I don’t watch as many movies as I used to. It’s not that I love them any less: I still think film is one of our best and most powerful art forms, capable of saying so much more about us than we even realize or intend. But for the past couple years, I’ve felt less interested in staying current with new releases, and with the inevitable pop-cultural #hottakes that accompany them, and more focused on watching what I really want to watch. I went weeks in 2015 only watching one or two movies, and spent whole months just working through classics. In general, I didn’t catch up with most 2015 releases until the end of the year, and before mid-November, I’d seen almost no 2015 releases.
My tally of first-time viewings reflects the change. Beyond that, though, I also spent more time this year revisiting films I hadn’t seen in a while, seeing how they’ve changed in the intervening years, or seeing how I’ve changed. My new-to-me tallies for the past few years:
I used to think I needed to hit a certain number, or a certain kind of number, but now I realize that the natural ebb and flow is more comfortable. Gorge and break, skim and stop; explore as a result of your own drive.
Whiplash (2014): Writer-director Damien Chazelle focuses on the physical tools needed to bring music to life: the sticks, the horns, the stands, the folders, the sweat. It’s shot and cut within an inch of its life, and it almost shakes with energy.
Pillow Talk (1959): From a historical standpoint, it’s fascinating and uncomfortable to watch a closeted gay man play a character who at one point makes fun of closeted gay men. This comes with the territory, though. Watching older movies always means experiencing them through your own time, as well as the time in which they were made. (Another example: Pillow Talk came out five years before the Civil Rights Act was passed.) It’s easy to see why the movie was a hit, though. Rock Hudson is staggeringly charismatic, and Doris Day’s energy is perfect.
Black Sea (2015): On paper, it has the elements for pulpy, thrilling entertainment: a submarine, a band of rogues, and a hunt for forgotten Nazi gold. And indeed, the first two-thirds of the movie are tight and propulsive, as greed and fear drive the characters to play off each other in desperate ways. But the home stretch finds certain characters swapping personalities and motivations, and they cease to be people and instead become interchangeable devices for plot mechanics, after which it’s a bumpy ride to the finish line.
— The Critic (selected episodes): The first season is better than the second — the animation is a little tighter, and the stories have a little more bite — but it’s still an enjoyable series to revisit. It’s also supremely weird to rewatch as an adult who has worked in a freelance capacity as a film critic for more than ten years. Jay’s struggles to reconcile his tastes with others’, and his general insecurity, are arrows that hit somewhat close to the center of the target.
— Singin’ in the Rain: The older I get, the fonder I grow of musicals. They’re such a pure cinematic form, blending fantasy and reality in ways that no other genre can. There’s so much beauty here, too, in what has to be one of the best musicals and one of the best movies ever made. The energy, the love story, the Hollywood satire, the music and movement: every bit of it is gorgeous.
— L.A. Confidential: It’s fitting that Curtis Hanson’s period piece about Hollywood crime is itself a throwback to big, brassy Hollywood movies. What really popped for me this time around was the score: bombastic, moody, driving, exactly the kind of thing you don’t get much these days. And even with so many good performances on screen, Guy Pearce’s always stands out. Ed Exley has to be power-hungry but also uneasy with himself, cocky but insecure; he imagines that he’s holding it together, even though he knows that people can probably see through his act. He has to carry himself with a certain confidence even as he knows he’s acting. There are wonderful layers to the character that Pearce brings out, and he’s so good and subtle that it’s easy to overlook him in favor of the equally impressive but flashier work of Kevin Spacey and Russell Crowe. Hanson never lets the energy falter, either, especially as the movie gathers speed and enters the home stretch.
— Casino: It takes a lot of work and skill to make something this big feel so breezy. Editor Thelma Schoonmaker cuts this thing within an inch of its life: the movements are rapid but never dislocating. What they are is a kind of purposeful disorientation, so that watching the movie starts to mimic the queasy feeling of being in an actual casino, surrounded by vice and unable to find the exit. Scorsese’s second collaboration with Nicholas Pileggi is probably bound to forever live in the shadow of their first one, Goodfellas, but Casino is still stunning all on its own. What makes the film so charged is the way Ace and Nicky are fated to come into conflict, driven to overreach by their own hubris (Ace picks fights with the local government, Nicky crosses the bosses).
Hairspray (1988): I came to this after seeing the musical, which made for some interesting dissonance. Although this is the original film, I find myself almost unwittingly thinking of it as an “alternate” story to the musical’s “true” one. I also just enjoyed the musical more, thanks largely to the cast. (Divine has presence, but still seemed too aware of the camera.)
The China Syndrome (1979): One of the standout thrillers reflecting the bleak 1970s back on itself, anchored by a typically memorable and multi-faceted performance from Jack Lemmon. He has to walk so many wires with his character here: smart enough to do his job, but also smart enough to realize when things are going bad; canny enough to reach out to the reporter (Jane Fonda), but also honest enough to try and flirt with her. He’s tangible in a way few actors are.
The One I Love (2014): It’s amazing the depth and distance that quality writing, directing, and acting can create in a movie that only has three characters.
Godzilla (2014) (half-finished): Laughably inept. As the lead, Aaron Taylor-Johnson seems unable to express any single recognizable emotion. His own father dies right in front of him, and he resorts to running his hands through his hair; five minutes later, it’s as if it never happened. A clumsy, overplotted blockbuster that uses effects as an excuse to string together boring plot points, with no consideration of acting, writing, or narrative thrust. I turned it off around the one-hour mark because I didn’t want to waste a second hour of my life on it.
The Two Faces of January (2014): I could probably watch Oscar Isaac do anything.
Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief (2015): Never underestimate the power of evil to manipulate the desperate.
— The Hunt for Red October
— Get Shorty: One of the more enjoyable movies about the movies, in part because its idea of “the movies” resides in a pleasant alternate universe that broke from ours sometime in the 1960s. Shlocky monster horror is mainstream, superheroes are unseen, and YA franchises don’t even exist.
Life Itself (2014): The best moments were those that touched on Roger Ebert as a man at war with himself: aware of his limitations and vices, working to live with them.
Sinatra: All or Nothing at All (2015): This Alex Gibney doc doesn’t hit nearly as hard as his Going Clear did, but that’s the price you pay for access to estate materials. Nicely structured, though, weaving through Sinatra’s “farewell” concert and looping out to different parts of his life.
We Own the Night (2007): This was only my second James Gray film (after the stellar The Immigrant), and it was fantastic. It’s a solidly built drama about crime and family, and a blend of classic and modern style.
Showrunners: The Art of Running a TV Show (2014): The inadvertent comedy of the redundant title was the first sign that there wouldn’t be much worth exploring here. Far too pat.
X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014): They’re really determined to keep making these.
Marnie (1964): Sexually bizarre, but a great thriller. That applies to a lot of Hitchcock.
Strangers on a Train (1951): Told you.
— Wag the Dog: A movie this dark was never going to be widely accepted. But its strength comes in part from its willingness to follow through on the awful conceit of its story: that people determined to fabricate a war to save a presidency wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who would threaten their operation.
— Jerry Maguire: Absolutely holds up.
Elizabethtown (2005): Better than its reputation; weaker than its predecessors.
Ex Machina (2015): Chilling, gripping science fiction with a genuine head on its shoulders. Oscar Isaac has now ascended to the level of treasured national resource.
We Bought a Zoo (2011): Doesn’t even feel like a Cameron Crowe movie. It’s weird and almost unsettling that the same guy who did Say Anything… did this.
The Rundown (2003)
— Wet Hot American Summer: A+ for comedy, Beth.
— Best in Show: Guest’s second best.
An American in Paris (1951): Gene Kelly was superhuman. The plot’s not as memorable as some of his other musicals, but the ballet in the final act is every bit the masterpiece.
— Nightcrawler: Queasy and beautiful. Makes total sense that writer-director Dan Gilroy’s brother Tony did Michael Clayton. That’s an ideal double-bill.
— High Fidelity: Cusack is the perfect hesitant shitheel.
The Way of the Gun (2000): A little overly “gritty” in that late-1990s kind of way, but still engaging.
Black Rock (2013): A great, grim, quick little thriller. It works in part because it starts so innocuously, and twists so suddenly into horror.
Mission: Impossible — Rogue Nation (2015): The ideal summer entertainment. Light, slick, funny, bracing.
— Mission: Impossible: Almost twenty years on, and still a tight, winning action movie. The set pieces feel almost small compared with where the series (and action cinema in general) has gone, but they’ve lost none of their punch.
Hard Boiled (1992): Worth it for some wonderfully choreographed action, especially in the climax.
The End of the Tour (2015): It’s hard to watch a movie like this if you’re a fan of its real-life subject, David Foster Wallace (which I am). Jason Segel does a good job at seeming like a real person, though — quiet, insecure — as opposed to a collection of tics meant to forecast tragedy. Yet that’s ultimately what makes the film so odd and, in its way, unfair. It’d be one thing to tell a fictional story about an aspiring writer worming his way into the life of his more talented idol, and Jesse Eisenberg makes for a perfect Salieri figure. But so much of the film feels predicated upon the viewer’s knowledge of true events, including Wallace’s suicide, that the film skips over characters, plots, and even consequences in the service of a general air of “inspiration” in its final moments. For instance, Eisenberg’s David Lipsky wants to write an article about Wallace, but we never find out if it runs; he wants to grow as a writer, but we never found it if he does; we also don’t even learn the circumstances that led him to publish his book about the days he spent with Wallace. In other words, it feels too falsely manipulative, unwilling to stay loyal to its nature as a story and too eager to trade on the viewer’s knowledge of what would eventually happen to Wallace.
Hurricane of Fun: The Making of Wet Hot (2015): A fun but aimless collection of behind-the-scenes footage. Less a documentary than a loose assemblage of clips.
The Drop (2014): Tom Hardy should always have a dog as a costar.
The Thin Blue Line (1988): Throws you into the deep end and then gets in with you.
Trouble in Paradise (1932): Lighter than air and sexy as hell. Witty, warm, exciting; almost everything you could want in a movie.
— Night Moves
— Inside Man: One of Lee’s best.
— That Thing You Do: A comfort-food mainstay.
— Edge of Tomorrow: I can’t stop watching this movie.
Mad Max: Fury Road (2015): I didn’t see the clothed emperor so many of my colleagues did here. It’s got plenty of energy, sure, but the characters are so empty (especially Max) that the story is meaningless, and the resulting product is essentially an exercise in impressive stuntwork.
Exporting Raymond (2010): There’s a good idea in here somewhere, but the problem is that the film’s subject, Phil Rosenthal, is also its director. As such, the central story (investigating what happens when an American TV show is remade for a foreign audience) is a little shapeless.
One Hour With You (1932): Maurice Chevalier getting away with everything he could in the final days before the Code.
Twilight (1998): The plot turns are telegraphed almost in neon, but it’s still alluring to see Newman, Garner, and Hackman in their latter days.
— Awful Nice: Not as strong as I remember it being from a SXSW screening a couple years back, but not bad.
— Mulholland Dr.: I love this movie.
The Smiling Lieutenant (1931): Another pre-Code Chevalier from Lubitsch, and cute enough, though not as winning as One Hour With You.
Lost Highway (1997): David Lynch scares the hell out of me, and I love it. (See also.)
The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946): A surprisingly twisty noir — it feels like it has seven acts — with great work from John Garfield and the stunning Lana Turner. Bonus: Hume Cronyn almost walks away with the show.
On the Town (1949): Effervescent, beautiful, crackling. One of my favorite viewing experiences of the year.
Laura (1944): “Have you ever been in love?” “A doll in Washington Heights once got a fox fur out of me.” That’s when I knew I’d found something.
Anchors Aweigh (1945): The first Sinatra-Kelly pairing (which would prompt their reunion in On the Town), and while it’s a little flabby, it’s still gorgeous to look at. Kathryn Grayson is about as exciting as a wet sock, and her period-style warbling doesn’t age well, but Sinatra and Kelly are still great.
How to Marry a Millionaire (1953): Fantastic and slick in that 1950s Hollywood way. You can practically smell American empire through the frame.
The Amityville Horror (1979): Could be summarized: “Strange things happen and then everybody gets away just fine.” Weirdly anticlimactic.
— The Departed: DiCaprio is so good here, so on edge, that he walks away with the movie.
— The Prestige: One of Nolan’s absolute best, if not the peak.
The Haunting (1963): Nothing but smart editing and sound design, yet it’s more terrifying than most modern thrillers.
M (1931): Eerie, unnerving, fantastic.
Spy (2015): Melissa McCarthy has settled into a nice groove: she knows what she wants to do, and what she’s good at doing.
The Watcher in the Woods (1980): My wife grew up watching this, and it is bonkers. It starts out as a ghost story but then says “Maybe aliens?”
Carol (2015): Todd Haynes is a methodical filmmaker with a modest output — he’s only made six features in 24 years — and that sense of care and focus are evident here. Carol is a quiet film about repression and fear, relying on glances, body language, and the hope of the unknown to communicate its characters’ longing for love.
Steve Jobs (2015): Aaron Sorkin’s script is effervescent, but the film as a whole doesn’t quite hang together.
Spotlight (2015): Tom McCarthy’s another filmmaker who traditionally focuses on small, interpersonal moments, which makes him a good fit for the journalistic grind of Spotlight. It’s such a solid, strong film that its real skill and power won’t be recognized for a few years.
Trainwreck (2015): Judd Apatow’s films now seem hidebound to follow a formula he stumbled across a decade back: lots of improvised riffs, some stray plots that go nowhere, and running times that are about 30 minutes overweight. (When a potentially breezy rom-com like Trainwreck clocks in at just over two hours, something’s gotta go.) There’s still a good deal to enjoy here, though, especially Bill Hader’s chemistry with Amy Schumer. I was a little late to the party, watching the film a few months after it came out, but even so I was struck by how tone-deaf and immature some critics’ reactions were to the film re: what they viewed as its conservative or regressive bias. Schumer’s character, by the end, decides to grow up a little: she cuts back on the boozing and opts to risk heartbreak for a real relationship. This is a pretty common arc, especially for an Apatow movie, which are all about people deciding to get their acts together. It’s not inherently conservative1 or retrograde for a character to have an awakening of sorts and pursue change in the name of a higher good; that’s most drama. It doesn’t become oppressive just because the protagonist is a woman.
Results (2015): A shaggy, warm, engaging romantic dramedy. The low budget and run-and-gun attitude shine through in the best way.
— Bull Durham: A perfect film.
— It Should Happen to You
Joy (2015): A soupy mess. Jennifer Lawrence, charismatic as she may be, doesn’t have the age or range to play a grown woman with the kind of history David O. Russell wants her to have. Russell’s determination to keep making the same film over and over — a cranked-up version of 1970s histrionics — is old now. I pine for the days of Three Kings and I Heart Huckabees.
The Hateful Eight (2015): A brutal, riveting drawing-room horror story. The first 90 minutes are the tightest, most suspenseful filmmaking Tarantino’s done; the second 90, when all hell breaks loose, is just as rewarding.
Best of Enemies (2015): A well-meaning but small-feeling doc about the rivalry between Vidal and Buckley. Two titans seem weirdly shrunk.
The Big Short (2015): One of the best American movies of the year. Punchy and full-throated, like an angry civics lesson from a history teacher too tired to pretend the world’s worth saving.
Inside Out (2015): A flat-out masterpiece. The characters and story are perfect, and the emotionally nuanced message — about the necessity of sadness and grief, and the way all memories are made of a mix of feelings — is one of Pixar’s most powerful.
Sicario (2015): Great photography. Bad everything else.
The Revenant (2015): See above.
Trumbo (2015): See above.
The Good Dinosaur (2015): See above.
Brooklyn (2015): A wonderful film. Too often the end of the year brings dramas that traffic in the worst of the human condition, and while those stories are worth telling, they can induce a Pavlovian response. More than halfway into Brooklyn, I kept expecting someone to get raped, or have a medically risky abortion, or run over a friend with their car, or contract polio, or who knows what. But this isn’t that film. Rather, it’s a beautiful drama that digs into the life of a young woman who emigrates from Ireland to the U.S. in the 1950s. By focusing on these “small” stakes, the film feels universal in its observations of family. Bonus: my favorite ending scene/shot of the year.
Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015): It took 35 years, but somebody finally made an entertaining Star Wars movie again.
The Martian (2015): Entertaining, meat-and-potatoes adventure. The book is a mess, but that makes it perfect fodder for a movie adaptation. There’s no style or insight to be shed in the process of translating it to the screen.
— Sunshine: Not the Danny Boyle film, but the 1999 drama by Istvan Szabo. I rented it from the video store in the fall of 2000, on a whim, and it stayed with me. I revisited it for the first time since then, and I found it even more moving.
— The Godfather: What’s left to say? The American dream as operatic tragedy.
— White Christmas: My father and sister loved this movie when I was young, but it took me years to appreciate it.
— Star Wars: I was born in 1982, and am therefore of the generation that still refers to the first film simply as “Star Wars.”
— The Empire Strikes Back: The best, most beautiful, most impressive film in the series.
By the Numbers
Total films seen: 642
Animated films: 2
Foreign (non-U.S.) films: 13 Movies released in 2015: 26
Movies released before 2015: 38
Movies released before 2000: 22
Movies released before 1950: 8
Of the ten highest grossers of the year (as of Dec. 31), I saw: 3
Favorites (in no particular order): Brooklyn, Laura, On the Town, Trouble in Paradise, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, The Drop, The Rundown, The Big Short, Carol, Spotlight, Ex Machina