For the longest time I've been compiling my TOP 10 list of 2016, and it has been something of a struggle. Not because there aren't many great films this year, actually it has turned into a monumental year in cinema, but exactly because of that. From horror breaching the mainstream even further to genre pieces being highlighted throughout the year (‘Green Room’, ‘The Wailing’ etc etc), 2016 has seen the rise of independent cinema even further. Suffice to say it, while 2016 has taken a many things from us, it has provided a score of incredible films that will last an eternity.
So without trying your patience any further, here is my
Director Karyn Kusama, having taken 6 years in between ‘Jennifer's Body’ (yes, that ‘Jennifer's Body’), disposes of the angsty melodrama of high school and gives us one of the year’s most tension induced dinner parties. What begins as a heartbreaking and delirious ode to loss and pain quickly spirals into a who-done-it of psychological mysteries, asking us whether we believe what we see or how we feel. As our guest (Logan Marshall Green) begins his descent into hallucinatory sorrow, we start questioning the reality of things, until Kusama kicks over the party tray to unravel a Hitchcockian ending for the books.
When the bank forecloses the farm of two brothers (Ben Foster and Chris Pine), they decide to take measures into their own hands by robbing the very branch that deems ownership of land that dates back generations. It's with this simple premise that Scottish director David Mackenzie (‘Starred Up’) delivers one of the most rousing and representative films of the year. At once both subdued and thunderous in its voice and action, this neo-western features some of the grandest cinematography and action set pieces of 2016, bolstered by a commanding performance by Ben Foster. In a time when big banks sit atop the shoulders of America's working class, Mackenzie has delivered a pertinent film strewn with bullet holes and crushed souls, with a message that rings loudest when it isn't firing a gun.
When ‘Cloverfield’ hit theaters almost a decade ago, the consensus was indecisive over the found-footage monster flick-some were lost in its style while the remainders were absorbed in the destructive path it set forth. From the rubble rose one of the surprise hits of the year, offering up a tensely woven extended cut of what surmounts to a 'Twilight Zone' episode. Shot primarily within the confines of what might as well be the blueprint of a paranoid architect's mind, director Dan Trachtenberg (Harriet the Spies brother) infuses two of cinemas most undervalued genres-horror and sci-fi. Acting as equal parts slasher, survival horror and creature feature, ‘10 Cloverfield Lane’ quickly became a nerve twisting breath of fresh air in the early months of 2016, showing audiences that you don't need to look to the stars to discover something both illuminating and terrifying.
Based on the book by Philip Roth, Indignation tells the story of two college students (Logan Lerman and Sarah Gordon) who fall in love within a Catholic college during the Korean War. Backed by a commanding performance by its two leads, director/writer/producer James Schamus takes a tried formula and down-casts its themes with heavy narrative elements and grounded romantic archetypes. From its deeply affecting story to its use of deep saturation framing its characters and the war that rages on the outside, ‘Indignation’ stands out like a heart on a sleeve, leaving its blood stains exposed as a reminder of life's love and loss.
One of the earlier films of 2016 came in the form of a thickly spun tale of witchcraft set in 17th century New England, showing a puritan families encounter with the evil that lurks within the woods. First time director Robert Eggers layers his film with enough historical details and panache that it feels like a time warp, fading into a manner of life that once was. Like the music that trickles into every frame, the horrors in ‘The VVitch’ lurches towards you on broken legs, taking its time to get close enough for you to feel it's breath against your neck. In an era where the horror genre exposes its monstrosities, Robert Egger's meticulous tale of religious fear slow burns your senses with what you think you see, not on the screen but within the recesses of your imagination.
After the reverb kicked up from ‘Whiplash’, the second feature from writer/director Damien Chazelle, scores of scripts were offered to the young Harvard grad. However, keeping in tempo with his adoration for music, having studied jazz in high school Chazelle went into the vault of CinemaScope to bring audiences a sendup to Hollywood. Highlighted by its audacious dance numbers and dizzying one-takes, ‘La La Land’ tells the story of a young jazz enthusiast and actress, both trying to make it somewhere by the beat of each other's drum. Delivering a toe-tapping and eye-opening intro, Chazelle's third film, an ode to the musicals of yesteryear, shines through in waves of longing and love, not just for each other but for their calling.
What allows its two romantic leads (Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone) to keep dancing in line with each other is a musically propelled chemistry that keeps the heart of its cast and audiences grounded, even when the stars are illuminating our eyes. Working with composer Justin Hurwitz (‘Whiplash’), Chazelle appears to have found his stride, taking heartfelt leaps that force you to remember the purity of cinema, even if musicals aren't your thing. When the credits finally roll and the lights go up, you'll find yourself pinned to your seat in awe with a heart that dances atop your own stage, the floorboards telling you that anything is possible.
In 2013, director Jeremy Saulnier introduced the world to his off-brand style of cinematic reality with ‘Blue Ruin’, a festival darling about a downtrodden and newly paroled man out for revenge. Rather than choreograph and romanticize brutality, Saulnier showed the fallacies of one's actions, a trait he would highlight even further in his latest film, ‘Green Room’. Featuring one of the last performances by the criminally underrated Anton Yelchin,Saulnier's latest introduces us to the Ain't Rights, a down on their luck punk band who encounters a murder and must fight a gang of neo-Nazi’s in order to make it out alive.
Underneath the ragged band tees and socio-political vitriol lies a stark and quiet film that utilizes the uncomfortable silence like a 3-chord progression; pumping you up for what ultimately never comes. Cutting from one room to the exterior with an understood patience, Saulnier builds and builds on an undisturbed tension that stretches across the screen, only to ignore it and severe the hand holding it in place. When the violence in ‘Green Room’ does come, it hits you like a blistering punk number, cutting itself short before you even know how it happened. With bouts of sustained silence interspersed with unbridled chaos, ‘Green Room’ stands as one of the year’s most brutally honest and powerfully brutal films, showing you that it doesn't matter who's listening, just how loudly you play.
When a listless Boston custodian (Casey Affleck) is summoned back to his hometown after his brother (Kyle Chandler) passes away, he must confront the skeletons in his closet while looking after his nephew (Lucas Hedges). It's a basic premise that writer/director Kenneth Lonergan fleshes out through the use of timely flashbacks and orchestral pieces that wash over our central characters like high tide, eventually receding back into its core themes of family. Resonating at the center of ‘Manchester by the Sea’ is a borderline placid yet brilliantly subdued performance by Casey Affleck as Lee Chandler, who has attempted to run from his demons; ones who have stripped him of his children and wife, played by Michelle Williams.
While our film focuses on Lee, it's Williams and Hedges who stand out as the emotional catalysts for Lee, shifting seamlessly into their characters. As the biting cold surrounds our New England town, seeped in gray tones that mirror the destructive power of sorrow, Lesley Barber's orchestral score, interspersed with desolate pieces by Handel, carry our characters and themes to a point, demonstrating the capacity of collaboration. While the subject matter of Lonergan's film weighs heavy, ‘Manchester by the Sea’ elevates itself above the surface, demonstrating the gravity of forgiveness and perseverance while showing you the beauty in misery.
There's a scene in the 3rd act of ‘Moonlight’, director Barry Jenkin's coming of age story divided into 3 specific character arches, that features a grown-up Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) driving down the road after having met-up with Kevin (Andre Holland), an old high school acquaintance. There isn't much said between the two, though that isn't what makes it so remarkably tender and powerful. It's what's conveyed through subtle gestures; a sheepish grin, shy yet playful eyes, tense demeanor that makes it standout. The innocence and heartache within Jenkin's film, based loosely on both his and playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney's upbringing is both startling and pure, allowing the audience to become so close with Chiron we can almost feel the outpour of love and confusion that radiates from his heart.
What we're witnessing is something that teeters on the edge of universality, yet keeps itself from stepping past that because ‘Moonlight’ (based partly on McCraney's piece In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue) isn't a film for everyone, which isn't to say it doesn't have themes that will resonate and connect with many. However, it's an incredibly specified tale of a child’s upbringing, played out in various stages re: i. Little (Alex Hibbert), ii. Chiron (Ashton Sanders) and previously mentioned iii. Black (Trevante Rhodes). What makes this a specific coming of age story is that Chiron is both black and gay, placing our film outside of arms reach for white America, and that's exactly where it should remain. ‘Moonlight’ is a film that shouldn't be seen, but needs to be felt by white America; one that's as necessary for us to see, feel, understand, accept and praise, just as it is told. Barry Jenkin's hasn't just created a gorgeously framed and fleshed out film, but one whose echoes will be heard through generations, marking ‘Moonlight’ as a masterpiece in both cinema and humanity.
If you've seen Denis Villeneuve's previous films, then you know of his masterful storytelling representing greater and very relevant themes. His film ‘Enemy’ (2013) deals with identity, ‘Prisoners’ (2013) with desperation, loss and family and ‘Sicario’ (2015) with masquerading masculinity and rape culture set amidst the raging drug "war". If his repertoire were the human body, Enemy would be the calloused hands identifying oneself, Prisoners the grieving legs in search of answers and ‘Sicario’ the contorted face mouthing "no" against a devious grin. The idea of Denis Villeneuve's body of work being likened to well, a body, isn't farfetched, as communication is a vital motif in each film.
With ‘Arrival’, his latest film about the appearance of alien vessels and our struggle as a planet to understand their motives represent the eyes-a symbol of communication distinguishable in every culture. Powered by a deeply rich score by Johann Johannsson and cinematography by Bradford Young that shifts seamlessly from wide exterior shots to cramped close-ups, ‘Arrival’ unfolds as a vastly important and vital science fiction tale wrapped around a humanly story of survival. In an age where our own communication has shapeshifted into suggestively symbolic photos stored online and 140 character quips, Villeneuve has crafted an engaging and deeply felt film that stands out as one of the most important allegories, not just for the 21st century, but of all time. Where cinema acts as an escape for humankind, ‘Arrival’ stands atop the notion of both art (films) and pop (movies), showing us that our own interaction with the very people we coexist with is something worth saving, even if it means putting down our phones and looking each other in the eyes.