My Top 10 Favorite Films of 2016

In honor of this awards season, and because I like to do it, I now present my favorite ten films released last year. 2016 was not a Great Year for cinema, and so I list not ones I would consider "great". It's not meant to be my consideration of the "best" films of the year, just ones I particularly liked. There are still several I have not seen (Jackie, Loving, Elle, 20th Century Women), and many I chose not to see. Yet I had a hard time making this list because there were a lot of movies I really liked this year. So while I am trying to limit this list to 10, you will notice several references and "ties" between multiple pictures in each ranking. Deal with it.

This year, however, was difficult for me. Many of my favorite films were so because of how incredibly timely they were, how appropriate and sharp their wit, heart, or sensibilities. They were, I would say, important films for the moment, and while that's not usually something I care about, the anxieties and problems we've carried in 2016 certainly made themselves manifest in its films, and often did so remarkably well. Similarly, I noticed that, with a few notable exceptions, this was a resoundingly "male" year for films, meaning that aesthetically many big films this year (due to their budget or awards contention) focused on masculinity in American culture. Even several films starring women or concerning women revolved around the world of men, male culture, the male gaze, and social masculinities. Dissecting that observation would take lengthy time I don't have here, but I hope you consider it as you read on.

10. The Purge: Election Year. There were several excellent horror flicks this year, and appropriately horrific dramas (Goat, The Invitation, Hush, 10 Cloverfield Lane, Don't Breathe), but none tapped into the same cultural nerves as aggressively as this third picture in the series that gets better with each new installment. It's not an imperfect movie, but it perfectly captures a horrific "now" and "soon" prophetic vision of America tearing itself apart. Effortlessly combining arthouse aesthetics and almost (but not quite) gore-porn thrills, Election Year also features an uncannily earnest screenplay, one that articulates however crudely the anxieties and represssed impulses of a no less crude society. Sure, it's not consistently the most violent or suspenseful thing you'll see on screen this year, but it might be the most horrifying simply because it's suddenly not as far from reality as we'd prefer.

9. Captain America: Civil War. Disney had a killer year, with a few game-changing animated blockbusters (namely Zootopia and Finding Dory) and its best remakes yet (The Jungle Book and Pete's Dragon). But all fall short of the glory brought on by its acquisition of Marvel Studios. Doctor Strange was nice, but the third Captain America is the best film in the franchise. Essentially the Avengers film we didn't get with Age of Ultron, this one sees its sizeable cast taking sides in an emotional conflict that is ultimately left unresolved. Almost the entire movie is climactic, and it charismatically sticks each landing in its frenetic act, perfectly balancing spectacle with substance, heart with humor, and action with attitude. It challenges our own loyalties and values, and in retrospect, its prophetic vision of American life over the last few months has proven chillingly accurate.

8. Silence. It's not every year that a new masterpiece is born, but Silence is a film for the ages, and I would be lying to say viewing it didn't change me. While the other film I considered here (Hacksaw Ridge) is arguably more timely and thematically unique, it was also less spiritually brutal and less technically brilliant. Impossibly large in thematic scope yet intimate in delivery, Silence challenges our convictions, undermining our sense of religious comfort and social complacency, daring us to consider that our very souls are in danger when we hold tighter to our ideals than to the lives of those around us. Body terror meets spiritual warfare in this journey to the heart of darkness, and you will not escape unscathed.

7. TIE! (aka: musicals, love, and comedy taking us back a few decades)
La La Land. An enchanting love letter to a forgotten era, this romantic musical dramedy sweeps us off our patent leathers and into the stars -- literally! Led by fine performances of stylized talent and the sure hand of director Damien Chazelle, the film entrances us with jazz and music, dancing and dreams, and despite its Cinemascope vision, its fierce intimacy creeps into our hearts. Much like the novelty of The Artist back in 2011, this movie is a genre game-changer; the difference here is that, because it is so much more relevant to millennials than The Artist, this will actually impact future movie musicals.From its joyous opening number, we know it's an escapist ride we desperately needed to take this year. If its romance doesn't kick you in the balls, its melancholy ending will, justified with an affirming message more positive than I've seen in a romance in a long damn time.

Florence Foster Jenkins. In turns silly and heartrending, the other big musical(ish) dramedy this year is by no means as technically adept as the above entry, and yet its message is far more universal and important. Sharp comedy and surprisingly athletic vocal slapstick keep things light, though the heart of the film is decidedly darker. While the direction is less sure here, nothing matters beyond the performances of our three leads. In an age of instant virtual criticism and personal attacks, this film presents us with a distinctly passionate artist who perseveres in spite of cruelty and disdain, and whose personal demons by no means overshadow her radiant and infectious sense of hope and purpose.

6. Eye in the Sky. While there were a smattering of good, unexpected, and historically random war films this year -- Anthropoid, Allied, Hacksaw Ridge -- this one takes the grand prize. Eye was the one that haunted me long after viewing, and as the terrors continue to unfold on the opposite side of our world, this film feels more and more relevant each day. As cold and calculated as the warfare it depicts, this quiet chamber piece keeps everything intimate, until you can scarcely bear the tension. Hitchcockian suspense meets international terrorism in this scathing tale of drones in war, where every emotional beat is a soul-shaking knell that will force you to reckon your own moral limits and face the consequences of transgression.

5. Manchester by the Sea. The tear-jerker of the year is also one of the most unexpectedly funny. An odyssey into the soul of an isolated and reserved man, this film perfectly balances its emotional corkscrew of heart and humor by being so firmly grounded in its time and place. It's also one of the most insightful explorations of modern American masculinity in recent years (after of course my #2 pick, below). Anything but contrived, the film feels raw and immediate, and as we voyeuristically peer into the lives of its characters, we are absorbed into their family for better and worse. While this year featured comparable films to this in terms of realism and character study (Hell or High Water, The Girl on the Train), Manchester by the Sea steals your heart faster and more viciously, but then works harder to mend its cruelty, leaving us high on a catharsis like none other.

4. Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. It's the Star Wars we've always wanted, and now we need it more than ever. After the dismal failure of The Force Awakens and in the face of current horrifying political regimes in the real world, this tale of paranoia, courage, teamwork, and hope rings loud and clear. Its ragtag team of scared misfits are an icon of hope in their own right, and as they navigate a galaxy of terror and violence, they embrace differences and overcome fear as they endeavor to save everyone they love. Mostly absent of Jedi (but with plenty of familiar faces), the film lets us live as a normal person, and so its grittier style and lengthy action sequences betoken, finally, an actual war movie in the franchise.

3.TIE! (aka: Amy Adams is a goddess, and I often like style over substance)
Arrival. A science-fiction drama of the highest caliber, this meditation on language and fate and love and loss and war and time is impossibly dense, in the best possible way. Ethereal and cold, gorgeously shot, and emotionally engrossing, the film is the experience of the year. While my other choices for this slot (High-Rise and Kubo and the Two Strings) were also absorbing escapades of sci-fi fantasy, they were neither as accessible nor as concrete as Arrival, and for that reason I felt more profoundly moved by the latter. I certainly didn't know a movie about the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis and free-will determinism could be this awesome. I said it once before: What's better than smart, beautiful, feminist science fiction that sends your sensibilities on a postmodern trip while playing your heartstrings like a cello? Not much, my friends.

Nocturnal Animals. The darkest romance in recent memory, Tom Ford's latest creation is a masterpiece. Critiquing cultural beauty standards as well as cultural romance standards, the film challenges our ideas of purpose, family, fidelity, and revenge. The niceties of society are slowly shredded before our eyes, forcing us to watch as cruelty darkens the stage and nighttime monsters come out to play. Presenting us with haunting vision of the aftermath of love, Ford seamlessly blends several plotlines into a nightmarish miasma where fact and fiction, past and present, and hopes and fears wage war for relevance. Complex and detailed, this picture will stick with you long after viewing, even and especially when you don't want it to.

2. Moonlight. In a year of unparalleled excellence and visibility in Black cinema, picking a favorite is hard. I remember the inspiring empowerment of Queen of Katwe, the raw and brutal force of Fences, and the rapturous joy of Hidden Figures. But when I consider the complex beauty, fearsome artistry, and timely relevance of Moonlight, it takes the prize. Its vision of a life on the edge, bodies and work rarely ever seen (especially on screen), is pure and urgent, a cry in the wilderness and a beacon of illumination and hope. Seductively filmed, passionately written, and impeccably performed by everyone involved, this is the best film of the year, the most important film of the year, and by far my favorite. With only one small exception....

1. The Witch. This one may not count, as it actually hit many theaters in 2015, but I've been waiting a full year to gush about it again. This picture was easily the most fresh, intelligent, and profoundly disturbing horror film of the year, and ultimately my favorite thing to come out of 2016. A unique story of feminism and religion, coming-of-age power and raw fear, the Witch transports us to our cultural roots and strips itself of any pretense. Paranoia and violence reign supreme in the colonies, and the devil stalks the insignificant Puritans who life on the edge of civilization. Its richly detailed characterizations, themes, and even dialogue make the film an absolute pleasure, though its horrific ideas and images are sure to keep you up at night. Dark and twisted, the film forces us to experience the evils of things that should be good, and as we watch what we should not be seeing, we are shaken to the core.

So what do you think? Did I unfairly recognize a picture? Did I neglect one of your favorites? Comment and discuss. I loved a lot of movies this year, and I know you did too! Let's share ideas and passions. Free speech is an essential element to our cultural makeup!

Nocturnal Animals (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

How would you feel if your ex-husband, estranged for many years, mails you a manuscript named after and dedicated to you? When Susan, chic art gallery owner, receives such a gift from Edward, a spark of hunger ignites in her eyes, thus beginning the film Nocturnal Animals. As she reads the manuscript, a surprisingly violent and nihilistic tale of a man losing his family and seeking vengeance, she becomes consumed. Her consciousness slipping from her, she remembers her own love story: young lovers rebelling against the constraints of her pious family, their marriage ending in secrecy and cruelty, her current husband's infidelities. Obsessing over the story, Susan seems to be rekindling her affections for Edward, apparently as he had intended. By the end, however, all is not as it seems, and the lessons of love won and lost are far from over.

Tom Ford's second directorial turn is intoxicating, a haunting vision of the damage two lonely people can wreak in the aftermath of love. Brimming with both style and substance, the film masters its complex tonal and structural design, and most of the credit is due to Ford himself. He forces us to witness several plotlines simultaneously, including the Susan's present dilemma (reading the manuscript), her romantic history (with her family, first husband, and current husband), and the fictional tale itself (starring a man too like her ex-husband for comfort). A result of these intimately edited strands, often visually intersecting in the same image, is that we aren't always sure what we are seeing. Ford expertly fuses fiction to reality, past to present, desire to repulsion, and as Macbeth might say, "present fears are less than horrible imaginings".

Ford once again stakes his claim as a master director, with as profound an eye for visual composition and sensual engagement as for storytelling and character psychology. Though the cast here is perhaps larger than the film's intimate premise might require, each player is kept firmly in their place and allowed to steal the screentime given them. Jake Gyllenhaal and Amy Adams, as the protagonists, begin behind the veneer of innocence and sweetness often attributed to them, and as the film continues their darker sensibilities creep through like needles until the veil has been torn asunder; by the end, they reveal themselves to be the monsters of the night the title suggests.

Similarly, the secondary players revel in their own nastinesses. On one hand we have finely dressed pillars of the community -- wealthy ex-debutante mother Laura Linney, detective searching for justice in an evil world Michael Shannon -- whose motivations and destinations are at once logical and cruel. On the other, we have grotesque figures -- edgy and eccentric Michael Sheen and Andrea Riseborough, brutal villain Aaron Taylor-Johnson -- whose presence pushes our protagonists into a deeper miasma of confused purpose and inverted identity.

Complemented by some of the best cinematography this year (from genius and personal favorite Seamus McGarvey, Anna Karenina, Wit, The Hours, Atonement, We Need to Talk About Kevin) and a chilling score (from Abel Korzeniowski, A Single Man, Penny Dreadful), the film exemplifies how great a film can be when each of its considerably talented artists are encouraged to do some of their best work. It's also an example of how fabulous it is to have a film that encourages the audience to think for themselves, rather than spelling everything out along the way.

For example, the opening credits have drawn some ire, and the somewhat ambiguous ending has raised criticism as well. The former features nude dancing women, obsese and mostly older, amidst varying degrees of costume and glitter. While some have criticized this as a provocative body-shaming gimmick, and it well may be when we contrast it with the remarkably toned physiques of the other actors in the movie, it deserves more than such a simple write-off. These women might be a kind of muse, a narrator warning us of the ugliness to come, or a defiant kind of chorus relishing in their bodily freedom. When we contrast those images -- which are revealed to be installations in Susan's new art exhibit -- with Susan's preoccupation with how her life is "supposed" to look and how unhappy that makes her, we see the dangers of cultural obsession with beauty standards. The women, so joyous in their dancing and so proud to be in their own skins, critique what we expect and arguably shame us for so objectifying them.

The ending is a bit less obvious, as it is primarily character-based. After the vaguely allegorical story (we're never quite convinced that Edward's fictional tale is entirely fictional, and its emotional odyssey is certainly directly translatable to his own despair) in which Edward's life is revealed to be full of substance but devoid of beauty, we are reminded that Susan's life is stylish and luxurious but devoid of meaning or purpose. Seeing Edward as finally coming into his own, Susan reflects on pushing him to finish a book and be more assertive and aggressive and how he has finally done that. Paradoxically, the manuscript's violence has strangely transferred into her own life: in the layered misogyny of her art exhibit, her ambivalence toward her coworkers and friends, increasingly violent artwork like arrow-pierced animals and the graphic "REVENGE" plastered on the wall before she breaks a friend's phone in which she sees a frightening specter. Have I convinced you yet? Edward's disturbing gift to her awakens the desire she once had for him, and she pursues him again. So, at the end, when he stands her up in the restaurant where she sips her cocktails in tortured isolation, is he rejecting her and forcing her to experience his own grief? Or was his book his declaration of independence from her influence, allowing him to ignore her superficial presence? Or was meeting her again too painful for him, resulting in his ending in a manner similar to that of his character's ending (going blind and killing himself, even maybe accidentally)? It's up for interpretation.

IMDb: Nocturnal Animals

Get Out (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

When a young man goes to meet his girlfriend's family, it's only a matter of time before tensions run high, right? Add some of the smartest social satire in years, throw in a dash of classism, sprinkle on some fanciful psychology, and then pour all that onto the main course: a blistering indictment of casual racism in America. It's a bombshell of a film, one that sparkles with wit before it lances your sensibilities. Apparently taking its inspiration from The Stepford Wives and Rosemary's Baby, but by no means a simple re-imagining, Get Out is a masterwork, and its writer and director, Jordan Peele, has never helmed a feature film before.

Structuring classic horror tropes and thrilling plot devices isn't what makes Peele's achievement here. It's his obviously passionate awareness of everyday interactions and people's "good intentions", his vivid recollection of historical racism and how it affects us today, and his talent for disarming humor that ignites the film. From the very first scene -- a lone black man (LaKeith Stanfield) trying to find his way through a suburb at night is followed and attacked, and if you don't immediately think about Trayvon Martin you're part of the problem -- Peele forces us to confront the racism so ingrained in our culture that we scarcely recognize it.

What might be called the most savvy element to Peele's satire is his risky, not-quite-veiled assault on mainstream white liberalism, whose proud "colorblind" and superficially anti-racist remarks belie true motivations that are both engendered by and pursuing racist agendas. The wealthy white parents (played to perfection by Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) are aware that having black servants working around the house looks bad, but they happily explain it away in terms of "family". They flaunt their approval of President Obama and "Tiger" and appropriate jargon and slang, seemingly proving their postracial bona fides. Their wealthy white friends touch the young black man's muscles without asking, ask his girlfriend about his sexual prowess, and objectify his every feature. It's not a comfortable sequence to watch, and Peele seems intent on forcing his white audience to be as hyperaware of race as we often accuse black people of being.

It's a gamble, of course, lashing out at comfortable liberalism and wealthy whiteness, not because we don't deserve it, but because it's not as funny or familiar as caricatures of conservatives and poor racists. Seemingly sweet and apparently harmless, it's the white liberal sensibility -- petrified of being perceived as racist -- that can create spaces of whitewashed colorblindness, structured by racist history and allowing rank oppression to grow beneath the linoleum. In fact, early in the film, the white father declares offhandedly that their basement has been sealed up, a result of rampant "black mold".

While the final act reveal is neither as unpredictable nor as realistic as some might prefer, it deserves a few comments as well. Outlandish as the idea may be (I'm trying really hard not to spoil it for you, but know that it involves an unholy mix of neuroscience and hypnosis), it is little more than a modern incarnation of eugenics. The villains' previous discussions of cultural appropriation and racial objectification come to a vicious head in the climax. Afterward, of course, there is little else for the film to do but follow through to its bloody, brutal denouement. Peele even here avoids genre pitfalls, keeping our awareness of race heightened as bodies drop one by one. Even when cop car lights show up at the end, it's not necessarily a sense of relief, as we fear that even more racial profiling will undermine the hopes we have in our young hero.

PS: The best performance in the film belongs firmly to Daniel Kaluuya, our leading man, whose relaxed, nuanced, and grounded delivery is relentlessly believable. The other showstopper, however, would be Betty Gabriel, who plays the maid Georgina. Her electrifying presence on screen reaches a screaming climax about halfway through, when she meets the protagonist in his bedroom. I want to see more of her!

IMDb: Get Out

A Cure for Wellness (2017)

Score: 3.5 / 5

A young American executive is sent on a mission to retrieve his boss from an asylum. Once there, he comes to realize all is not as it seems, and suspects that the institution harbors sinister designs. It's not a unique story, and one that has been done better elsewhere. Consider it a bizarre revamp of Shutter Island and other, usually worse, films regarding entrapment in mental health facilities. While the story here rests with the simple and predictable, and while its characters seem inexplicably content to reside in a world where all is aggressively awry, the film boasts a few power punches that keep it interesting.

First and foremost -- something its marketing team got completely wrong -- it's not a scary movie. It's a horror film, and more specifically, it's a meditation on Gothic horror. Not unlike Crimson Peak, this is a fantastic foray into a world where waking visions abound and things go bump in the dark. We are drawn in by pale-skinned girls flirting with death, mountaintop castles with secret passages and unearthly dungeons, monsters lurking in the lake, violent townspeople and malicious doctors, secrets from the past, rape, torture, incest, and of course the specter of insanity. Sound like a good time?

Actually, it is, if you're willing to forego reality for its two-and-a-half-hour running time. Director Gore Verbinski helps us enter his vision through dreamlike pacing and excellent visual storytelling. You could watch the movie without any dialogue and have no problem following along; in fact, you might be better for it. His control of atmosphere and style is absolute, and with an impeccable production design in the mix, Verbinski has crafted a mesmerizing movie. And while the tale he chose to tell may be typical, his methods are anything but, pushing us through aggressively disturbing images to provoke visceral reactions. He forces so many wickedly clever motifs and thinly disguised tropes into the film it begins to take on a life of its own, an internal dialogue on borrowed themes and reimagined horrors. The more the better, I say, and it seems Verbinski said the same.

Without trying to sound trite, I'd say the film is more an experience than entertainment. A meditation on Gothicism and the boundaries between human bodies, human minds, and the horrors that await both, the film injects claustrophobia into its operatic style to entrancing effect.

And it's got Jason Isaacs, doing his thing, and a ton of eels. What's not to like?

IMDb: A Cure for Wellness

  

Denial (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

An arresting reminder that history is far more fluid that we might prefer, Denial stands out not as a great film of the year but an uncomfortably timely one.

When a famed scholar who denies the Holocaust happened sues a Holocaust studies professor for libel, a colossal chess game is set. Or it would be, if Denial was a better film. What we get is an extended anecdote, a typical courtroom drama that features few surprises though it does remind us of an important real-life event that happened only two decades ago. The film, with its basic narrative cadence and the simple melodies it plays on your heartstrings isn't symphonic as, we might argue, it should be. But it is a simple reminder that some films are sound and sweet and smart and just plain solid, and that's okay.

What matters here -- besides the shockingly urgent implications of its revelation that history's facts are always up for debate and revision, which hit you only after the film is long over -- is Rachel Weisz. Reminding us once again (after her delicious presence in The Mummy) that knowledge can be power when married to passion, she reprises her role as librarian/scholar and transforms it into an heroic warrior, a pillar of virtue whose humanity only makes her stronger and fiercer. This is surely one of her great roles, and one that slowly reveals itself to be far more complex than we might suppose. Forced into silence by her legal team and hindered from the victory she deserves by publicity and legalities, her character keeps pushing for vindication until she achieves it. It's a relentless character, and Weisz crafts a powerhouse performance that still manages more nuances than you could bang a gavel at.

David Hare's screenplay, though simple and straightforward, isn't ever "bad". It just doesn't allow distractions or excess to obscure its heart. As honest and blunt as its leading character, the film reminds us of the inherent beauty of the tried-and-true courtroom drama (my favorite genre, after horror) by forcing us to pay attention to the duelling dialogue. Our era of political correctness and its vicious opposition, of instant messaging and virtual reality and artificial intelligence, might signal the end of this kind of film, where we are stuck watching and listening to people talk. We are compelled to listen and not speak as people present opposing ideas, and like the judge, come to our own opinions of it. In this particular instance, we are made to witness our history being subverted and questioned, and we must determine the extent to which we believe what has come before and why. We must confront the reality that our history is written not by facts but by people whose biases dictate its content, and -- even worse -- consider our own role in perpetuating a particular history as it is happening.

IMDb: Denial

Lion (2017)

Score: 2.5 / 5

Yet another sentiment-driven heartstring-tugger this awards season, Lion is better than most of its ilk. Featuring a fabulous performance from newcomer Sunny Pawar, the film follows young Saroo as he gets lost from his Indian family, taken across the country and the hemisphere to a new life in Australia. Growing up into Dev Patel, he seeks out his original home and family. Sound dull? You wouldn't exactly be wrong.

What sets Lion apart -- besides the killer performance from Pawar and a far more somber Patel -- are a few technical elements. Most of its glory goes straight to cinematographer Greig Fraser (Rogue One, Foxcatcher, Zero Dark Thirty), who finds poetry in the bleakest of places and smallest of images. While he utilizes sweeping vistas of the wide world to contrast the intimate nature of the story, he ties together motif after symbol after icon and brings a level of myth to the tale, heightening it beyond what would otherwise be a Hallmark special. The score by Hauschka and Dustin O'Halloran is also nice, though not particularly noteworthy in my book.

Unfortunately the problems with this film are appropriately lion-sized, and most are due to Luke Davies's screenplay. Its Dickensian first half, while engaging, is uniformly derivative. While it succeeds in crafting loving familial dynamics and the complex visual narration of a lost child, its character-driven focus is lost by the onset of the second half of the film. By the time Patel graces the screen, we're so in love with sweet little Saroo that we don't care much about this big man (despite his charm and good looks) or the uninteresting people around him, and his lack of communication makes him a mystery even to us. He's so locked in his own mind that we cannot access or sympathize with his inarticulate obsession with searching for his birth family, a plot device so basic to our culture that it should be a crime to get it this badly wrong. Director Garth Davis allows sentiment to so tyrannically reign that he ignores the necessity of presence and immediacy, forcing us to endure flashback after flashback of the first half, reminding us that it promised a better film than it gave.

As if that wasn't enough, the climax comes at such a cheap cost I would have walked out if I didn't want to keep Dev Patel in my eyeballs. Just as all hope seems lost for Saroo (though, plotwise, there's no real impetus for a climactic moment here), DEUS EX MACHINA. Literally. God in the laptop. He blearily slips his finger across Google Earth and happens to spot the quarry where his mother labored. Because obviously rocks are so memorable. Especially when they are viewed from a brand new angle (satellite) twenty years after a child ran through them. Maybe you think it's sweet, but it was all I could do to stop from guffawing aloud at the screen.

If those kinds of silly things don't bother you, you might just like the film. Even I didn't particularly dislike it, though I'm partial to Fraser's camerawork, Patel's talent and body, and Kidman's everything. Speaking of which, my Nicole does fine here, though she and David Wenham are woefully underused as Saroo's foster parents. Meanwhile Rooney Mara shows up in a terrible role as the dramatically flat girlfriend, though she does what she can with the passive caricature. Maybe I'm being too critical. I was severely disappointed, though, in how the film plays everything so damn safe. Tons of deep emotional ground is left buried. Richly complex ideas about family structure, race and ethnicity, class, and (most important) identity are quickly introduced and just as quickly forgotten.

It's a shame, really, because a movie about shifting identities (especially racial and ethnic ones) and cross-cultural families and friendships are more important now than ever.

IMDb: Lion