again disagree with, because I learned a few things, and furthermore, I was entertained and inspired.  And the stuff we all already know, like the quagmire that is Iraq and the trend away from proper journalism and the plight of low-class neighborhoods domestically, is necessary to keep bringing up until there's a solution.  That's the freaking point of the movie, at least Meryl's plot, so to me, that's an empirically well-executed thematic point for which the movie has to earn at least some goodwill, the brilliant performances of the three leads notwithstanding."  Word.  But I do want to point out that the biggest draw for me to rewatching this film is the titanic acting of Meryl Streep, Tom Cruise, and Robert Redford. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  The Shepherd's Dog by Iron and Wine, but hear me out.  Now, I could have gone with the overtly political anti-Bush records (of which I can name five off the top of my head) this year, but I tried to use 25 albums I actually liked--just wait till you see which anti-Bush record I picked for No End in Sight.  The Shepherd's Dog features a well-written (Lions for Lambs is well-written above all else) collection of Biblical imagery (Middle East, anyone?  Also the Religious Right reference) and southern violence (Texas...Bush...military?  I don't know, it worked in my head).  Plus that great South Asian sound of "White Tooth Man" evokes Afghanistan beautifully.  Oh, and I liked the idea that both titles use animals as symbols. 

23:  Eastern Promises--I'm a little disappointed not to have seen this one again, because at the time, it really made an impact.  I'm not the biggest Cronenberg fan in execution--he doesn't always pick the best actors (the son in A History of Violence) and he doesn't always get the best performances from the otherwise good actors he picks (Naomi Watts here).  But his ideas and the underlying thematic stories he tells rival the greats these days.  Videodrome pretty much sucks as a movie if you're watching the literal story, but under the surface lies a harrowing story of technophobia, and that's where Cronenberg really succeeds for me.  Eastern Promises is my favorite Cronenberg film that I've seen, and Viggo Mortensen is not one of those actors who fails in a Cronenberg film.  The man is a god, and I'm talking about far more than his body.  As much as I liked him in A History of Violence, Viggo is even better here, as a CIA agent acting as a Russian mobster.  And the violence, at least on par with Cronenberg's last outing, is brutally captivating.  I anticipate rewatching this to see if it rises up the ranks. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  The Good, the Bad, and the Queen by The Good, the Bad, and the Queen, particularly, "Kingdom of Doom," and "A Soldier's Tale, " though of course the entire album has that perfect London, Eastern Promises mood. 

22:  No End in Sight--This is the first political documentary I can really get behind.  While others come off like one-sided propaganda, No End in Sight does not debate the merits of occupying Iraq.  What it does is destroy any notion you had that there was ever a plan.  We get some great interviews with Walter Slocombe, the croney who became Iraq's ambassador, ground colonel Paul Hughes who was not consulted during the occupation on key decisions (like what to do with the Iraqi standing military), and excellent footage of Rumsfeld lying and Wolfowitz being himself, which is to say douchey, and the other higher-ups who apparently didn't even consult or inform the president.  They discuss former occupations like Yugoslavia and how the generals in charge there were not consulted when dealing with Iraq, and how the State Department developed a comprehensive plan for occupying Iraq that was simply ignored.  No End in Sight is concise and sharp, and it's only ranked so low because there were so many brilliant films this year. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Magic by Bruce Springsteen.  Now, I haven't listened to the album, but I hear it's pretty dissatisfied with the Bush administration, and the high reviews reflect the reception given to No End in Sight. 

21:  The Savages--This is a smart, funny, emotionally real film about a pair of adult siblings who put their father in a nursing home.  It opens kind of awkwardly--I don't remember really laughing at the first two scenes--but Laura Linney and Philip Seymour Hoffman sell the bejeezus out of it.  Linney plays that high-strung, upper middle class, damaged middle-aged woman very well, and Hoffman is playing the same thing but with pretensions of nobility and artfulness.  It may seem they're playing types, but the film is so much smarter than that.  As we learn about the characters and their life situations, and we watch their father and understand their family history, we discover why they are the way they are, and we find that we've been watching an enthralling exploration of everything from thinking vs. feeling to cycles of life.  Surprisingly intensely psychological, The Savages is also quite hilarious and observant, but as I said, the film would be nothing without the authenticity of Linney and Hoffman. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Voxtrot by Voxtrot, particularly "Ghost" and "Kid Gloves."  The album's adolescent selfishness (entitlement?  egotism?) perfectly underscores the arrested development of the Savages, the smart lyrics highlight the intelligent banter of the characters, and the thematic content of family and moving on further reflect the plot of the film. 

20.  Helvetica--Who'd have thought a documentary about a typeface would be so fascinating?  The film traces the history of the now ubiquitous helvetica font, from the over-designed ads of the 1950s spawning a simple, firm set of letters that has just enough room to breathe.  But the typographers and historians interviewed really imbue the font (and all fonts and ads) with underlying political characteristics.  In this simple documentary, we learn about socialism and counterculture and, somehow, that helvetica is the reason for the Iraq War.  It was just as wonderful to see how they designed fonts manually back in the day and how computer programs aid the process today.  You may  not think you want to watch this, but if you're like me (and you are in this respect), you won't be able to turn it off.  Extraordinary documentary, people.  Am I overselling? 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  The End of History by Fionn Regan, and not just because that exact phrase is used in the documentary.  "The Underwood Typewriter," "Abacus," and "Snowy Atlas Mountains," reflect the alphabetic focus of the album. 

19:  Zodiac--This is one epic procedural.  It's freaking long, covers a lot of time, takes us down a ton of wrong paths, and doesn't even solve the Zodiac case.  Except it kind of does.  It's a massive labyrinthine puzzle, which is to say it is fascinating.  I certainly felt the length of time (unlike in my #1), but David Fincher's direction and the story just kept getting deeper and more interesting.  As the lead, Jake Gyllenhaal played a great dork, and Mark Ruffalo was a terrific captain who actually helped him out in order to solve the case.  But the highlight, as usual, is Robert Downey, Jr., who becomes a target of the Zodiac killer--or does he?--and succumbs to the drink.  Of course, for the first hour and a half he's just an awesome, charismatic, politically manipulative journalist, but it's later on that you realize how much you miss him.  As for the mystery, I loved it.  The entire film feels like a riddle, and I'd say that Fincher wasn't making a movie about the Zodiac killer per se, but about the obsessive need to solve puzzles that can become dangerous, which it does for all three leads.  The thriller aspects to the film were just as enjoyable, especially the opening, in the foggy San Francisco night.  I can't wait to check out the 2-disc director's cut and follow Fincher and Gyllenhaal further down the rabbit hole. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  In Rainbows by Radiohead, particularly "15 Step," "Bodysnatchers," and "Videotape."  The puzzling aspect of the film actually haunts the album as well. 

18:  Grindhouse--I've gone on too much about this film, but that's because it means so much to me that the original version be made extant.  As I've said, the film Grindhouse, while made up of two self-sufficient mini-features, opens with a 70s theater ad, makes way for a trailer, then begins with Robert Rodriguez's Planet Terror, after which we get three more trailers followed by Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof.  That is the film I want to own on DVD.  The smaller elements (the trailers and ads) really set the mood and got me freaking excited for the first movie, which was awesome, high-octane fun that includes a woman with a machine gun for a leg!  Best movie ever, I know!  Then Tarantino took us in a different direction, a film that holds up as artful and witty, while retaining that simple, sleazy grindhouse plot.  By the end where Rosario Dawson and Zoe Bell and Tracie Thoms beat Kurt Russell to a pulp, I was high as a kite on adrenaline and methamphetamines.  I am pleased to see certain other critics including this on their year-end lists, and cannot wait to recreate my sacred, original Grindhouse experience. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Baby 81 by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.  The album's rooted in classic rock almost like a revival.  And was there a more rocking film this year? 

17:  In the Shadow of the Moon--The second-highest documentary (check out #16) looks fake.  The shots are crisp and seem innovatively-directed; it's like if Spielberg were creating a movie about the space program, except it's all real.  The moon footage is obviously the highlight.  If someone asked me why I'm into space, I would show them the twenty minutes or so toward the end of just astronauts on the moon and the lunar rover and the incredible blackness of the sky.  Of course, this documentary would be nothing without the insightful commentary from the hilarious Michael Collins and my other favorites, Jim Lovell, Alan Bean and Gene Cernan, although it should be noted that almost every surviving Apollo astronaut except for Neil Armstrong is featured here.  I will say I docked points for the unnecessary discussion of religion at the end.  No, the abundance of beauty in the world is not a logical argument for the existence of a god, and the filmmakers' inclusion of (I believe) Buzz Aldrin saying that you can't not believe in God is tantamount to endorsement.  Like I said, it has no place here, but it was just like two minutes or something, and couldn't possible diminish the rest of this beautiful documentary. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone by Explosions in the Sky.  I just think footage of the moon coupled with the awesome power of Explosions would be unstoppable. 

16:  The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters--I have no idea how to rank documentaries.  This year, as exceptional as it was for brilliant fictional fare, gave me four of my all-time favorite documentaries (I've only seen like 20 total, but still), and this is the highest-ranked one.  I don't know, I loved them all so much, but when you account for rewatchability, I would generally pick a fictional story over a doc, so I really just don't know how to rank these.  Basically, I apologize for the probably too-low-ranked documentaries on this year's list, but I had to include them due to their greatness.  The King of Kong is my favorite of these, as others have said, a hilarious tale of good and evil.  You can't not root for good-guy Steve to succeed just once, and you can't not gag every time Billy Mitchell or his cronies appear.  Also, the intelligence of this year's comedies (the Apatows, Juno, Darjeeling, Hot Fuzz, etc.) continues into the nonfiction front, the director clearly knowing how to best elicit laughs from the self-seriousness of these Donkey Kong fanatics. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Teenager by The Thrills, especially "Restaurant," highlighting the sadness of Steve's life, and "Teenager" as an ironic tribute to Billy's arrested development.   

15:  Paris Je T'aime--There was a time when this was my favorite film of the year, and deservingly so.  I've seen it about three times all the way through, but I've seen parts of it even more.  Frankly, the conceit of a short story cycle in film really appeals to me.  It's that whole short attention-span, MTV generation thing, I guess.  And I'd say there were only two or three shorts that I just don't care about.  The rest of them range from good to amazing, and the ending short by Alexander Payne of the lonely American woman writing in French about her trip is one of the most economical, moving scenes this year.  That short is among the best, as is the one by my eternal heroes, the Coen Brothers, featuring Steve Buscemi waiting for a train, so to speak.  Elijah Wood as a vampire was great fun, Tom Tykwer continues to blow me away with the Natalie Portman short, and the Juliette Binoche short was also touching.  What am I forgetting?  Alfonso Cuaron's impressive tracking shot and unconventional take on the theme of love.  The gay love story by Gus Van Sant, without which I would have been a little disappointed (Love, Actually).  And the wonderful little scene between Rufus Sewell and Emily Mortimer.  The film suffers from slight inconsistence, but it's not like anything lasts longer than five minutes, and when it's on, it's a powerfully moving film and celebration of, well, love, relationships, people, cultures, travel, the list goes on and on. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Writer's Block by Peter Bjorn and John, partially because of "Paris 2004," but almost every song is a romance between two people, usually on the rocks, but always pleading for love. 

14:  The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford--I've only seen this one once, but I want to see it again really badly.  I could easily see it stealing a spot or two.  That's what I wrote about last year's #14, Half Nelson, but it applies just as well to this beautiful, dreamlike film.  Andrew Dominik tells a lengthy (and yes, probably too long) tale of the entire James gang.  Along the way, we get a portrait of Frank and Jesse James, Bob Ford and his brothers, Dick Liddell, and the time of the dying West.  You've probably heard about the gorgeous cinematography, and it's all true.  Every frame of this film could be framed and hung above the fireplace.  More importantly, even than the story, are the deep performances, led by Casey Affleck as Robert Ford.  He's obsessed with Jesse, but not in an overly creepy (like The Fan), overly sexual (though I doubt he would turn the opportunity down), or overly overt way.  His brothers make fun of his shoebox full of Jesse James stories, yes, but nobody recognizes how deep it really goes, and how deeply Ford is hurt by their ridicule.  He lives an almost entirely fantasy life, and at the same time you sympathize with him the whole way.  Jesse, meanwhile, is a savage manipulator who invites Ford into his coterie only because he knows how easily he can control him.  Later, he becomes paranoid and accordingly more dangerous, leading to one particular scene of brilliance where he takes a knife to Ford's throat, and then laughs it off.  Pitt and Affleck are phenomenal here.  And like I said, the story isn't all that important.  The movie's basically about the collapse of the James gang, and Jesse takes out each one of his old friends until it comes down to Sam Rockwell and Casey Affleck, who kill him for a reward.  But the movie continues, just to really hammer home the innate sadness of Ford's life, still obsessed with James after his death, and still unworthy of anyone's respect.  It's almost like if Paul Thomas Anderson told There will be Blood from Eli Sunday's perspective.  It's a gripping, haunting tale, and one that I fully expect to move up upon further viewings. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank by Modest Mouse.  They're both frustrated, occasionally dreamy (hallucinogenic?) works whose titles convey certain doom. 

13:  Margot at the Wedding--Noah Baumbach continues his streak of movies about intellectual (if not intelligent) people who are extremely mean to each other verbally because they don't know how to handle their emotions.  They're almost crippled by their own delusions of intellect.  They have been damaged in the past, but they refuse to get over it because it allows them to be even more important.  And none of them view the world the same way.  That said, Margot represents a perhaps more positive arc than anyone in The Squid and the Whale, even if we know she probably will revert to her typical behavior.  The story is about Margot visiting her estranged sister just before her wedding, but she's really just in town for a book signing.  That said, the story is just an excuse to examine more deeply estranged and estranging elite, New England families, and Baumbach succeeds at making us all glad we're not so wealthy we don't have anything to do with ourselves but pick everyone we know apart.  If it sounds like I hate this movie, it's only because Baumbach, Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Jack Black, John Turturro, and the kids in the cast are so good at what they're selling us in this movie.  Further, it is pretty nonstop hilarious, in that sharp, nasty way exemplified in The Squid and the Whale.  And all that aside, somehow, you actually kind of like the characters, at least I did.  And Margot's final action serves to both prove that she is still a child (separation anxiety) and give her a chance to completely break her own rules of social propriety, showing that she is capable of change.  As with many of the other films in the upper teens, I really want to watch this again, and I'm sure I'll own it when it comes out on DVD. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:    Armchair Apocrypha by Andrew Bird.  Erudite and ruthlessly witty, just like family. 

12:  Knocked Up--I doubt I had ever laughed so hard at the theater, and for so long (at the time).  Knocked Up is a (thankfully) long, hilarious look at relationships, from the romance between a hot celebrity-interviewer and her baby-daddy to that between a married couple realizing their neuroses, to the relationships among and between groups of friends from different circles.  As I've said, this is the film that made me realize the brilliance of Judd Apatow, not only as a writer, director, and producer, but as a man who knows comedic talent and can wrangle up wit like Paul Rudd and Seth Rogen and focus everyone's efforts toward making the best, funniest movie possible.  Seth Rogen is phenomenal as stoner/slacker Ben Stone, and even at his grossest ("Did we have sex?  Nice!") you empathize with him.  Matching him (somehow) is Grey's starlet Katherine Heigl in a warm, hilarious performance that allows her to show her range.  But like I said, it's a film about relationships among a ton of people, and the supporting cast absolutely nail everything.  Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann are the obvious highlights (seriously, get Leslie Mann her own movie!), so I won't dwell.  Ben's group of friends (Jay Baruchel, Jason Segel, Jonah Hill, Martin Starr and his girlfriend, Charlyne Yi) always come equipped with a joke or hilarious beard reference.  Kristin Wiig owns every minute of her screen time, even with Alan Tudyk busy rocking.  And who could forget either Bill Hader's Jabba the Hutt impression or the string of doctors, each of whom gets a great line--I particularly love the guy who says, "You're next" to Ben and his great little silent "I'm joking."  Of course, it's the heart of this film that really sold me, from Leslie Mann and Paul Rudd's subplot to the birth of the baby, but the constant string of laughs makes the time fly. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Cookies by 1990s.  I had trouble finding an album that's even remotely funny to complement Knocked Up (in fact, this was the last album I had to do), but Cookies is fun, sometimes funny, and partyish, much like Knocked Up.

11:  The Darjeeling Limited--Wes Anderson remains one of my favorite modern directors, and it's a shame I've only seen this once (I keep saying that about these movies in the teens, but that's only because I've seen every movie in my top 10 at least twice, and that familiarity helps their rankings).  We open (as we should) with the Hotel Chevalier short, awesomely establishing a hint of backstory, but the movie proper opens with Bill Murray running to catch a train, until he is hilariously overtaken by the brothers Whitman.  We are then quickly introduced to the plot:  they are there to reconnect, try anything, and use as many Indian prescription drugs as possible.  The story is, as you'd expect from Anderson, hilarious, moving, and cathartic, and Adrien Brody fits right in with the Anderson staples.  Of course, the movie is also incredibly smart, in kind of a literary way, and when the brothers drop their father's baggage to try to rescue some Indian children, you cannot help but be enraptured.  The final act, where the brothers visit their mother, played perfectly by Anjelica Huston, is, like the final days of a vacation, a lot of fun but way too quick.  After only an hour and a half, the brothers are back at the train station awaiting their returns to their everyday life, and you can't help but be a little sad the time passed so quickly. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  The Stage Names by Okkervil River, particularly "John Allyn Smith Sails."

10:  Juno--What is there to say about Juno that hasn't been said ad nauseam?  Not that the praise isn't earned.  Ellen Page is going to be a huge star, Jennifer Garner really can act, Diablo Cody's on the road to superstar creative force-dom, Jason Reitman has paid his dues and is ready for the big-time, and Jason Bateman, Michael Cera, JK Simmons, Allison Janney, and Olivia Thirlby have once again (well, this is my first Thirlby film) proven their greatness.  Everyone involved rules, and the film itself is witty and endearing.  Now for some original thought:  The first time, I was actually a little weirded out by the Mark vs. Vanessa debate here, by which I mean that we're supposed to go along with the idea that a woman becomes a mother when she either gets pregnant or (like Garner's character) first holds it.  Vanessa Loring strikes me as way too uptight, especially at that first meeting, but even getting the same impression, Juno still wants to give her the baby no-questions-asked.  Is that responsible, I mean even for the baby's well-being?  Juno even said she wanted to give the baby to a graphic designer or something cool like that, not a workaholic.  Regardless, I do appreciate the subtlety of Vanessa's arc, how while she remains a little high-strung, she also loves that child, deserves happiness, and will probably be a great mother (as you've seen, she's my runner-up Best Supporting Actress).  But once again (after Knocked Up), we're supposed to side with the overly-uptight woman who thinks her husband should grow up (although in Knocked Up, it's more about realizing both were in the wrong, even though I'd suggest Paul Rudd was the perfect father, and it's more of a compromise).  I don't know, it doesn't really bother me, per se, because the performances are so believable and the script so enjoyable.  Just something I noticed that I haven't seen people discussing.  P.S.  Give Michael Cera Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Song, and probably a Pulitzer! 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Challengers by The New Pornographers.  It's actually really apt, although the album's a little more angsty than Juno, and I think you should listen to the album and think about this film.  They even mention a street named Bleeker.  It's beautiful.

9:  Rescue Dawn--My very first Werner Herzog was such a treat.  Tonally, it was exactly what I expected:  very naturalistic, a little bizarre, dreamily surreal, and ultimately a little haunting (a word I've used to describe a lot of films this year).  Christian Bale plays Dieter Dengler, the only American to successfully escape from a Viet-Cong prison camp or something like that, but the "true story" aspect of movies rarely intrigues me.  We open on a naval aircraft carrier, and within minutes, we are crashing into the Laotian jungle alongside Dengler, who evades capture for a while.  This opening escape establishes perfectly the mood of the rest of the movie in its silence.  The film is as much about the jungle as it is about Dengler, and we watch him, silent and alone, desperately trying to survive.  Of course, he is captured, and there we meet the other characters that provide for a surprisingly humorous tale of prison camp life culminating in a way-too-easy escape scene, after which the jungle prevents their rescue in many ways.  Herzog's direction combined with the realistic performances of the prisoners make for a splendid example of modern naturalism, and the post-traumatic stress is recreated in some small way with the eerie jungle and spooky ghost scenes.  Simply put, Rescue Dawn is an incredibly engaging film that becomes something of a patriotic tribute, and it gives Christian Bale yet another opportunity to deliver a solid performance that flies under the radar. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga by Spoon.  It's weird, but think about it.  "The Ghost of You Lingers," "Don't Make Me a Target," "Black Like Me," and "Don't You Evah."  Even "The Underdog" fits, though is a little too optimistic.  On the other hand, I walk away from both this hauntingly sad film and the occasionally spooky album with great joy, so maybe they are perfect brothers-in-art. 

8:  Superbad--Objectively, if that were even possible, I'd say Superbad is the best comedy of the year.  The pacing is tight, the writing is both hilarious and endearing, and the performances connect.  Not coincidentally, it's also my favorite.  Michael Cera deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for his performances this year.  I love Jonah Hill as much as the next guy, but come on.  Michael Cera elevates this film so much.  Of course, McLovin star Christopher Mintz-Plasse is perfectly cast.  I doubt many people would be able to pull off the "Mohammed is the most commonly used name on Earth.  Read a fucking book for once." dialogue with the sincerity of a real nerd.  I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the absolute brilliance of Seth Rogen and Bill Hader as cops who take McLovin under their wing in an effort to show they can relate to kids today.  But aside from the hilarious lead performances, we get a brilliantly (seriously) structured film about a couple friends about to leave everything they've always known.  The scene just before Jonah Hill gets hit by the car endows this film with so much heart; their argument isn't perfectly wittily scripted--it's real, awkward, and incredibly emotionally tense.  Of course, the hunt for alcohol and sex is just as ultimately sweet, and the ending (without a technical resolution to the quest of the film) featuring Seth and Evan finally being forced to separate, as they each watch each other as long as they can, was beautiful.  Okay, blah blah blah.  We all know what really sells this film are the dick jokes, embodied by young Seth's drawings that run during the credits.  Oh, and McLovin remains a freaking icon.  Thanks, Superbad. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Costello Music by the Fratellis.  Obviously.  Foul-mouthed kids fawning over a different girl in each song.  Perfect. 

7:  Atonement--This would-be awards magnet is so much more than the Oscar bait it seems perceived to be, and since it's already receiving the backlash that could lead to it being denied even a Best Picture nomination, I feel like it will have to be discovered by people some day.  The story is right out of Ian McEwan's Pulitzer-winning novel, about a young girl who writes the fictional story of real people that can't escape it (by which I am referring to the story that Robbie is a violently sexual animal, not the tangible, fictional story of the book she eventually writes).  As the girl, Saoirse Ronan is splendid, and I'm just disappointed she had to give Romola Garai and Vanessa Redgrave her role in the second half.  James McAvoy too continues to impress and still fly under the radar (like Christian Bale), and Keira Knightley (like Angelina Jolie) proves that she has the talent to match her beauty.  What first strikes me is how brilliantly the story captures even the subtleties of the source novel.  There is a snippet of dialogue between Lola and Paul Marshall about Hamlet, wherein she says she saw a play that she hopes will impress him, and he quotes the most famous line to impress her, and neither knows anything about the actual play.  That layered conversation that Wright chose to include, probably in order to hint at both characters' ignorant attraction to each other, is just one of many examples of the complexity of the script and the characters' relationships.  What struck me next was the virtuosity of Joe Wright's direction.  For instance, the lovely intercutting between Robbie writing the letter and Cecilia practicing her apology was elegant, glamorous, and exquisite, and then he takes that sense of elegance and plays with it humorously as we get a close-up of just the word "cunt."  Similarly, all of the pre-flashback scene markers (Robbie's hand touching door on the way out, Briony opening the window) are extraordinary.  The "four years later" title is as awesome as my favorite ballsy jump-aheads (Battlestar and Cast Away), and the confrontation in the pictured scene is out of a play.  In fact, the whole thing is quite Shakespearean--based on a simple misunderstanding, an epic romantic tragedy, pride preventing its resolution--no mere Merchant Ivory upstairs/downstairs costume drama.  And that six minute tracking shot (double the length of the Touch of Evil opener) displays a technical expertise to rival the other modern greats (Paul Thomas Anderson almost never shoots coverage, for instance). 

Now for the title.  Atonement means penance, like paying reparations.  It's a punishment to oneself in order to admit wrong and try to make amends.  Briony convinces herself that her atonement for the ruined romance of her sister is her novel, but it, like her atonement, is fictional.  She finally comes clean, but she gives her characters a happy ending, instead of reality.  She says it's a way of wish fulfillment, of giving her sister the life she should have had, but come on.  It's a way of letting herself off the hook.  She was even too cowardly to fulfill her act of atonement, the first step of which is traditionally to state your sins.  On the other hand, notice that she couldn't come clean in writing, but rather through her voice, on film.  There's a whole digital vs. analog dichotomy that is made extremely clear with the shot of all those monitors at the end.  Which brings us to that incredible score, using my favorite instrument, the typewriter.  It's strong, authoritative, damning, and my 2007 buzzword, haunting.  Our very first shot of the film involves Briony hammering away at her typewriter, already using its innate authorial power in order to wreak havoc on Arabella, setting her on the path to play god with her real life characters.  And who's the only other person to use a typewriter?  Robbie, typing, awesomely, "cunt," (I just wrote a sentence with a comma separating each word, and properly so.  Pulitzer please!).  What surprised me is how it seemed so innocuous when he went to apologize.  Cecilia was okay, they finally admitted/realized their feelings for each other.  It was like a crisis averted.  And then you remember war profiteer Paul Marshall and his sense of entitlement to whatever he wants, including an underage girl.  He's the real villain, though obviously only Briony could set things right.  Which brings us back to the question that haunts Hamlet.  Why the delay?  I think we'll be examining that for a while to come. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Cease to Begin by Band of Horses.  "Islands on the Coast" represents their dream of moving to the beachside cottage, "The General Specific" is for the opening, "Is There a Ghost" refers to the eternal haunting of Briony Tallis, and "Cigarettes, Wedding Bands," reflects elder Briony's regret. 

6:  I'm Not There--When I first saw this, I was enchanted for the first half hour, simply mesmerized by Todd Haynes' craftsmanship.  After that, I remained impressed, but less enchanted.  The first time I made this list, the film was in the teens.  But for some reason (the movie stayed with me) I watched it again, and I was mesmerized throughout.  Then I watched it again, and later that day I saw it in theaters, and now I'm strongly considering moving it higher.  I'm departing from the popular interpretations of this film (which you'll see again on my paragraphs on No Country and There Will Be Blood) that this is about the way Dylan dealt with celebrity or it's simply about different facets of his personality.  I would suggest that this film is way more evasive than that.  Just look at the title.  It's not I'm Bob Dylan.  It's I'm Not There.  Take Ben Whishaw's Dylan.  He's sitting in front of a board of questioners, the only version of Dylan trapped and forced to explain who Dylan is.  And he's the most evasive one there is, responding to everything with metaphors and symbols.  This film is as much about Dylan as it is about not Dylan, or rather, everyone else.  After all, the film opens with backstage managers guiding us to the stage.  We are as much a version of Dylan as the actors.  The gimmick of six actors portraying Dylan underscores the obvious theme:  playing a part.  It's even better when you consider that Heath Ledger is playing Robbie Clark, who is a version of Dylan, yes, but in the world of the movie, he's playing Jack Rollins, played by Christian Bale, who is also playing a version of Dylan.  This aspect is especially clear when they're filming the movie, and Ledger points to a billboard with Bale's Dylan's face on it and says, "It's not about me any more, it's all about him."  Which means at first, since we're not aware it's a movie, he's differentiating between himself and Jack Rollins, but when we find it's a movie, he's actually playing Jack Rollins and differentiating between himself and his image, but literally, it's a line without meaning.  It's fake, he's acting.  See what I mean about the movie being evasive?  The closer you get to figuring it out, the more red herrings it throws you.  We should know Haynes is messing with us the whole time.  The youngest Dylan is rescued by Dr. Phil and Mrs. Peacock (of talk show and Clue fame, respectively), subtle, hilarious, and apt metaphors for a modern Dylan song. 

The music is expertly incorporated.  Just check out how the early songs are thematically introduced in the scene prior:  the fatalism discussion leading into Tombstone Blues, the woman telling Marcus Carl Franklin to live his own time setting the stage for The Times They Are A-Changing.  And obviously a highlight is the literal incarnation of Ballad of a Thin Man.  To me, all this music is a backdrop to the Dylans' collaborative creation of the infamous Like a Rolling Stone, which elicits such joy when it blares as the credits roll.  We get glimpses of verses being written on typewriter.  Blanchett asks of Jesus, "How does it feel?!"  I must also mention here as a sidenote that Blanchett, in the film's most meta moment, shrugs, "Just like a woman," at once ironically joking and quoting Dylan, that's how densely this film is woven.  And the Dylans shifting into one another are the ultimate rolling stones.

Much has been made of Cate Blanchett's performance, and indeed she is worthy of every word.  But let's not forget young Marcus Carl Franklin, who sells his story of Woodie Guthrie (yet another example of playing a part) so earnestly you root for him.  I loved seeing Ben Whishaw "explain" himself by saying things like, "Bank tellers are fatalists."  And Christian Bale blows me away with his musical performances, first tapping his foot to The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll and later rocking out preacher-style to Pressing On.  Perhaps my favorite moment in the entire film is Bale singing, "Shake the dust off your feet, don't look back!"  Ledger is excellent, too, as is Charlotte Gainsbourg (in my mind yet another Dylan, even though I also know she's playing the character representing Dylan's first wife).  Semi-relatedly, Julianne Moore is playing Alice Fabian, who is the movie's version of Joan Baez.  Which brings us to Richard Gere playing the Dylan circa Pat Garret and Billy the Kid.  This story is entirely metaphorical, like the whale swallowing Woody Guthrie or the Ballad of a Thin Man section.  They're trying to build a highway through the town (Highway 61 Revisited?), and Gere opposes the idea because he enjoys his privacy.  He even puts on a literal mask in a town that loves Halloween (costumes) in order to plead to remain evasive.  And in the end, he gets on a train with hobos, tying us back to "Woody Guthrie."  Each incarnation of Dylan in some way represents the idea of hiding behind a role. 

I've written a lot about this film, and yet it's still not very clear.  Appropriately.  When I can't figure a movie out, I always look to the title (See There will be Blood, among others).  I'm Not There, ultimately, is about the impossibility of truth; in I'm Not There, we try to figure out the "I," but he's not there.  Or the subjectivity of truth, depending on how you look at it (GET IT?!).  Dylan is simply the perfect vehicle to discuss this, as an image-shifting metaphor-abuser.  In the film, Dylan is given six different names, none of which are Bob Dylan, and while none are true, it's just as accurate to say they all are true.  Names try to set someone in stone, like all print.  There's no room for nuance or interpretation to the name Bob Dylan, itself an invented name.  Just one of the many ways Haynes is showing us that the truth is impossible to attain.  So while it pretends to be about understanding Dylan, at the end you realize the film is making the point that you can't understand Dylan, at least not in the way you're trying to.  When the Black Power guys interpret Ballad of a Thin Man to be about civil rights, it's the perfect example.  It's not about explaining every song  or understanding why he made up a backstory when he first went to New York or why he shifted from protest music to folk to rock. 

As Blanchett's Dylan explains, the more he does what's expected, no matter what role he's playing, the less free he is.  So the reason for the schizophrenic nature of  I'm Not There's Dylan is all about freedom.  It should have been obvious.  Franklin's guitar case says it "kills fascists," the enemies of freedom. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  For this film, two albums:  The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter by Josh Ritter, particularly "The Temptation of Adam," and Moo, You Bloody Choir by Augie March.  Josh Ritter and Augie March's Glenn Richards are both poetic, literary, and scholarly folk singers evocative of Dylan and among my favorite modern groups. 

5:  No Country for Old Men--Even people who don't like the ending concede that the first hour and 45 minutes is the most perfect thing they've seen in theaters in a long time.  I am not one of those people--I appreciated the ending--partially because I read the book, and partially because this is such a thoughtful film.  It's all about inevitability, be it fate, time, or death (all three of which are embodied in coin-tossing murderer Chigurh), and as the characters like to say, "You can't stop what's coming."  Watching it a second time, I picked up on even more of the brilliant details, such as the perfection of the spare script and the cat metaphor at the end.  Obviously I love that the film has several layers of interpretation.  I always place movies in their temporal context, which makes sense especially here given the emphasis on time running out and again, the inevitability of time, so the fact that this story is taking place just after Nam and before the Reagan era adds to the theme of the complete failure of communication between the generations of men in this world (which is no country for old men).  Further, I think another interpretation is that Ed Tom (Tommy Lee Jones) represents the past, Llewellyn represents the present (just note how the camera always lingers in silence whenever he's on screen, especially in the beginning), and Chigurh represents the future (and again, inevitability).  "You know how this is going to turn out, don't you?" he asks, and at the time, we foolishly hope Llewellyn will defeat Chigurh, but of course that's not the point at all.  Bonus points for the riveting chase scene and near-slowmo dog/river chase. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Ghost by Radical Face.  Maybe it's not western-sounding enough, and it's certainly a little too upbeat, somehow, but the songs are all about ghosts, and haunting, and general death.  Interestingly, there's a lot of discussion about whether or not Chigurh is a ghost. 

4:  Once--The little indie that could.  Once is still getting plenty of critical attention, even if it has zero chance of awards (outside of perhaps a music Oscar), and I'm thrilled that it made such an impression on me.  When I first saw it, I was affected, but I fell under its spell later, when I couldn't stop thinking about it and listened to its soundtrack constantly.  Director John Carney is, like Jason Reitman, the son of a film legend, and Once certainly knows its place in cinema history.  Criterion recently released Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise, about a European chick who comes to stay with her cousin in America, and the two make some music, learn to love each other (not romantically), and climactically visit the beach.  Throughout Once, my mind kept shifting back to that acclaimed low-budget indie, and I can't believe it's a coincidence.  Props must also be given to amateur actors Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova for giving astonishing performances.  Ultimately, what sells this film (other than its music) is its simplicity.  Shoestring budget, sparse dialogue, quick plot, this story is so small that everyone knows it.  A guy and a girl fall in love, make beautiful music, and go their separate ways.  The ending is perfect.  Guy gives Girl the gift of music with that piano, and just because they decide not to be together does not diminish the perfection of their relationship.  Also, we the audience experience the entirety of their romance, since nothing comes afterward.  The story is indeed once in a lifetime, and beautifully, miraculously, it's enough. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Raising Sand by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, particularly "Killing the Blues" and "Please Read the Letter," although the Once music is already better than most 2007 music. 

3: Into the Wild--Going into the theater, I was aware that Chris McCandless died in Alaska.  I was not aware that Sean Penn's beautiful film would enchant me for weeks to come.  Into the Wild is the story of an idealistic kid giving up the excesses of his station and trying to live as close to a pure, natural life as possible.  His sin is pride, referring to both the arrogance of youth and his egotism in blaming humanity for the sins of his parents.  And I'm not defending his parents at all--I wanted him to live with Ron Franz or Rainey and Jan--but at the same time I can forgive them, and it would have been overwhelmingly powerful if he had indeed returned to his parents and sister.  In a way, he does, in a dream sequence that is among the most moving scenes in film this year (off the top of my head, it's second only to the ending of Once), which is representative of his learning the power of forgiveness.  Nature is such a religious experience for him, it makes sense that his catharsis would be atonement (I freaking love connecting the films of the year).  The actors are so believable, from William Hurt and Marcia Gay Harden as parents trapped in a cycle of abuse to Catherine Keener as a wounded mother (when she says to Rainey, after reading Alexander Supertramp's goodbye note, "He reminded me of him," you can't not be touched.  It's one of those things that forces you to reexamine everything that's come before, like the endings of Atonement or No Country) to Hal Holbrook as a military dad who both teaches and learns from the protagonist.  Emile Hirsch is incredible, and it's a shame this is such a powerful year for lead actors.  Sean Penn tells the story in a disjointed timeline featuring early '90s special effects like superimposed writing to better invoke the setting, and the direction is always interesting.  I loved the division of the story into chapters, featuring Alex's birth as a pure being, his adolescence stumbling a little, his manhood, and his getting of wisdom.  Similarly, the three major parties he encounters perfectly enhance his growth, and each in turn learns from him.  Vince Vaughn is the one he writes postcards to, the cool older brother figure who acts as an enabler during adolescence.  Catherine Keener and Brian Dierker (a real life Grand Canyon park ranger) are the surrogate parents that educate him on the tramping lifestyle, and he unites them even closer.  Among the many moving scenes in this film is the one where Jan tells Alex about her son, and he tells her he'll stay with her there all night.  And finally, it's through Ron Franz that he "gets wisdom."  He's right about Ron; Ron's stopped living after his family was killed, and he could use some risk in his life.  But Ron is even more dead-on about Alex.  He needs to forgive his parents, who by the way are the major supporting players responsible for his fourth stage of life, his birth, their abuse and ignorance leading to his disillusionment, which in turn causes his birth.  And then there's his sister, whose voiceover guides the entire film from afar, her thoughts rarely straying from Alex's well-being.  So the people we focus on in Alex's life are not randomly chosen; they profoundly impact the course of his life, which becomes the point of the film.  Alex's catharsis is that life is meaningless if not shared, and while he does die, he forgives his parents, realizes his wrong, and has made a lot of people happier.  Penn hammers this home by showing, as Alex lays dying in the magic bus, scenes of all the people that helped him on the way, and that horrifyingly tragic dream of running into his parents' open arms.  Into the Wild has a lot to say about life, relationships, nature, philosophy, pretty much everything, and it uses the tragic, but simultaneously triumphant story of Chris McCandless to tell it.  I loved this when I saw it, but, like Once, it grew on me even more (there's that haunting again), and ultimately, only two films this year moved me more. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Cassadaga by Bright Eyes, particularly "Soul Singer in a Session Band" and "I Must Belong Somewhere."  They're both stirring tales of American exploration ending on kind of a downer.  In fact, I can assign each song in the album to a scene in the film, and it works out so beautifully. 

2:  3:10 to Yuma--As I've said, I saw this movie two days in a row in theaters, again for my birthday celebration, twice on pay-per-view in Vegas, and six times total before buying the DVD on the day of its release.  This is a film that captured me immediately, and awesomely, everyone I know that saw this (possibly because they saw it with me, but I don't think that's it) also fell in love with it.  Ebert four-starred it, it scored an 89 on Rotten Tomatoes, and yet it's not been on a single critic's top 10 list that I've yet seen.   That time has changed, and until today, it had been unquestionably my favorite film of the year. 

I loved the 1957 version starring Glenn Ford and Van Heflin, noting that it would probably translate very well.  It turns out, the new one is even better, and the main difference is that Mangold increased the complexity of the film, both in the depth of the relationships explored (Dan and Ben, Dan and his wife, Ben and his gang, Ben and the Pinkerton) and in the geographical and cultural scope.  We approach an old military fort in a runaway cart, we take a trip through Apache country, and we visit a racist railroad worker overseeing Chinese immigrants, and I was overwhelmed getting to explore such diverse arenas of the Old West.  Of course, from the opening credit sequence (which lasts, what, thirty seconds?), you know you're in for a Leone/Peckinpah western, and it delivers in the spectacle department.  The stagecoach robbery and everything that goes down in Contention are among the most technically skilled action scenes I've seen in a western.  I also mentioned the relationships going deeper, and Dan's relationship to his wife and sons is embodied in the quietest, most deeply revealing scene of the film, where Dan whisper-fights to his wife:  "I'm tired of watching the boys go hungry.  I'm tired of the way that they look at me.  I'm tired of the way that you don't."  He's a man who can't provide for his family and who thinks his own wife doesn't respect him, yet he's the smartest, most noble character in the entire film.  As anyone who looks at Christian Bale's beautiful face can attest, life is completely unfair to Dan Evans, and it's time for that to change. 

As I've said, the story hinges on the subtext that's going on while you're watching the spectacle, which is Dan and Ben not only growing to understand each other, but allying with the only man that could possibly equal the other.  Every significant beat is foreshadowed.  Our first example of Ben Wade with a gun sees him spare his enemy Byron McElroy, noting that the chase will only continue, but shoot his own man.  He's bored with his gang, the only thing keeping it interesting being the formidable Pinkerton tracking them.  Ben even offers to go away with a prostitute to Mexico, that's how unfulfilling his life is.  Later, Alan Tudyk's character is shot and killed saving Ben, and Dan and his son tell him that his death got Ben on the train, which is exactly what is to come with Dan.  Everyone is extraordinarily complex, my favorite surprise being Mr. Butterfield.  He seems like the stereotypical railroad man, but he holds his own and is the last one left.  One of my favorite parts is the scene where the Contention deputies surrender and get shot, intercut with Ben prettying himself up (notice Ben's vanity throughout) and saying how Mr. Butterfield is going to come back and let him off, and then he does.  Mr. Butterfield really moved me when he agrees to pay Dan to go, and it's even better when Dan won't let him.  The whole run-up to the climax is a relatively quiet affair where our characters are trapped in the crucible of the bridal suite and forced to play off each other, and it's the most thrilling part of the film.  You'll forget you're watching a western, and then Mangold goes on adrenaline overload.  And that near-end play between Dan and Ben is necessary to give the final chase its real impact.  Dan keeps talking about how he's going along with them, for whatever reason (which is obviously his (nonsexual) attraction to Dan) and that he can leave whenever he wants, but it begs the question, is Ben so interested in Dan that he'll go to jail, or worse, die in the process?  When Ben finally tells Dan he's not playing along any more, and Dan tells him about his inability to prove himself to his family, and they appear on the roofs as the music swells, I always get choked up.  Ben is going to go as far as he can to help Dan, and it all ends the only way it can, the film's biggest symbol (the 3:10 to Yuma) used to represent inexorability, just like the train in There will be Blood.  There's no way Charlie Prince is allowing any man to get closer to Dan than he, and the final showdown feels like a woman busting in on her boyfriend and his mistress.  In fact, Charlie's relationship to Ben is like Bob Ford's to Jesse James, the attraction so intense it can only end in one of their deaths.  And like I said, while you're watching that, the movie's preparing you for Dan's son's moment of greatness, where he not only chooses his father over Ben but proves it in his actions.  And after all is said and done, we get a parting joke as Dan whistles for his horse to follow them.  It doesn't really need saying, but I freaking love this film and am sad not to be able to put it as my favorite of the year. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Shelter from the Ash by Six Organs of Admittance, particularly "Alone with the Alone."

1:  There Will Be Blood--Granted, I saw this less than six hours ago, and my anticipation based on the trailer was turned up to 11, and we saw the very first showing of the film in actual oil country, and I was so enthusiastic that it was impossible for me to be objective.  All of that is true, but none of it takes away from the fact that I was mesmerized for the entire almost-three-hour run.  I can't imagine anyone being bored at any point, unlike even the end of No Country for Old Men (both times of which I zoned out for a second during Ed Tom's visit to the old sheriff).  Regardless, this pick isn't about "anyone," it's about me and my extreme love for this film.  As I mentioned earlier, I find that many of this year's greats know their place in cinema history.  Once may be Jarmusch twenty years later, and No Country for Old Men may have obvious roots in Silence of the Lambs and Unforgiven, but I wasn't the first to notice that There Will Be Blood is Citizen Kane's grandson, and for me at least, it has worn the mantle well. 

I disagree with the simplification that Blood is about greed, or oil, or obsession.  And it's not a character study; that's far too limiting.  It's certainly a film with many layers of interpretation, whether fatherhood or religion or history or nature/naturalism is your filter.  As I said, this film is none of these things alone, but each are certainly parts.  I would suggest that like most great films, Blood is about its nation, in this case America.  Like Walt Whitman's Song of Myself, Blood is about all walks of American life through a singular I.  Whitman's narrator himself is America embodied, and so too, in Blood, Plainview is America.  He comes to Little Boston in an effort to exploit the natives' resources, buying their land for way less than it's worth and promising they'll receive the rewards, when we all know who really ends up with the profits.  He modernizes the community, yes, but they never wanted that modernization to begin with.  When Mary Sunday marries into his family, he has finally castrated the natives; they are assimilating into his culture and leaving their own entirely.  He claims to accept all religions, but only so long as it is personally advantageous.  Our first shot in California is looking down a railroad, when out of nowhere a car comes up riding alongside it.  Plainview represents modernization, America's obsessive quest for progress, and obviously capitalism. Once he has everything, he doesn't know what to do with himself, and his restlessness leads to paranoia (Cold War), or general madness, and he ends up alone.  He created his own enemy when his son becomes his competitor, exactly like Reagan arming Saddam and, possibly, the Afghan rebels that became the Taliban.  He achieves manifest destiny heading out to California, culminating in his dip in the Pacific.  To me, it's all about that.  He finally reaches the ocean at the same time he makes money from his Sunday Ranch oil, achieving his purpose.  And after that?  He becomes restless, kills his fake brother, engages in religious hypocrisy, and eventually takes out his other enemy.  That's what happens to powerhouses without purpose (i.e. America after the Cold War and before the ineffectual War on Terror, about which I read a fantastic article in Poli Sci last year).  Daniel is America, and while PTA may be slightly referencing modern politics with such an emphasis on religious hypocrisy and oil, the cornerstones of the Bush administration, I'd say that interpretation is far too limited.  Of course, my interpretation is one of many, and I'll be the first to admit it's colored by my recent viewing of exceptional foreign films 12:08 East of Bucharest and Persepolis, each deeply focused on their own nationalism of Romania and Iran, respectively. 

And props to PTA for avoiding the traditional American symbols in favor of more subtle American images, like the self-made man--say what you want about Daniel Plainview, he worked hard to get where he is--and the cowboy.  Even Daniel's hat connotes American ideals, from the Park Ranger conservationist to Lord Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the wholesome Boy Scouts.  It seems such a distinctive hat is used as an ironic suggestion that perhaps America is less wholesome than it seems.   

I further disagree that Daniel Plainview is all that he says (or even all that he seems) in the way of his essential misanthropy.  I love the character trait that Daniel is a deep sleeper, and not just because I share that dedication to my dreams.  To me, it represents that Daniel can't get far enough away from the rest of the world and that Daniel's ego is such that he cannot be woken as easily as others.  The course of America too is not easily altered.  Further, I think his reaction to his adopted son's accident during the Sunday Ranch fire was genuine, and not merely for show.  And I realize he was a little late getting back to HW after seeing to the derrick, but I certainly believe Plainview has affection and admiration for his son.  I also think he was honest with his fake brother, finally having someone who could possibly understand his own personality (as they share the same blood). 

Speaking of which, the title demands interpretation:  blood is one of the more prominent themes (outside of fathers and sons), and it shows up in a few ways.  There are only a few scenes of violence, but they are effective and each result in blood pooling around the victim like oil bubbling up.  Then there's the idea of familial relation, or blood, and the idea that only those who share the same blood are able to truly understand each other (the inherent racism/general sectism of American history), and the question of Daniel's relation to HW and his "brother," and the unexplored question of Eli and Paul's fraternity.  I read this part in Ebert's review, but it's true that we are given no proof that Eli and Paul are different people.  Then there's the blood of Christ, which Daniel eventually washes himself in, but that is a sham in the same way as all the family relations.  Obviously blood is essential for life, but so too are the other prominent liquids:  oil, water, and even if PTA wasn't aware of it, ink, each of which are not only related but essential, at least for Daniel.

Let it be known that I love Ebert above all other critics due to his intelligence and enthusiasm for film.  That said, Ebert mentions at the end of his review certain imperfections in the film, and I will now rebut them, at least in order to explain my love for Blood.  These are the flaws Ebert mentions of the film:  "its unbending characters, its lack of women or any reflection of ordinary society, its ending, its relentlessness."  Its unbending characters is the biggest, for me, so I will save it for last.  The lack of women is not a negligent mistake but a very deliberate, notable effect.  Women have had no place in American society, simply mothers and whores.  HW's mother may or may not have died in childbirth, useless except for her womb; what's more, a deleted scene was to include Daniel with a prostitute.  To me, Anderson is evoking the uselessness of women to America/Daniel.  The lack of reflection of any ordinary society?  This I take offense at, given my view that the film is a representation of ALL ordinary society.  Its ending?  I've read two reviews of the film total, and each mentions that people may have a problem with the ending.  I've seen it, and can't imagine why.  Its relentlessness is a plus, given the train we're all on in history (allowing me to reference yet another work of art I discovered this year, This Train Will be Taking No Passengers by Augie March), and I'd suggest the use of trains throughout the film represent relentlessness, the inevitability of Anton Chigurh but in steel.  A train, like this film, is a juggernaut, the perfect symbol.  Finally, the unbending characters.  One could argue that the characters do change, but I'd concede this point.  In 1927, Daniel and Eli look and act exactly the same as they did in 1911.  Only HW has changed, and I'd say he's on course to become his father.  It's not a problem for me, given how gradually our government was designed to change and how long it's taken and taking for society to reflect true progressivism. 

It strikes me that American cinema is rich with cynicism.  Why is that?  Nowadays I understand, with the constant "outing" of duplicitous people and institutions, our political headlines rife with scandal.  Has America always been like that?  There Will Be Blood may be easy to like (which Ebert also suggests) for the ease with which it slides into the American cultural pantheon.  The film itself hearkens to Kane, The Godfather, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and its obvious predecessor Giant.  And Daniel Day-Lewis gives a performance at least on par with Welles, Brando, and Bogart.  I realize that cinema, especially modern cinema, is prone to superlative, but I honestly believe this performance is one of the greats.  Also of interest might be the idea that the film noir and the western are two of the only American artforms, and while one is deeply cynical, the other was almost patriotic propaganda until Altman came along.  There are elements of both in this masterpiece. 

All of that is true, and I expect to continue exploring the ideas evoked by this film for a while to come.  But its place at the top of the list comes solely from how happy I was to be watching Paul Thomas Anderson's story, and how badly I would like to see it five more times. 

Accompanying Music of 2007:  Neon Bible by Arcade Fire, particularly "The Well and the Lighthouse," and "(Antichrist Television Blues)."  "Working for the church, while your family dies."  Is there a more religiously cynical album this year?

2007 Recap: 

Honorable Mentions:

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