Eddington (2025)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Have you ever got the feeling that a movie was made just for you? Eddington, Ari Aster's directorial project last year, has not so much left a mark on me as just fit into the grooves I already have. It won't be for everyone; it's too uncomfortable, expansive yet shallow, and quaintly recent for that. Yet in tackling this subject matter with so much humor and absurdism, Aster spins a tightly wound nightmare and ensnares his attentive viewer. He has no intention of explaining or even offering insight into the social phenomena that plague our current age. Anyone hoping him to make a clear statement about politics, technology, big tech, masculinity, whiteness, etc., will be confused and disappointed. But, by putting a mirror up to the audience and forcing us to watch the insanity unfold, he makes a strong metafictional case for art imitating life.

Just the opening scene is a masterclass in exposition dumping. In less than thirty seconds, we're shown a long man, shoeless and in grungy jeans, walking down a desert road while yelling obscenities and non-sequiturs without taking a breath; as we're trying to parse his vicious-sounding but hollow monologue, and figure out if he's under the influence of substances or experiencing a mental health crisis, the camera pans up and stops to see, in the distance, a sign for a new, incoming data center. This movie clearly has a lot on its mind, and this ain't even the half of it. It helps that we get veteran A-list crew: cinematographer Darius Khondji and editor Lucian Johnston together immerse us into the story while keeping us at an intentional remove.

Do you remember May in 2020? When we were told that things would fully open up again when summer finally it, maybe at latest July 4. After we had been told things would be open by Easter, a few weeks prior. When George Floyd was murdered in Minneapolis and waves of protests erupted across the country. When we all became even more dependent on our phones than we had been six months prior. When we became more polarized, more isolated, more rude, more paranoid. If you, like I, choose to forget many of those scary, frustrating days, Aster is determined to shake us out of our stupor. Almost every line of dialogue sounds familiar, as if ripped from our memories and forced back into our waking eyes and ears. I had a similar experience while watching Sick, which is the other Covid-set film I highly recommend to anyone.

And he doesn't say anything about them. Piling on references to policies vs. laws, viral crime videos, police brutality, Black Lives Matter, Antifa, stolen land, AI, viral media, Trumpism, mask mandates, conspiracy theories, rape and abortion, and more, Aster seems determined merely to overwhelm us with the unpleasant, discomfiting experience of hearing and seeing it all again in real time. There's a case to be made that society fractured during those months in 2020, and Aster here lays out the evidence for us to survey. Why is this satisfying for me? I'm still not wholly sure, because a mirror in and of itself isn't artful. But my conclusion is that Aster isn't after us to rethink any of those viral social movements or to get fired up about these issues again; Aster wants to show us how easily we lose ourselves.

Remember the constant confusion, anxiety, guardedness, defensiveness, mistrust, and division that we felt? That's what Aster's reproducing here. Much as he made Beau is Afraid to function as an extended anxiety attack, he basically repeats the formula here. The arguable difference is that he's being deliberately provocative for anyone who might see the film. None of his characters are sympathetic or likable, and they're all so complex and, frankly, realistic, that it's hard to label any. Thankfully, many of them label themselves -- and each other -- with political and ideological words meant to convey meaning but which, by film's end, feel as superfluous as the energy with which they are hurled. It's like he wants people, after the film, to discuss and argue hot button topics not because they are hot but because they're so much more complicated than we ever say on social media.

And amidst all this chaos I'm describing, Aster crafts a gorgeous film for cinephiles. His tendency for playing with genre reaches a high point here, shifting effortlessly from a Western structure to a political thriller, a crime drama, a black comedy, and back again. Joaquin Phoenix plays the weary, put-upon sheriff like an aging John Wayne of a small New Mexico town. His antagonist is the incumbent mayor, played by Pedro Pascal, on roughly the opposite side of the political spectrum. They have family issues -- some of which intertwines, to their lasting resentment -- yet going head-to-head in the coming election destabilizes an already shaky community to the point that it's all-out war. The secondary and tertiary characters provide a lot of context despite not having much screen time, and the ensemble cast are messily overplaying at exactly the necessary pitch: Emma Stone, Austin Butler, Deirdre O'Connell, Michael Ward, Luke Grimes. 

Social media ruins the race. Protests become riots. Police brutality approaches marshal law. Outside influences arrive to add fuel to the fire. Shadowy gunmen assassinate leaders. There's a version of this very same script that could have been penned by Tom Stoppard or Samuel Beckett, so absurd and bleak is its depiction of civilization collapsing on itself. I was also reminded starkly of Don't Look Up, which used anxiety to create comedy rather than the other way around as Aster does. It should be noted that the characters aren't depicted sympathetically: they jump to conclusions and do strange things, so don't go in to this film expecting psychological realism. Go in expecting to feel a little guilt about things you yourself did during those hellish months.

Two-and-a-half hours as it is, I still don't think it's long enough. The final act devolves into a bit of a silly chase sequence and a lack of climax for any but its primary characters. Thrilling though it still is, part of what makes the first half of the film so riveting is the moving parts of its ensemble. When Phoenix enters a store without a mask, we know it's going to be bad, and then his nemesis the mayor is revealed to be behind him in line! When a viral media darling arrives at a private dinner with the sheriff's wife in starry-eyed tow, we know he's trouble, but then he starts talking about getting abducted and raped by an Epstein-like figure and then hunted down like The Most Dangerous Game -- and eventually revealing himself to be an evangelical Christian! It can be a bit tonally tough to swallow, and I imagine some viewers will balk at the screenplay's relatively equal treatment of issues. I don't mean conservative versus progressive so much as I mean effectively giving equal side-eye to protesters of George Floyd's murder as to those who stubbornly refused to wear a mask in public. While we may be laughing at the absurdity on display, it's admittedly difficult to swallow making fun of teens screaming about how they as white people shouldn't even be speaking about the problems of racism in one scene, while the next scene has the lone Black cop in the precinct being framed for the sheriff's crimes. However, because this isn't formally an "issue" story, I don't see how these elements could have been any more reasonably and artfully balanced.

Aster remains one of the best in his craft, and this production feels like an unpredictable turn in his career. I'm eager to see what he turns his attentions to next.

Bugonia (2025)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Nobody does black comedy like Lanthimos. His latest, Bugonia, is one of his more accessible and angry films, yet its timely insistence on absurdity fits his oeuvre well. Its premise is deceptively simple: two conspiracists abduct a powerful CEO, convinced that she is an alien intending harm to humanity. The kidnappers, socially awkward and paranoid young men with a plan that goes only about as far as their arms can reach, are led by a beekeeper whose motivations are as hypocritical as they are convoluted. His partner in crime is his impressionable autistic cousin. The CEO, on the other hand, is a sharp, no-nonsense woman who thinks so little of them that it takes some time for her to recognize them as actual humans with real concerns. Their deadly dance, in the men's dingy basement, is the whole of the film's plot.

Reactionary and profoundly irate, the film's heavy-handed messaging is sidelined only by Lanthimos's unique mastery of tone. We're never quite sure if we should laugh at the surreal situation or shudder in fear. After all, this kind of crap has been on our minds for several years in the current American climate. Maybe not about aliens and bees, but certainly about CEOs being disposable, incels acting out violently, and plots against powerful people. It's hard to watch this and not think of what almost happened with Governor Whitmer in Michigan or with Luigi Mangione and the UnitedHealthcare CEO. I also thought more than once of Eddington, this year's other timely bleak comedy-thriller from Ari Aster, who produced this film.

And while the violence in this film is clear and present, so too is its humor. Mind you, I did not laugh out loud in this screening, but you can tell the players likely were between takes. Jesse Plemons and Aidan Delbis are laughably silly as misled conspiracy theorists certain that Emma Stone's biomedical company is responsible for killing the honeybees and, by extension, enslaving humanity. The logic isn't there, of course -- when is it ever in such conspiracies? -- but that's what makes it so funny, at first, when their captive tries to make sense of it. When they further their claims, asserting that she's an alien "Andromeda" and that their own questionable experiments have proven this, we see this for the witch hunt it is. Yet Lanthimos has forced us to see the extent to which the men are certain of their delusions: they have trained for such an act of terrorism. They've even chemically castrated themselves, in one of the film's more insightful details. And it's not all wholly different from what the rich and powerful do regularly (Stone is intercut, in an early montage, running on her treadmill and ingesting vitamins). 

Accomplished cinematographer and sometime Lanthimos collaborator Robbie Ryan does some amazing work in framing the dynamics between the players, especially considering that the bulk of this plot takes place in a single location as a sort of Socratic dialogue/interrogation. Stone's shaved head shines ethereally, usually coated in lotion (there's a hint of The Silence of the Lambs here, too), and the camera is angled just above her, so that she's looking up at us. Plemons's sweaty visage, on the other hand, is often shot from just below his line of sight, so we're looking up at the man in a position of newfound and frightening power. He also utilizes light in haunting ways, bringing surreal hellish vibes to the otherwise workmanlike basement and somewhat otherworldly aesthetics to the stark modernity of the CEO's home and office.

Credit must also be paid to screenwriter Will Tracy, former editor-in-chief of The Onion, who also penned The Menu, the series The Regime and Succession, and who produced (you guessed it) Eddington. The verbal swordplay between characters in absurd yet tense scenes is riveting and ghastly, aided by the A-list actors' unique skills in nonverbal acting. He incisively and wisely avoids totally demonizing any one character, adding emotional baggage to the men that at least humanizes them a bit beyond what could easily have been caricature. He also suggestively resists an easy answer as to the woman's identity and motives, delaying answers in favor of forcing the characters to communicate not only with each other but with us in real time.

We're asked, at various points, to sympathize with each of of the main characters, to the point that, even when the climax and denouement shocked me into stillness, I reeled at the implications Lanthimos seems to be firing away at. What if the issue at stake, the film seems to ask, is just that we're debating issues with incompatible languages? What if, aliens or no, terrorists or no, the real problem is Big Pharma? Sure, we can discuss violence, science, urbanity, financial injustice, culture wars, internet radicalism, but the film isn't trying to preach at us as much as it is attempting to lift the veil on our current social dynamics. Like Plato, Lanthimos urges us to think critically and on a macro-level, to resist succumbing to the invisible powers of our world and the inherent problems of how we interact with each other down here among the commoners. 

Kinds of Kindness (2024)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Yorgos Lanthimos does tend to zig when we expect him to zag. The recently acclaimed auteur behind the generally accessible postmodern visions of The Favourite and Poor Things has certainly done weirder and more surreal projects, and his latest reminds us of that in gloriously weird fashion. Kinds of Kindness is more in line with his earlier surreal feature films, perhaps partly due to the return of his sometime co-writer Efthimis Filippou. As is the case with Lanthimos, there is far too much going on in this film to coherently discuss in one sitting, and I'm still not entirely sure I "get" his latest project, but it's a fabulously entertaining and challenging example of how the best artists can and should play with form to imagine new ways of being.

Kinds of Kindness, described by the studio's marketing as a "triptych fable," consists of three short films, each just shy of an hour in length. The anthology format sometimes works for me, often doesn't, but here seems just connected enough that I never felt completely ripped from the viewing experience. Each of the major actors of the film appear in each story, though they play different characters in each, some radically and dynamically different, some oddly similar for purposeful intent. There are so many ideas swirling around that, while watching, I was unable to tease out a particular thematic strand and follow it. And I'm not sure you should, because the primary joys of this film lie in its utter unpredictability and brazen swings meant to subdue you with shock and awe.

Generally, I'd hazard that the main points made by the whole work have to be about the nature of control and our agency within that. Why do we let ourselves be controlled by others? What happens to us as humans when we exert control over others? How easy is it to delude ourselves into thinking our interactions aren't ultimately selfish? Where can you go, once freed, but back to some system of control? When do we sacrifice joy and satisfaction in favor of control? Each of the stories involves some kind of unlikely and dangerous power dynamic that forces its central character to do the unthinkable in an attempt at a better life. And the results... well, they vary.

In the first part, Jesse Plemons plays a corporate lackey whose boss Willem Dafoe wholly owns him (note that I'll be using the actors' names; I have enough trouble with character names when actors aren't playing at least three in a single film!). Dafoe controls Plemons's hourly schedule to the finest detail, including his nutritional diet, his exercise routine, and even his sexual activities with his wife. In fact, to this point, Dafoe has ensured that Plemons drugs his wife Hong Chau to miscarry so they will not have children, which Plemons lies about. The inciting incident here, however, is Dafoe's directive that Plemons kills another man. Plemons balks and refuses, and Dafoe casts him out of his life. Plemons is so desperate to reclaim his charmed life under Dafoe that he clings to the unraveling strands as he emotionally spirals out. Then the fire is ignited: he will do whatever it takes to satisfy his boss (and lover, apparently, which adds so much meat to chew in this already rich stew).

The second part opens on Plemons as a police officer wallowing in grief after the disappearance of his wife in a helicopter accident at sea. His cop partner and closest friend Mamoudou Athie tries to keep him calm, but Plemons is messing up at work in a big way and is clearly drowning socially. When his wife Emma Stone suddenly returns, Plemons notices too many inconsistencies and changes, becoming quickly convinced that she's an imposter. He attempts to test her honesty and commitment to him, but the threat becomes too much to bear, leading to his mental break and her becoming inexplicably pregnant. This was by far my favorite section of the film and I don't want to spoil it, but be prepared for some wild shifts and a completely ambiguous ending that only further complicates what we think we know about this film. It's a puzzle box that, I think, cannot be solved.

Finally, the third section provides yet another manifestation of control: a cult that seems primarily about sex but also is deeply concerned with reversing death. Its specifics and goals are never made clear, but Dafoe and Chau lead it while Stone and Plemons work to find a miraculous woman (Margaret Qualley) prophesied to resurrect the dead. Stone finds one she believes could be legit, only to have her life fall apart when she tries to reconnect with the family she left behind to join the cult. Then, with nothing left, she becomes determined to prove her theory no matter the cost. It's a thrilling conclusion, one that perhaps makes the capitalist and heterocentric issues of control from the first two parts coalesce a bit due to the fact that cults are by nature about control.

Lanthimos works best in his unique blend of tone, and each "short" is a masterclass in blending hilarious comedy with macabre terror. He also toys with his audience, making each section title about someone (or something) called R.M.F., but that identifier is never wholly clear; indeed, multiple characters could be referenced by those initials, making us wonder to whom each subtitle is actually referring. Apart from the main characters, some of whom could fit the bill, there is also a courier man, a helicopter pilot, and a corpse, who could be the same man but could also not be.

R.M.F. isn't the only mystery left for our musings by the end of the film. Each part contains hours of provocative material, not least of which is how and where to apply the title to each depraved and disturbing story. There are moments of joy and peace and even kindness in each, but they are muddled and spread, tainted with the darker elements of human nature. Technically, the film is impeccable, and it's nice to see Lanthimos scaling things down considerably from his latest features. Here, his focus is on the ideas, to be sure, but also on his actors, and the ensemble collectively provides some of the best performances of the entire year. But, despite his recent more mainstream fame, I expect Kinds of Kindness to be relatively inaccessible and poorly received by mass audiences, added in a footnote to Lanthimos's filmography and largely forgotten. That would be a shame, because it's a testament to the vivacity and ingenuity of his storytelling oeuvre and a welcome challenge to any cinephile eager for the auteur's most inscrutable puzzle yet.

Poor Things (2023)

Score: 5 / 5

Some of the best cinematic scholarship of the year will center on the latest trip-and-a-half from Yorgos Lanthimos, whose auteur streak has just reached profound new heights. If you love him, you love him; if you don't, definitely avoid this film. The most profound, bizarre, and deeply literary film of the year is also one of the most purely entertaining and unforgettable viewing experiences in years. Poor Things is at once a natural extension of Lanthimos's oeuvre and a brazen evolution of timeliness and complexity, sure to launch him into a new strata of filmmaking in ways that The Lobster, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, and even The Favourite weren't prepared to do.

The Greek auteur here seems interested in his usual theming -- the awkwardness and easy fallibility of human relationships -- and finally embraces the Gothic pastiche with which he's always flirted. Without rehashing the full plot here, suffice it to say that Poor Things is a postmodern feminist reimagining of Frankenstein in a manner analogous to Guillermo del Toro's Cold War-era answer to The Creature from the Black Lagoon in the form of The Shape of Water. Which is to say that it takes the bones of that "source material," if you will, rearranges and redecorates it with contemporary style and ideas, and repurposes it for unique and culturally disrupting ends. It might also be fair to say that this is perhaps Lanthimos's most funny and positive -- or, at least, comedic in the most classically Greek sense -- film yet, which could arguably make it more accessible to those less familiar with his previous, darker films.

The entire production -- all nearly two and a half hours of it -- is impeccably, impossibly detailed with outrageously inventive artistry. Stilted and occasionally horrific dialogue elicits as many embarrassed chortles as it does explosive belly laughs. Sets reminiscent of something in a Tim Burton film or Dr. Seuss story are palpably realized, and I thought more than once of Barbie in terms of production design, practical effects, and theme. Otherworldy costumes fill the usually fisheye lens with popping colors and tactile intrigue. Victorian London becomes steampunk Paris with a few stops at Lisbon and Alexandria along the way, making the protagonist's journey indeed something of a road flick, allowing the filmmakers ample time and space to realize the splendor of their awesome, wholly original world.

Other writers will cover the endlessly fascinating characters with better insight and theory than I could summarize here, but this is one of the most radically feminist stories I can recall seeing in ages. It's helped, yes, by a magnificent cast, all here performing at their very best. Emma Stone pulls out yet another performance for the ages as Bella Baxter, the protagonist, whose journey of self-discovery and external discovery forms parallel plotlines; her intellectual enlightenment is woven with threads of her sexual and emotional maturity, and as she learns about the fantastic world around her, she learns to trust -- and to what extent -- the odd characters she meets, most of whom angle to use her in some way. She'll have none of it. Stone's performance is a tightwire act of impetuousity we rarely see from any leading actress; completely unpredictable in every scene, one wonders the extent to which she was allowed to improvise versus calculated specificity. The cast is uniformly great, but I'd note especially Mark Ruffalo as the greasy villainous cad (whose sexual proclivities reach a certain Streetcar Named Desire climax that had me weeping from laughter) and Kathryn Hunter as the powerhouse madame of a French brothel (whose comparatively brief screen time offers devastating and challenging nuance in what could easily be a one-note character).

The continuous references to Dr. Godwin (Willem Dafoe) as "God" deserves unpacking, as does most of the film in general, and I confess to know nothing about Alasdair Gray's novel of the same name which this screenplay by Tony McNamara adapts. It would be nice to know, but I'm hesitant to borrow the book from a library because I don't want to tarnish the raw experience of seeing this film's beauty and strangeness as filtered through Lanthimos's vision. But it is precisely the language of dialogue that I'm most curious about, having seen the film, because of the way it evolves along with Bella, both in terms of subject/substance, yes, but also in terms of rhetorical style and increasingly complex turns of phrase that bear multiple meanings. Witty in the best, most devious sense, McNamara pulls no punches with his biting sensibility. The smorgasbord of artists assembled here are all performing at the top of their craft, aligned to perfect effect by a director coming into his own with each new project. Poor Things is one of the best -- read: most important -- films of the decade.

Cruella (2021)

 Score: 4 / 5

We should have expected something like this after the financial success of Maleficent, though it's a bit surprising how late this is in coming. Not that an origin story for one of Disney's most iconic villains is ever to be expected, Cruella is still a wickedly good time at the movies. While it will have its detractors -- not the least of which vocally clamor against all live-action remakes, reimaginings, and sequels of beloved classics -- this is one case where I'm not sure that particular complaint is warranted. This is no mere origin story; in fact, it hardly even approaches the basic questions about the mad villainess. Why does she so detest nuclear families, and why does she want to murder 99 puppies?

Actually, if anything, this film answers the first of those questions. Cruella, or rather Estella, is a dog-loving, precocious child of a poor laundrywoman who is killed under suspicious circumstances at a wealthy manor. Newly orphaned, the Dickensian girl rallies herself and debuts as a sassy, spunky rebel with more bite than bark. Thieving on the street with her new friends Jasper and Horace, the trio come of age together and live in a crumbling flat by night while scamming the unwitting by day. But Estella (Emma Stone) is a fashion designer, and finally gets a job at the luxurious Liberty department store. Failing as a maid, she drunkenly reworks a window display that catches the eye of one Baroness von Hellman (Emma Thompson), a veritable Dragon Lady and primary vendor of the store.

In many ways, this is indeed an origin story, and it checks all the boxes of that narrative style in the sort of exposition-heavy, oddly fractured yet annoyingly coherent way that has become increasingly common. I'll never quite understand the need for these stories for iconic characters who really don't need them, but there is a basic satisfaction in seeing new performers and designers put fresh spins on old ideas. And while this isn't the same kind of story as Maleficent, which completely rewrites the character to be essentially and actively good, it's more like Broadway's Wicked or even Venom in that, while explaining her eccentricities away, the movie still respects and embraces the inherent madness and dangerousness that makes its antihero a true, real villain. I suppose, with that in mind, this movie is less an origin story and more along the lines of giving the Devil his due. Or, rather, her due.

In what becomes a crime-comedy mash-up of The Devil Wears Prada and Joker, our female fashionistas engage in heist after chase after publicity terrorism. Estella, now working for the abusive and manipulative Baroness, is determined to dethrone the bitch and take her place as London's premier designer. And yet, as in Phantom Thread and others, the Baroness is also the closest thing to a mentor (and mother?) that Estella has; moreover, even as Estella sabotages the Baroness's public appearances, the Baroness seems to feel that more lines are being crossed than just those between a boss and employee. While the film certainly never covers up the fact that Cruella is not a good person, and is capable of pretty rotten behaviors, we're constantly reminded that the Baroness is far worse; Cruella's intense determination to punish a wicked overlord intersects with her desire to be the best in the biz, and that combination reveals psychological depth to her character that is never fully explored by the film.

Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya and 2011's Fright Night, a personal favorite) directs this movie with a similar panache and irreverent style he's used before. Lengthy sequences match up with a bombastic and loud soundtrack packed with upbeat, recognizable hits like in an Edgar Wright movie. Cold lighting and stark sets frame costumes that wear actors, and yet everyone in this movie leans into the strange aesthetic. Whirling cinematography and nauseatingly choppy editing notwithstanding -- more than once during the two-and-a-quarter-hour feature I had to look away just to reorient myself -- its kinetic energy cannot be denied. And the movie looks great the whole time, even when we're not quite sure if it's doing anything substantial. Then again, the work here by costumer Jenny Beavan (Mad Max: Fury Road, Sense & Sensibility, Gosford Park, and countless others) is always doing substantial work, and I'd have watched it all again immediately to be able to stare at these habiliments again.

The only sore spot in this film that made me cringe is Joel Fry as Jasper, whose weird, unrequited thing for Cruella turns him into a limp, dull character who pulls focus in the worst way, a sort of bedraggled wallflower with little humor and too much sentiment. Paul Walter Hauser as Horace, on the other hand, is a laugh-aloud delight, and his pairing with wicked little piratey dog Wink is nothing short of brilliant. Kirby Howell-Baptiste and Kayvan Novak pop in to the film occasionally as Anita and Roger, and are lovely even as they are underused. But the movie belongs fully to Emma Thompson and Emma Stone, who manage to work with their costumes and hair in such a way that their performances elevate to another level altogether. Much like Glenn Close did, actually, in the original.

I say "original," because it quickly became apparent that this movie is not a prequel to the 1961 animated classic so much as it is a prequel to the 1996 live-action film that started the whole trend. Its updated time period and intoxicating visual spectacle reveal its kinship, to say nothing of the costumes that are sure to win buckets of awards. And with Close as executive producer here, could we have expected anything else? I'm desperately hoping for a follow-up film, partly to answer the remaining question of how and why Cruella becomes an animal-killing psychopath. Remember, it's not just dogs; in the original, we're introduced to her by way of cat-napping a Siberian tiger from the zoo and turning it into, well, something furry to play with in her boudoir.

But mostly, I'm eager for a sequel that has already been teased. Reports indicate that both Emma Thompson (who stars here, of course, but deserves a lot more screen time) and Emma Stone have publicly expressed interest in a sequel that bridges time, providing more backstory for these new characters and crossing over into Cruella's adult life. They described it as a Godfather II-like thing, which makes magnificently twisted sense, and would surely include Close reprising the role. If that happened, I could die happy.

The Favourite (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Yorgos Lanthimos does it again with The Favourite, a brilliant comedy-tragedy that might also be his most accessible film yet to those not familiar with his auteurship.

The year is 1708, but that's mostly incidental, and the characters are based on real historical figures, but that's almost an afterthought. You don't need to know about Queen Anne's reign, her confidant and lover Sarah Churchill, and Sarah's cousin Abigail who rose in power and became the titular favorite of her majesty. I certainly didn't, although apparently it's been extensively documented through letters, memoirs, and even a lengthy biography by Sarah's descendant Winston Churchill. Ignoring, as I do, did, and will, the political and historical details about their biographies, we're left with the film as a masterful portrait of women in power and loving every moment.

The ailing Queen Anne, falling apart from gout and miserably forsaking her own crown in favor of eccentric indulgences, relies fully on her adviser Sarah, who is immediately seen to be the real power behind the throne. Sarah manages the household, the country, and, yes, the Queen's sexual appetites as well; she's also strong-willed and proud, manipulative but not sycophantic, and so tension follows in her wake as sure as sin. Olivia Colman deserves accolades for her role as the queen here, in the kind of powerhouse role women usually dream of and never get. She cries and screams and throws herself around with reckless abandon, speaking to the spoiled monarch in all of us. Meanwhile, Rachel Weisz plays her cards close to the chest, rocking some intensely androgynous costumes with stony-faced intelligence.

Enter, then, Emma Stone as the once and future favorite Abigail, who starts earnestly enough to situate herself in the queen's household. Despite her hostile work environment, she climbs the ranks before we (and her endangered cousin) realize she may be climbing with malicious intent. Her performance doesn't quite match her capabilities, nor does it quite match the output of her co-stars, but the trio of women make a fascinating and brilliant group for us to watch on screen. Their power play is endlessly entertaining, and I found myself laughing and gasping aloud in an otherwise pretty silent theater. Some people just don't understand quality comedy.

I have no complaints whatsoever about this film, except to say there wasn't more of it. It's irreverent, brutally funny and sad, and casts a lasting spell that will keep you giggling and thinking long after the credits roll. Dig the female power. Dig the awesome cinematography, performances, music, screenplay, costuming, and editing. It's all fabulous. One of the best this year, by far.

IMDb: The Favourite

Battle of the Sexes (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I approached this film knowing next to nothing about its real-life origins. It was obvious, still, to me that the film took great pains in reconstructing its '70s period to make it accurate; it occasionally felt like a dramatized documentary, especially with its use of (apparent) stock footage, news highlights, and some expert cinematography by Linus Sandgren (La La Land, American Hustle, Joy). Yet for all its hard stylistic work, Battle of the Sexes can't help but be arresting in its timeliness.

If your ignorance matches mine, the titular battle refers to a 1973 tennis match, played by Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs, which was broadcast and billed as a definitive moment in feminist history. Either a woman would succeed in a sport dominated by men, or a self-proclaimed chauvinist pig would prove the male body's mastery. While presumably many people were aware of how this match turned out, I found the buildup and execution of the game riveting, and cheered along with the on-screen crowd as King reigned victorious. Stories like this are not only wildly entertaining, as so many people are emotionally invested in sports dramas of its ilk, but also fiercely important. When stories of high-profile women being paid less for equal work, dozens of women being molested in the workplace by male superiors, and millions of women hashtagging "#MeToo" become regular news, those who proclaim feminism is evil or stupid or wrong or unnecessary are forced to eat their words.

But Battle of the Sexes isn't simply a platform for these issues. It's also a vulnerable, sometimes quiet film that focuses on King's life, a story I found as absorbing as the primary plot of tennis. Her marriage to a loving supportive man is put to the test during her lengthy travels and time away, and as she begins to explore her taboo sexuality. Emma Stone delivers what may be her best performance yet as King, and bravely shows the emotional and physical tolls placed on her. She navigates the waters of misogynist professionals with wit and charm, relying on her strength of body and character to make her point. She shows vulnerability and burgeoning affection, especially when Andrea Riseborough enters the picture as her hairdresser and lover Marilyn Barnett. Riseborough masterfully makes a very difficult part that could easily be labeled negatively into a sympathetic, profoundly human character.

Steve Carell, who I hadn't thought well of until Hope Springs in 2012 but now turns out one great performance a year, serves up another amazing turn as Bobby Riggs, though he is overshadowed at every turn by Stone's brilliance. That's mostly the script's doing, though; this is the woman's movie, and there's not much place for an outspoken misogynistic chauvinist in it. Carell transforms much as he did in Foxcatcher, disappearing into the role, though, to his credit, here his flamboyance is more infuriating than in any of his comedies. Much like Carell's performance, though, directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris don't let the film buy into the extravagance or hype of the spectacle created by Riggs and the game's producers. Their film, seemingly indifferent as to the nature of tennis as a sport, focuses on the historic people and their contemporary social issues, making this film infinitely more resounding than most sports feel-good flicks out there.

IMDb: Battle of the Sexes

La La Land (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

A love letter to a bygone era, La La Land is anything but lost in its sentiment. One of the rare films in which blatant feelings and drastic heartstring-tugging actually work, this picture is a shining example of a true rom-com musical (To be fair, I'd call it a rom-dram, because the comedy by no means outweighs the final act melancholy). Featuring original jazz music and charming dances, the film sweeps us up in its otherwise familiar plot: up-and-coming young artists navigate their way through sunny Los Angeles in pursuit of their dreams. Despite being filmed in Cinemascope, the film keeps us intimate with these players: one, a barista hoping to be an actor, meets the other, a jazz pianist yearning for his big break, and the two fall madly in love. Their affections and aspirations meld together as they, in turn, achieve successes and failures. Eventually, they (and, by extension, we) learn the cost of following their dreams, and that wishes require sacrifice.

And yet, for all its nostalgic joie de vivre, this film may prove a game-changer for movie musicals. While many filmed musicals of the last decade or two, whether adapted or original, have been fresh and exciting in their own ways, none have declared themselves with this much innovation, style, or even sheer talent. Its simple story and direct execution belie a whirlwind of emotion and surprising spectacle, the impact of which will stay with audiences long after the credits roll. I dare you to try not dancing out of the theater at the end. Handled by the confident, technically excellent Damien Chazelle (Whiplash), the jazz and vibrant colors soak into our ears and eyes with intoxicating effect, transporting us to a realm of near-perfect escape. While I've often railed against "escapist" films, this time it works. Maybe because, in our current political and social climate, and after so many timely, heavy films this year, such a flamboyantly joyous and heartfelt film is exactly what we all need.

Of course, as I mentioned already, not all is fun and flair. The compromises our leads make along the way return to haunt them in the end, and yet for all the emotions we feel, these characters learn to appreciate not just the good things in their lives. The final scene (comprising a disturbingly kitschy, nonverbal fever-dream dance sequence) is one of the most positive, affirming scenes ever seen on screen, and yet I was ugly crying so loudly I had to cover my lower face with a knotted scarf. For a meditation on the differences between dreams and reality, love and desire, hope and work, and separating what is really around us from what we feel or want from our surroundings, La La Land is the film to beat this season. It's a consummate work of art.

IMDb: La La Land

Birdman (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The obvious frontrunner for this year's award season is also uncommonly good. Too often, it seems, the movie that gets the most hype (for whatever that's worth) is also sentimental or traditional, and sometimes both. A lot of people tend to attach baggage to the Best Picture Oscar, wanting it to be timely or eternal, classic or fresh, comfortable or edgy, and so forth. My main consideration for Best Picture is how state-of-the-art it appears to be: Technically original, aesthetically fresh, pushing boundaries, and (more subjective, obviously) appropriate to popular culture. Birdman is all of these things, and then some.

I know you've heard people raving about how great this film is, and like me, you probably got a bit annoyed partly because nobody is talking about the film's plot. So what is this thing? Michael Keaton plays an actor who is attempting to re-create his career following the success of a series of "Birdman" movies in which he played the titular superhero. Two decades later, he is writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play that opens soon and is having nothing but trouble taking flight (yes, flight). Besides his dramatic attempts onstage, our protagonist is plagued by conflict in his personal life as well, with his friends (Zach Galifianakis), girlfriend and actress (Andrea Riseborough), ex-wife (Amy Ryan), daughter/employee (Emma Stone), and co-star actor (Edward Norton) and his girlfriend/actress (Naomi Watts).

This all-star cast rocks their individual roles, and intelligently embody the world of the film as its ensemble. This is very "meta" stuff, but our actors fit comfortably into their supporting roles, just as their fictional counterparts maneuver into place around their leading man. Edward Norton and Emma Stone arguably have the most complex characters and perform them with remarkable strength, but truly all the characters (and their actors) are almost stunningly well-written and fully realized. But they aren't the only good things about this movie.

Director/co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams) helms this black comedy with such ingenuity, intelligence, and skill that it is immediately understood as a consummate work of art. For all the themes and motifs we could eke out of this complex film -- from its not insignificant title to its final shot -- Inarritu directs with an eye for beauty and magic. Stunning special effects happen somewhat unexpectedly, as Keaton's character is empowered by the voice of Birdman in his head to move objects with his mind and levitate, and the heavy lighting transforms what we see on screen into a tableau of fantasy and wonder.

It's technically incredible. Besides the awesome lights, Inarritu makes the two-hour film look like a single, continuous shot. It was obviously not filmed that way, but the effect is brilliant: we get a real-time peek into a man's life. When Keaton is alone we see his secret powers, the emotions of his encounters with other people are raw and fresh, and we see his show from casting to opening night as one single episode. Inarritu plays with his own technical approach, then, in that we see many moments separated by time as one shot; in one scene we see magic juxtaposed with the most mundane of daily activities; we see more profound drama offstage than on. Inarritu is making a movie about movies, a film about theatricality, with timely references and modern theatre concerns, replete with magic and mayhem, that ultimately emphasizes the beauty, complexity, and wonder of life. This movie is, literally, everything.

IMDb: Birdman