I, Tonya (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

I knew this was going to be fun. I didn't know it would be amazing.

As you probably already know, I, Tonya follows the life of Tonya Harding through the trials of her relationships with family, husband, peers, and fame. The centerpiece, of course, concerns her role in the infamous attack on rival Olympic skater Nancy Kerrigan. It's all an arresting look into the wild and horrifying lives of Harding, her mother, her husband, and the people connected to them, especially for those of us who don't exactly remember the whole story but grew up with chilled references to a "crazy", "white trash" woman too "desperate" for her fame.

In many ways, this film is a sort of fever dream that espouses a lot of the public's condemnation of Harding; in others, it brazenly toys with narrative conventions, primarily that of reliability. We see her life mediated by the news, her coach, her mother. The film is framed as a mockumentary, with the filmmakers interviewing the characters years after the events of Harding's youth. Interspersed are moments of re-created history, often featuring the characters breaking the fourth wall and speaking directly to us, the audience. With all these interruptions, conspicuous editing, and downright manipulative storytelling, we're never quite sure of the truth of her life. Screenwriter Steven Rogers and director Craig Gillespie (who also directed the Fright Night remake, a personal favorite) has masterfully fashioned a film that is so meta we can't help but swallow it all.

Amazingly, despite the whirlwind story, the film is easy to watch. The moment it was done, I was ready to view it again. It's breezy and smart, cracking like a whip, and never slows its pace. Right when the more poignant insights start to creep up, the movie cuts to an awkward, crude, funny scene that totally shakes your emotional connection. My personal favorite moment was a point when the story concerns Harding's marriage and burgeoning Olympic dreams, and out of a clear blue sky, we cut to the mockumentary interview with her mother, who casually notes she's drifted out of the story before lighting a cigarette and intoning, "What. The. Fuck." Then we go right back to Harding's story. It's incredible.

The film, apart from being a masterclass in screenwriting and editing, also features amazing cinematography and production design. The sets, costumes, and hairstyles are so accurate -- and so disgustingly period -- that a major theme emerges from the mise en scene: The overwhelming professional prejudice against "white trash" and the efforts of determined individuals, especially women, to overcome class boundaries. The stew of jealousy, desperation, cruelty, and injustice bubble into a boiling mess that makes the crazy behavior of these characters totally believable, even logical. In this way, while major parts of this movie are uproariously funny, by the end we realize we've been struck at the heart with some carefully calculated sneak attack blows. In many ways, I'd compare this film to Black Swan in several ways: its portrayal of desperate characters descending into an amoral madness to achieve their goals, issues of violent lovers and terrifying mothers, and remarkably similar cinematography. The camera is fabulously kinetic, whirling and twirling as quickly as Harding on ice, and the visual effects slide in and out almost without our awareness.

What else can I say? I didn't expect I, Tonya to be one of my favorite movies this year, but here we are. Margot Robbie delivers her best performance yet, Sebastian Stan is equally mesmerizing. Little supporting roles from Julianne Nicholson and Bobby Cannavale are charming. Allison Janney may very well win her Oscar as Harding's chain-smoking mother with a bird on her shoulder, an impossibly rich character, one of her career's best performances. Funny and smart, terrifying and engaging, wicked and beautiful, this is one of those genre-defying films that pops out of nowhere and steals your heart. And it boasts a killer soundtrack that'll have you tapping and singing along. What could be better?

IMDb: I, Tonya

Phantom Thread (2017)

Score: 4 / 5

A nearly perfect marriage of style and substance, Phantom Thread is the timeless romantic drama we've been waiting for this year. Paul Thomas Anderson's latest flick, as ever, bewilders as it entrances, and while his idiosyncratic style is no easier to chew here, this film stands out as distinctly un-categorizable and anti-timely in a year so aggressively filled with films about contemporary social issues. Whether that's a good or bad thing is a debate for another forum, but it's worth pointing out that this movie has no explicit agenda for any kind of political or social reflection whatsoever.

In fact, if anything, it's a sort of love letter to classic Hollywood glamour. It's bursting at the seams with color and light, emotions bigger than the screen that are locked away behind stony facades of the British elite. It's the kind of movie you expect Lauren Bacall or Tallulah Bankhead to casually stroll through. In fact, it references several classic films like Rebecca, to say nothing of the premise, which is essentially a sort of My Fair Lady story. A confirmed old bachelor in London, an expert in his artistic field, snatches up a beautiful and poor young woman for his possibly perverse schemes. He trains her, uses her, attempts to cast her aside, and then grows accustomed to her face.

There is a curious alternate side to this tale, though, and the film splits its attention between Daniel Day-Lewis as the dressmaker Woodcock and his muse-turned-lover Alma, played by Vicky Krieps. Alma, so head over heels in love with this old man, becomes desperate to be the one and only woman in his life (as he so often dresses rich and beautiful women who apparently threaten her) that she poisons him twice in order to emasculate him and subsequently nurse him back to health. Whether the film espouses a feminist perspective of agency in a world run by men or a misogynist view of women as jealous and wicked will be the dominant discussion of this film in years to come.

Similarly, I left the theater feeling melancholic and deeply disturbed. What I thought would be a weird but wonderful old-school romance was almost anything but. The film -- running over two hours in length -- becomes a nightmarish meditation on obsessive genius and work, domestic duplicity, and ultimately the inherent horror of loving someone. Specifically in a heterosexual relationship. The most enjoyable -- and most difficult -- performance in the film comes from Lesley Manville (who has been deservedly nominated for an Oscar), playing Woodcock's sister and business partner, whose icy facade masks immeasurable depths of scheming.

What won't be so hotly debated is the music of this film. Jonny Greenwood (The Master, We Need to Talk About Kevin, There Will Be Blood, and of course his work with Radiohead) hits the score out of the park with amazing piano and symphonic tunes I could listen to on repeat all day. And while the film may not be the most accessible film on the market lately -- who ever really knows what Paul Thomas Anderson is thinking? -- and while literally none of the characters are sympathetic, Phantom Thread is one of the most subversive, darkly comedic, and sweepingly beautiful movies of the year. There's something to be said for an artist who refuses to give in to popular whims, resolving to stay true to his vision, no matter what the final product becomes.

IMDb: Phantom Thread

Call Me by Your Name (2017)

Score: 3 / 5

A story of surprising honesty, Call Me by Your Name is a gorgeous, sensual journey to the heart of a young man discovering love. Elio, a Jewish American boy living in northern Italy, likes to read, study and play music, and lounge about in the summer sun with his girlfriend Marzia. His father, a professor, annually invites a graduate student to help him with his research and administrative work, and this summer another Jewish American arrives, named Oliver. Elio and Oliver are about as different as two young men can be, and Oliver's charismatic, carefree, sporty persona rubs the introspective Elio the wrong way many times.

There's a strange attraction involved, though, and Elio can't stop watching Oliver. Perhaps he sees in him the kind of man he himself wants to be, or the kind of man he wants to be with. With only six weeks of the summer left them, Elio reveals his conflicted feelings to Oliver, and the two embark on a romantic and sexual relationship. Of course, Oliver must leave by the end of summer, and a heartbroken Elio is consoled by his father, who encourages him to find joy in his grief because grief only comes after love. Love like that doesn't come many times in life, he says, and even when Oliver calls again months later to tell them that he's getting married, Elio's melancholic feelings are assuaged by remembering the pleasure they had together.

A film filled with gorgeous Italian countrysides and architecture, Call Me by Your Name is an exercise in escapism. Its intensely '80s production design, costuming, and soundtrack recall an idyllic pre-AIDS age of sexual adventure and freedom. The pounding piano music over much of the proceedings is as sensual as the sunwashed visuals and warm Italian scenery. It all takes on the trappings of a youthful fantasy, complete with humor and heart, honesty and hope. Timothee Chalamet is the focus of the film, and his performance as Elio is a masterclass in acting among coming-of-age films. Michael Stuhlbarg, though only marginally in the movie, delivers a heartrending speech near the end that turns his character (Elio's father) into one of the greatest dads ever seen on screen.

Yet, for all my praise, I can't deny my own disappointments. The film is fine, but the hype around it has worn me down for, what, two months now. It's not the "gay" film of the year, unless bisexual is the new gay. And it's difficult to swallow a film like this being so widely praised when Moonlight happened only a year ago. Whereas that film featured people of color, Muslim actors, poor characters, a gay man literally growing into himself, and a happy, hopeful ending, this one contains only white, classically educated, lazy rich people and it still ends with heartbreak. Give me Carol or Moonlight any day over this. I'm not saying it's not enjoyable, and I'm not saying visibility and compassion aren't important. I'm just saying I don't need Armie Hammer in short shorts to feel good about a queer movie, and the representation of future-less queer romances might not be the best message to promote at this time in history.

IMDb: Call Me by Your Name

The Post (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Spielberg doesn't always have his shit together, but when he does, it's a thing of wonder.

The Post, one of the best films this year and one of the timeliest movies I've ever seen, recreates the true story of journalists from the Washington Post attempting to publish the Pentagon Papers under President Nixon's vengeful administration. It's also many more things: a fabulously detailed period drama, a feminist snapshot of a woman succeeding where men fail in an atmosphere dominated by and solely populated by men, and a nail-biting political and legal thriller. Even when I had no idea what was going on (they toss around names and jargon like frisbees), I knew exactly what was going on dramatically and thematically, thanks to Spielberg and his longtime cinematographer Janusz Kaminski.

This is the sort of film, like All the President's Men and Spotlight among so many more, that reminds us of the intricacies and power of a free press, and how crucial it is to a free society. In an age when it seems the press and the government are constantly at odds and accusations (and probable realities) of corruption riddle each side, films like this become not only entertaining and fascinating, but crucial. The mass-market impact of film should make the studios crank out movies like this as if it's their job, so when it happens, I'm more than happy to praise the makers.

The Post is urgent and taut, determined to change your mind about something. Even when it hits a little too hard on the nose -- the last scene is a bit too Hallmark-y for me, but the film earned it, dammit, as Streep pithily expresses that the press may not always get it right, but they will keep trying because it's their responsibility and their calling. Writer Josh Singer (Spotlight, The Fifth Estate, The West Wing) hits hard when it counts, which makes him a fitting member of the Spielberg/Kaminski team. Streep and Hanks -- how they haven't worked together before now astounds me -- of course slay, and while neither role really screams Awards-worthy, their delivery is the stuff of stars. There's really nothing constructive for me to say here except to keep praising the movie. Just go see it. It's important and beautiful and important, in that order.

IMDb: The Post 

Insidious: The Last Key (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

It gets easy to write off horror sequels, especially when it's the fourth time around. The Last Key, though, while certainly not the strongest installment of the Insidious franchise and perhaps its weakest link, is still a head and shoulders above some sequels in its vein. Directed by Adam Robitel (The Taking of Deborah Logan) and written by Leigh Whannell, this film gives the franchise some much-needed heart after the first one, now eight years ago. It also solidifies Lin Shaye as the real MVP of the series as she carries the full weight of the movie on her shoulders as if it were nothing.

The Last Key takes place, chronologically, between Chapter Three and the original Insidious. Elise Brenner (Shaye), having set up her paranormal investigation business with Specs and Tucker (Whannell and Angus Sampson again), gets called by a man living in what was her childhood home. Hesitant to go, she recalls her youth, being terrorized by her abusive father as well as a demon when she began to experiment with her gifts of astral projection and clairvoyance. In returning home, she must face her angry brother (Bruce Davison) as well as the demons haunting her in her mind and in the Further, the mysterious limbo between life and death.

I don't want to give too much away. This film is easily the most emotional of the series, and I'd argue it could be read simply as a psychological journey to Elise's heart of darkness. The ghosts of her family and her past are far more complex and engaging than I expected, and I teared up more than once. Lin Shaye carries the weight masterfully, emoting as if she were fighting for an Oscar, and carrying the movie like an action star. She has carved out a magnificent niche for herself and for older women in general in a genre that all but abuses such figures. It's an awesome thing to have witnessed.

But the film is also, despite its tonal inconsistencies, a pretty darn good scary movie. Its jump-scares are nowhere near as good as in Chapter Two, but I can't deny being totally engaged the whole time. It's anything but predictable, and even in its final moments (leading up arrestingly to the events of the first film) I was desperate for more. This flick, notably, takes away a lot of what made the franchise great to begin with: namely, the foggy ether of the Further, which is reserved until the final act, and the mythological weirdness of time and space fuckery. But what it provides, instead, is the heartstrings that connect us to these characters. This switcheroo makes this film feel separate from the others and more like a standalone generic horror movie, but I think when all are viewed together, this film will serve as a lynchpin for all four, a crux of heart and horror.

IMDb: Insidious: The Last Key

The Shape of Water (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

What a year for horror. First we got Get Out, and since then at least three major Stephen King adaptations, two space-traveling alien flicks, new Annabelle and Insidious installments, Aronofsky's psychological bloodbath mother!, the severely underrated Happy Death Day, and now this. That's not all of them, of course, but enough to show the broad range and scope of the genre this year and to show that at least three are what some are considering high art. Three. Get Out, mother!, and The Shape of Water each transcend the genre in ways I've certainly not seen recently, if at all, in mainstream movies. Get Out, though people will insist is essentially a comedy, and mother!, which nobody really can label, were perhaps more extreme in their violent disruption of normative culture. But The Shape of Water, for all its beauty, is no less brutal in its explicit horror elements nor in its good old-fashioned monstrosity.

The plot is largely uninteresting. Elisa, a mute custodian (an astounding Sally Hawkins) working at a high-security American laboratory during the Cold War, discovers and befriends a monster (Doug Jones). As they embark on a romantic journey together, they must fight the forces that seek to destroy them, namely the cruel colonel Strickland (Michael Shannon). That's it. The crux of the thing. A sort of typical tale told with a few alterations -- I'll never really be okay with the fish-man sex scenes -- it reads as a dark fantasy, a Gothic monster movie not wholly unlike Whale's Frankenstein or a leering Lon Chaney silent film.

Of course, that's where things get really interesting. After reading an interview with director and writer Guillermo del Toro, I learned his love affair with the 1954 Creature from the Black Lagoon served as his impetus for this movie. Of course it was. It's impossible to watch The Shape of Water and not see Gill-man in half the scenes. What's interesting, though, is that del Toro wanted to see what happens when the monster and the damsel consummate their affections. That's the great tragedy of Black Lagoon, isn't it? Miscegenation (and inter-species romance) and female agency, etc., is doomed by the white men with guns, etc., seeking to exploit and control nature, etc.

The Shape of Water, though, is also surprisingly timely. It's a love letter to horror, to be sure, but also to the freak show America that is under assault right now. The movie carries intense environmental overtures. Our heroine and romantic star is a woman who has incredible agency, and is also disabled, rendered mute. Her best friends are another black woman (Octavia Spencer) and a closeted gay man (Richard Jenkins). Together, and with the help of a Soviet spy (Michael Stuhlbarg), they escape the laboratory to set the monster --and themselves, I might add -- free. What here isn't spitting in the face of the Trump administration?

It's also, as ever, an uncommonly beautiful movie. Impressionistic and evocative, del Toro crafts yet another dark fantasy of haunting imagery. His lighting and special effects meld into the real world so seamlessly that we are transported to a magical hyper-reality. We know exactly what's happening, if not always how we should feel about it. Even the opening scene, in which Elisa dreams of her flooded apartment in contented peace, reveals a poetic power in del Toro's fantasy beyond most filmmakers right now. Each shot could be framed and mounted in a gallery. The music is pitch-perfect, both Alexandre Desplat's score and the more familiar period tunes.

Gorgeous and chilling, violent and funny, heartwarming and deeply disturbing, The Shape of Things reminds us that romance is always present in horror, and that horror is always present in romance.

IMDb: The Shape of Water

Molly's Game (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

What happens when a woman takes over a man's job and turns an underground game into a financial empire? In this story -- based on its real-life protagonist's memoir -- a woman does just that, before being hunted and prosecuted by federal investigators. Of course, it's not just any woman. Molly Bloom is played by Jessica Chastain in all her fabulous glory, playing an iconic and timely character who succeeds in a social and economic sphere dominated and indeed mostly populated by men. Not only is she the host of the world's most high-stakes poker game, but she was also (almost) an Olympic athlete. The film is primarily a biopic, following her consciousness, perseverance, determination, and incredible mind as she navigates and runs a world apart.

It's also Aaron Sorkin's directorial debut, and he is in his perfect element. He's playing his own game here as both screenwriter and director, tossing around some of his favorite topics including international affairs (yes, we have multiple mafia groups here), money and poker, celebrities, and law. His usual wisecracking, searing dialogue is on full display, never better than when slipped from Chastain's lips or from Idris Elba's, especially in their dynamic scenes together.

And as director, Sorkin fleshes out some of the really tricky thematic stuff in surprising ways. He focuses in on the role of luck in fortune and finance from the first scene, as Molly narrates herself skiing and getting caught on a random twig that seriously injures her. The film is also so tightly scripted and edited that we hang on each uttered phrase addictively, and the story unfolds in a dizzying series of meetings with mounting tensions until we, like Molly, feel the effects not only of her intoxicating drugs and booze but also of the maze of morality and legality that is no less enticing. Sometimes funny, sometimes sad, always stylish as hell, Molly's Game is a high stakes pleasure trip you don't want to miss.

IMDb: Molly's Game

Pitch Perfect 3 (2017)

Score: 1.5 / 5

"Aca-awful" is about what Pitch Perfect 3 manages to be once the fat lady has sung. A disappointing end to what was once a delightful romp in the post-Glee world of Pentatonix and surrealist a cappella competitions. While the music is still fun and the deeply felt sisterhood of losers will pull at your heartstrings, this third encore is a wasted mess of energy and spunk.

Now living in the "real world" -- which still manages to be dripping with bougie white privilege, which one young woman sardonically sprinkles atop a customer's ice cream -- the Bellas have jobs they hate and desperately want to sing together again. After a failed reunion, Aubrey (Anna Camp) invites them to perform in a USO competition to win an opening gig for DJ Khaled. The plot progresses (rather, regresses) into a nonsensical series of disasters and showstoppers, involving Fat Amy's (Rebel Wilson) criminal stalker dad (John Lithgow), Aubrey's absent-daddy issues, Chloe (Brittany Snow) falling in love with their soldier guard Chicago, and Beca (Anna Kendrick) navigating the waters of romance and personal musical success independent from the group.

It's all a fun romp until it isn't. At least not for the audience, who is forced to watch gimmick after contrivance from performers whose hearts just can't be in it anymore. The dazzling lights and toe-tapping beats would be nice for background noise during a party or as you fall asleep after too many mojitos, but that's about as far as these pitches will take you. Bye, Bellas!

IMDb: Pitch Perfect 3

Downsizing (2017)

Score: 1.5 / 5

What happens in a not-so-distant future where the earth's overpopulation provokes scientists to shrink people? That's the launching concept for Downsizing, the season's eco-friendly film that might actually hurt more than help its audience. Why? Because it stinks.

An intriguing idea does not a movie make, and for all its suggestive precepts, Downsizing dissolves into a preachy, superficial "do good" movie about a middle-aged paunchy Matt Damon in khakis learning to not be so naive and get involved with an activist. Unfortunately, it's only nominally about social justice, as he also falls in love with her, does some drugs, tries to join a hippie commune in an underground bunker, and ultimately try to help shrunken people living in the slums. Between lengthy diatribes about the benefits of "downsizing", as the shrinking procedure is called -- almost exclusively, the benefits are monetary, as the cost of living 12 centimeters tall is so much less -- and tiresome exposition about the world dying, it's hard to take much of the proceedings seriously. Even the green-minded, socially woke people of the audience will find this mishmash hard to choke down.

Why? Partly because there is just so much being preached at us, none of which is very subtle. Partly, too, because there's an air of satire that is never quite clarified, and so we're not always sure which parts we're meant to take as a joke. Mostly, however, the film fails because of its pretentious delivery. It's an exhaustingly polished movie, shiny and new, that feels awe-inspiring until you realize there's nothing awesome about a giant butterfly, a large yellow rose, or the opulent excesses of Leisureland, the upscale neighborhood for the miniature nouveau riche. There's nothing inspirational about seeing a distinctly privileged Matt Damon attempting to help Vietnamese and sundry non-white people living in the slums, only to have them disappear in the next scene with only a calloused "She die" as a eulogy.

The punchlines often fall flat while the gags that succeed are so overwrought that you're not even sure if they're funny anymore. A notable one includes Hong Chau as Damon's love interest, who monologues about the seven kinds of "fucks". By the time you're done giggling about a peg-legged Vietnamese activist repeating phrases like "angry fuck" and "pity fuck", you realize that the whole thing is empty and ludicrous, if not outright insulting. But who is the butt of these jokes? We are, I suspect, who have paid for tickets to see this movie.

IMDb: Downsizing 

Darkest Hour (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Joe Wright is back in form. After the disaster that was Pan, he delivers his most satisfying drama since 2007's Atonement. Stripping away the fabulous style of Anna Karenina, here he pares the story to its core and allows the artistic integrity of his artists to shine.

The story concerns Winston Churchill in the early days of his prime minister-ship in what would come to be known as "The Darkest Hour". Britain is under imminent threat of invasion by Hitler's troops, and the government is reaching a breaking point. Political games and schemes riddle Parliament, where the parties are sharply divided between pushing for peace talks and aggressive warfare. Enter Churchill, the eccentric wild card to presumably help bridge the political gap and deliver a nation in crisis, who radically subverts expectations and ultimately leads his nation through the hell of war.

Like other successful biopics -- The Iron Lady, The Queen, and even this year's Victoria and Abdul come immediately to mind -- the goal here is not necessarily to lionize the protagonist, though it is arguably an inevitable end for some audiences. It is, rather, to mine the complexities of people in power and present them in a fresh and humane fashion. Churchill's politics and beliefs aside, the film demands that we think critically about him but also sympathize with his position. It also, and far more surprising to me, includes at its climax a magnificent scene of Churchill in the London Underground, asking diverse citizens their opinions on the war and politics and morale. A rousing enough scene, he then marches into Parliament and galvanizes the entire room, proclaiming "We shall fight on the beaches" in his now famous speech.

However average audiences leave the theater -- apparently largely happy with the movie and praising Churchill, for better or worse -- I hope they pay attention to that scene on the train. It's a direct assault on the Trump administration, as Wright himself has suggested the film is. What will resonate, though, is Gary Oldman's masterful performance as the main man. His typically brilliant, chameleonic craft is on full display here, and he disappears so fully into the role that I often forgot who was on screen. It's one of those dazzling performances that come once every few years, where so much heart and intelligence went into every single look, line, and sigh, that I cannot fathom the mind who delivers it. It's basically like every single Meryl Streep performance. The difference is that Oldman is so often a secondary character that he doesn't take the spotlight. But here he is, in all his glory, and let's just pray this is his year for a damn Oscar.

The other players fit in nicely, including (a personal favorite) Kristin Scott Thomas as Mrs. Churchill and an awesome Lily James as Churchill's secretary. Ben Mendelsohn steals his scenes, however, as a pitch-perfect George VI, with some really nice voice work to rival Oldman's. Beyond the actors, though, the film is a taut exercise in properly thrilling drama, especially when you consider the various genres employed. Political thrills, old age drama, war, and history combine in a seemingly seamless tapestry, and we move at a brisk pace with a sense of thrumming urgency, helped along by large dates scrolling by and the score, which often includes musical ticking, as of a clock. Most impressive to me was Bruno Delbonnel's (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Inside Llewyn Davis, Big Eyes) cinematography, which sharply focuses on faces but seems more interested in impressionistic lighting tricks and fluid movement. In a movie titled after darkness, it seems only appropriate that the film should visually read as a meditation on the interplay between light and shadow, and this picture does not disappoint.

Finally, the film creates a second pairing of movies this year. After the curious and awesome doubling of Wonder Woman and Professor Marston and the Wonder Women, we now have the no less interesting combination of Dunkirk and Darkest Hour. It's appropriate because the large middle act of this film concerns Operation Dynamo and the evacuation, though almost all of it remains limited in scope to private chambers and political arenas. This pairing also highlights the infuriating discrepancy between the war experience of soldiers on the front lines and of the old men who bicker and squabble for power in absolute safety.

IMDb: Darkest Hour