Hello readers! Despite my lack of updates, I have continued watching movies. In honor of the Oscars on Sunday, here is a guide to the ten best picture nominees, with my thoughts and predictions. 

All Quiet on the Western Front

The German Netflix film All Quiet on the Western Front joins a long tradition of war films that win over the academy. 2019’s 1917 is the easy comparison, but Dunkirk, Hacksaw Ridge, and even Darkest Hour and JoJo Rabbit all were heavy-hitters within the last six years, and countless more before then. Because of that, it was easy for me to be a tad dismissive of the film going in (here we go again….), but now having actually seen it, it’s not to be dismissed: this is an excellent film. The battle sequences are remarkable technical achievements, maybe not as flashy as 1917’s one-continuous shot setup, but vivid and immersive nonetheless. The story is well-told, the ensemble is naturalistic, and the score is extremely memorable. Most uniquely, the film incorporates elements from the horror genre. There is a scene with tanks that feels directly drawn from War of the Worlds, or any number of monster-movies. This adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front is a worthy addition to the war genre canon.

Yet, overall, I’m torn. It’s excellently made, but except for a few unique creative choices, it feels too similar to other movies of its kind. Very good, but very similar. So I ultimately think it’s fair to give the film a nomination, but not for it to win best picture, and it doesn’t seem like it will. The real question is whether it’ll win best international feature, which it is also competing in. Logic would say it would, but maybe having it compete in two categories will end up splitting its votes, leading to an upset with the other nominees, particularly The Quiet Girl or Argentina, 1985, both movies I’ve heard excellent buzz for. 

Avatar: The Way of Water

My friend summarized Avatar 2 this way: “It’s about how colonialism is bad, space whales are good, and how dads should chill and go hang out on a beach with their kids.” I couldn’t put it better myself. Avatar: The Way of Water accomplished what it set out to do: be a visually stunning technological achievement with a basic but satisfyingly archetypal story. It is far better than the original, and for me, scratches the fantasy-epic itch. But despite being the biggest movie in the world, there has been virtually no discussion of it. No one I know is clamoring to talk about the movie, because there’s just not much to talk about. I was highly entertained and impressed with the movie, but there’s no substance here. Because of that, it has no chance of winning, but as they say, it’s just an honor to be nominated. 

The Banshees of Inisherin

I think Banshees is going to be the “Power of the Dog” of this year: a film with a lot of merit on its own, and a strong fanbase of academy voters, but is a little too niche to win using the Oscar’s ranked-order voting system, which favors the average #2 or #3 pick. I love Banshees more than Power of the Dog, and 100 times more than Martin McDonagh’s last award contender, Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri, a movie I, uh, did not like. McDonagh is in his wheelhouse here, though, crafting a parable that not only is about the Irish civil war, but more broadly, about friendship and legacy. We rarely see movies that deeply explore friendship, and certainly not one as unique as this one, a tragicomedy about a man’s existential despair and how it makes him self-destructively cut others out of his life in a desperate attempt at making a creative legacy for himself. I’d be happy to see it win, and if not for best picture, then for best original screenplay, or perhaps an upset from Colin Farrell for best actor. 

Elvis

Elvis is a bit of a mess, but it’s also one of the most interesting and enjoyable movies I watched this year. Baz Luhrman misses the mark in some regards, but these blunders can’t take away from Austin Butler’s momentous performance (and it’s looking like he might be the unlikely frontrunner, based on his recent Golden Globes and BAFTA wins). You walk away feeling like you’ve been transported to the 50s and 60s, blinded by the star power of a great icon. It is unlikely to win best picture, but again, Butler has a good chance of bringing home the gold.

Everything, Everywhere, All at Once

EEAO has become the dark horse frontrunner. It has become a movie that symbolizes the happy medium between the big blockbuster, audience-pleasing filmmaking of Top Gun and Avatar, and a successful, artistically impressive indie film. Coda, last year’s best picture winner, was similar in this regard. Also in EEAO’s favor is that it builds upon Parasite’s groundbreaking wins in Asian representation, and it has two star turns by Michelle Yeoh and Ke Huy Quan, with strong assists from fellow nominees Jamie Lee Curtis and Stephanie Hsu. While I didn’t personally love the film (in my review I talked about appreciating the family narrative, but thinking that it got lost in the chaos of the movie), I would gladly support its win. Quan is a near-lock for best-supporting actor, and Yeoh is in a neck-and-neck race with Cate Blanchett for best actress, it seems like a tossup. Angela Bassett was long-considered the lock for best supporting actress, but Jamie Lee Curtis has won several recent awards, which means the race is still wide open!

The Fablemans 

I felt more mixed emotions watching The Fabelmans than I did any other movie on this list. Is this story by Steven Spielberg, about his childhood and early career, self-indulgent? Is it okay for it to be? Is this story about his mother’s affair brave for him to tell, or strangely voyeuristic? Is he saying artists, by necessity of their craft, must be somewhat selfish and willing to sacrifice close family ties? Does he show remorse and regret about it? Or all of the above?  More than anything, perhaps, The Fabelmans is a movie that exemplifies the complexity of an artist telling his own story, memorializing himself with the kind of insight an outsider couldn’t get, but without the distance and perspective history can give. I think ultimately The Fabelmans is a movie anyone interested in filmmaking, film history, and Spielberg’s work should see. While it hasn’t stuck with me enough to be one of my favorite movies of the year, I respect that it made me deeply feel, think, and debate.  At this point, The Fabelmans doesn’t seem to be the forerunner for best picture, but never underestimate Hollywood’s desire to reward a movie about Hollywood. And, early on, Michelle Williams seemed to be the frontrunner for best actress, but her momentum has seemed to slip in favor of the other Michelle in her category.

Tár

I loved Tár, but it’s understandably one of the most polarizing films of the year. Initially,  I had been told this movie was a brash takedown of cancel culture, which I was uninterested in. It actually is a much more thoughtful, ambiguous movie about high art, prestige, and power, and how prestige and high art must, by definition, hold levels of exclusivity and power to remain prestigious and considered high art. Cate Blanchett is, unsurprisingly, absolutely incredible. She’s impossible to take your eyes off, she carries this movie effortlessly, and we’re lucky to get to see such a skilled performer in such a juicy role. If you don’t have patience for long scenes of talking, symbolism, and cryptic endings, this might not be the movie for you, but you might surprise yourself if you try it. 

There’s a lack of chatter about it that seems to indicate it won’t win, but Cate Blanchett and Michelle Yeoh are in a deathmatch for best actress. I would be happy with either; I think Blanchett’s role is more classically awards-friendly (although not at all cheap, and she carries this movie more than Yeoh does EEAO), but I would love a science-fiction/fantasy genre performance like Yeoh’s to be awarded.

Top Gun: Maverick

What can I say about Top Gun: Maverick that hasn’t been said? It saved the box office. It’s also a sequel and reboot of a nostalgic franchise. It’s a great ensemble, and Tom Cruise and Miles Teller are fantastic. It also kinda feels like military propaganda. Its stunts are incredible and it is a really well-made, highly enjoyable, audience crowd pleaser. And, it’s not breaking any new ground. In my humble opinion, I don’t think Maverick was the best film of the year, but it certainly was one of the most significant films of the year, and will be looked back on in film history as defining 2022, so I think its recognition is very well deserved. When it comes to the Academy, I think it will treat Maverick similarly to how it treats Marvel movies, in giving it several technical awards in lieu of any of the bigger ones.

Triangle of Sadness 

In a year full of movies and shows that took on the 1% (Glass Onion, White Lotus, The Menu), Triangle of Sadness managed to get the academy attention the most. Why? I honestly have no clue. Triangle of Sadness resists normal storytelling conventions with an almost episodic-like structure that loosely follows a young modeling, Instagram-famous couple on a cruise. The first act dwells on their selfishness and dysfunction, the second act features a barf-o-rama that knocks everyone down a few pegs, and in the third act, a working-class hero emerges for us to root for. But I found the commentary of the film to be blunt, unoriginal, and not particularly funny or insightful. I just didn’t find it to be interesting, and its lack of awards chatter makes me think it won’t walk away with any awards. 

Women Talking 

Women Talking, based on a novel of the same name and the story loosely based on real-life events, follows a group of Mennonite women deciding whether to leave their religious community, where they’ve been continually subject to sexual assault, or to stay, or to fight. There are some choices made in how the film is structured that makes it less engaging (for example, we don’t get some important scenes for individual characters until much later in the film, making it hard for the first part of the film to understand and connect with some of the key characters). However, some of these structural problems are overcome by the strength of the ensemble (Rooney Mara and Ben Whishaw are particular standouts), and the story is deeply compelling. 

There has been no discussion about it actually winning best picture, but I’m glad it has been recognized with a nomination. And while there was a bit of an uproar about no female directors being nominated, I’m not particularly disappointed director Sarah Polley was not nominated; I think she leads the film well but the direction is not particularly remarkable. I would have loved to see Charlotte Wells for Aftersun or Gina Prince-Bythewood for The Woman King. 

In Summary:

I predict will win: Everything, Everywhere, All at Once

Dark horse pick: The Banshees of Inisherin 

My personal favorites: The Banshees of Inisherin, Tár, Elvis, Women Talking

Happy Oscars!

– Madeleine D.

Besides movies, my other favorite thing to write about on this blog are the tv shows Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. A prequel series to Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul follows Jimmy McGill (Bob Odenkirk) as he goes from an earnest-yet-crafty underdog to the thoroughly corrupt criminal lawyer Saul Goodman. Beside Jimmy is Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn), his confidant-turned-wife and accomplished lawyer who discovers her own dark side as she assists Jimmy in his schemes. Better Call Saul also introduces characters like Mike Ehrmantraut, Gus Fring, and Hector Salamanca, expanding the world and setting the stage for Breaking Bad. 

Better Call Saul (BCS) wrapped on its sixth and final season in mid-August to critical and audience acclaim. Its finale cements the show’s legacy as equal to that of Breaking Bad (BB) and a tremendous achievement in its own right. But I’m not actually interested in analyzing the entire final season or finale here. Instead, I want to take a deeper look at both shows by focusing on the parallels between two characters: BCS’s Kim Wexler, and BB’s Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul). I think the characters’ respective endings illuminate both shows’ ideas on guilt, atonement, and redemption. While neither show mentions God or has characters professing faith, BB and BCS are both deeply spiritual and obsessed with questions of morality. Despite them being firmly “secular”, there is much to gain from taking a Christian lens to both shows. 

I also just really, really love both of these characters and want to talk about them.

So why compare Kim to Jesse? Jesse and Kim are the most moral characters in both shows. Both characters wrestle with their guilt and seek redemption. If the central flaw of both Walter White and Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman is their self-deception, Jesse and Kim’s central characteristic is their honesty about themselves. As the secondary protagonists and moral centers of their respective shows, Jesse and Kim’s stories are in direct conversation with one another. And in the penultimate episode of BCS, they even share a scene, flashing back to an unseen moment early in the BB timeline (as seen in the image above). 

This scene is more than just fanservice, it serves to highlight these parallels that have been carefully built between the characters. At this moment, they pass by each other at a critical intersection: Kim is leaving Saul’s office after finalizing her divorce from Jimmy, on her way to leave Albuquerque for Florida. Meanwhile, Jesse is about to partner himself and Walt to Saul and take another definitive step down his Bad Choice Road, which will lead him by the end of the series to a place similar to Kim– leaving town for Alaska, a trail of destruction behind him, forever changed. But they are in very different places internally when each leaves Albuquerque. 

Let’s do an overview of Kim’s storyline. Kim starts as a by-the-books, noble lawyer who has worked hard to leave behind her working-class roots to become successful and respected. She becomes disillusioned while working for a corporate firm and decides to quit and go pro-bono. She, like Jimmy, identifies as an underdog, as someone underestimated by the legal establishment. But as the show goes on, she also is revealed to be just as capable as Jimmy at scheming, eventually working with him to disgrace and debar Howard Hamlin (a rival lawyer). When that scheme ends up with criminal Lalo Salamanca killing Howard, Kim realizes how far she has allowed herself to go. She discovers a streak of cruelty within her that allowed her to do this to Howard. And she realizes how enabled she is with Jimmy; they bring out the worst in each other. With this crisis of conscience, she gives up her law license, breaks up with Jimmy, and moves to Florida. 

In Florida, we see that Kim has committed herself to a self-imposed exile. She changes her appearance, losing her blonde power ponytail for a brunette dye job and shaggy haircut. She trades her power suits for jean skirts and t-shirts. Everything she says is reserved and unopinionated, never taking a stance or making a clear choice. She has muzzled herself. Her name is still Kim Wexler, but she’s only an echo of the person we once knew. The fate she tried to escape through her career she has now embraced as a form of self-punishment. 

She finally goes back to Albuquerque to confess to Howard’s widow about the nature of his death and give an affidavit of her testimony, leaving her fate up to the law. After she does that, we see her breakdown crying on a bus (in a moment reminiscent of Jesse’s screams as he flees the compound in the final moments of BB). It’s cathartic– she’s finally come clean in every way that she can. But it’s also sobering– even all of that is not enough. Nothing she does can ever free her of the guilt. It will always haunt her because there has not been any external judgment on her.

In this lies a deeply embedded moral paradox in all of us: we like to be our own judge. That way, we can let ourselves off the hook. When I do something wrong, my first instinct is to justify, minimize, and ignore it. I love to proclaim myself “not guilty.” 

Yet I think for each of us, there comes a time in our lives when we do something truly horrible, horrible enough that it forces us to finally see ourselves plainly; something we can’t justify, minimize, or ignore. And in these moments, being our own judge is the worst thing in the world. When we have to face how flawed we really are, we also must face how flawed our judgment really is. How can we forgive ourselves? We have no authority to do so. When faced with this, people tend to go one of two ways: harden their hearts and ignore the issue of conscience and guilt, or relentlessly self-condemn and self-hate as a sort of recompense. 

Kim does the latter. Kim’s self-exile in Florida and later confession is her doing everything she can to avail herself of her guilt. But in a moral universe without a merciful, forgiving God who has provided some way of atonement, she can never truly be free. She is stuck being her own judge, and she knows she doesn’t have the authority to grant herself mercy. 

Kim keeps her name, but loses her selfhood as penance. 

Meanwhile, Jesse loses his name, but keeps his selfhood. At the end of El Camino, he is given a new name: Mr. Driscoll. The name “Jesse Pinkman” is dead, a ghost. But unlike Kim in Florida, Jesse/Driscoll doesn’t have to change who he is, his selfhood. He is changed; the events of the series have deeply changed his personality and worldview. But his change was growth, maturation at a heavy cost. That’s different from Kim’s intentional reinvention of herself, the meek character she’s chosen to play because she’s too afraid of who she is.

Externally, Jesse has permanent scars on his face, an eternal reminder of his past. They physically embody the PTSD and suffering he carries. But internally, Jesse has grown past many of the flaws that caused the events of BB. No longer is he naive and passive, instead, he takes action to fight for a better future. He is no longer obsessed with earning approval through macho posturing. Instead, he has developed true strength that stems from his love for others. 

 In other words: physically, he carries his past, but internally, he has a form of freedom from it. Kim is the opposite: externally, she has used her appearance to create distance from her past. But internally, she is shackled by it. 

Why is this? Jesse feels the same remorse as Kim, so why is he able to leave Albuquerque in such a different state? Jesse objectively does much more harm throughout BB than Kim does in BCS (although we could argue about his agency vs Kim’s). But in both of them, we see the same desire to repent and change after coming to terms with what they’ve done. So how can Jesse go to Alaska and be at peace with himself? How can he allow himself a second start, while Kim languishes in a self-inflicted purgatory? 

It comes down to the consequences they face. In the final episodes of BB, Walt hands Jesse over to captivity by Todd Alquist and his neo-nazi gang. Jesse is forced to cook meth, watches Todd kill his girlfriend Andrea, and lives under the threat of Todd killing Andrea’s son Brock. Jesse endures this methslavement for six months. By the time he gets to Alaska, he has had an “eye for an eye” treatment of his sins, or at least as much as he could ever reasonably get in this world. This hellish experience was the direct consequence of Jesse trying to atone for everything by teaming up with Hank. By teaming up with Hank, Jesse chose to accept the consequences of his actions and go down the path of making things right, and it led to this.

But when it’s all over, Jesse is, in a way, suddenly free. He has experienced pain and suffering like the suffering he caused for other people. He will always carry scars, internally and externally, from these experiences, yet Jesse has been able to “do the time.” He’s served the sentence the universe gave him; now he can have a second chance. Even though he never faced legal judgment, he faced a sort of metaphysical/divine power’s judgment, lived through it, and now can walk free and anew. It’s a severe mercy, but it’s still a mercy. 

But Kim doesn’t get that severe mercy. She could have continued her life exactly as it was post-Howard. No one would have ever punished her. Yet Kim wants to be judged, because at least that way, she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of having gotten away with something. One gets the sense that Kim hopes she would get caught, or something would happen to her.

In the essay “A Life Not Worth Living,” Jami L. Anderson summarizes Jesse’s arc, writing this: 

“Jesse insists on the acknowledgment of right and wrong. But in doing so, he must acknowledge, both to himself and others, that he committed acts that are profoundly wrong, acts that cannot be undone. Moreover, the guilt he will feel for what he has done will, in all likelihood, never abate. But in taking full responsibility for his actions he will gain a sense of self as a moral person, as someone who has not only committed profoundly immoral actions but also of someone capable of tender, loving relationships and doing good deeds… Jesse, despite being nothing more than a social deviant user, nonetheless demanded and obtained moral agency along with full moral accountability as well as the privilege to make moral judgments.”

Kim, like Jesse, is a moral person, who insists on the acknowledgment of right and wrong. The lack of punishment she receives for her role in Howard’s death is a direct assault on her soul, because it acts in opposition to what she knows should be true about the world. She should have been punished, she deserved it. But the lack of consequences, of judgment, also means the impossibility of mercy. Mercy is not the lack of having your sin found out, it’s forgiveness and freedom despite being found out. 

This is the same predicament Jesse finds himself in in BB. In the aftermath of killing Gale, he attends a recovery group, where the leader advocates for radical self-acceptance. Finally, Jesse explodes, confronting the leader and saying this:

Jesse knows there is some sort of objective right and wrong. So if Jesse knows, through his actions and guilt, that he is fundamentally wrong because has done wrong, then how can he accept himself? How can he be the judge of himself? He has no moral authority to be a judge, much less a judge with the authority to enact mercy. Being told he is the only person who can free himself, through self-acceptance, is therefore a horrific burden, a terrible trap. This is the exact position Kim is in when she leaves Albuquerque after Howard’s death.

Unlike Walt, who deludes himself to the very end; or Jimmy, who realizes who he is but doesn’t accept the weight of consequences until the very end (more on that in a minute); Kim and Jesse realize who they are and are ready to accept the consequences, because they want to change. If they accept the consequences, then they are acting in line with their identities as moral people, who live under a code of right and wrong. Jesse gets consequences for his actions, he accepts them, and then he can accept the grace to move on and allow himself a second chance. But in Kim’s case, the universe doesn’t give her any kind of punishment; and there is no one to atone for her. So she must do it herself. But she is an incapable judge, so she is incapable of real atonement and giving herself a real second chance. So she lives in this black-and-white world; a ghost of herself. 

Yet, there is an interesting twist to Kim’s story. Throughout both shows, Kim and Jesse’s goodness are like knives in Walt and Jimmy’s backs. Their mere presences convict Walt and Jimmy of their sin, yet they refuse to believe it and choose to keep going. In BB, Walt does everything he can to smoother Jesse’s goodness, as a way to protect himself and his delusions. It’s only in Walt’s final moments that something akin to pity allows him to free Jesse.

But while Kim breaking up with Jimmy helps push him over the edge into becoming the Saul we know in BB, in the actual final moments of BCS, in the post-BB timeline, Kim tells Jimmy to confess. And he does. When she shows up in the courtroom at his hearing, he sees her and confesses. Because he still loves her, and he’s willing to go to prison to have her love him back, or at least respect him again. And in their final moments, sharing a cigarette in his cell, there is an unspoken reconciliation. Two characters, completely stripped of all facade, who know the truth about themselves and each other completely, are at peace because they have nothing to hide. All their sins have been laid out and they’re both facing the consequences. And in that, they can finally love one another fully and honestly. 

Again, there is no God in the Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul universe. In the absence of one, we see each character trying to figure out how to atone and forgive themselves in ways only a righteous God can. Only the characters that submit themselves to a larger, divine force of righteous judgment–and mercy– find any kind of freedom. Walter White never experiences this, but Jesse does. And Jimmy, in a small way, does get to experience this freedom, even when he’s behind bars; because of Kim and her example. And when Kim walks away at the very end of BCS, we can hope she is leaving her purgatory behind, ready to accept a new beginning for herself. 

– Madeleine D.

 

Anderson, Jami L. “A Life Not Worth Living.” 103-118. Breaking Bad: Critical Essays on the Contexts, Politics, Style, and Reception of the Television Series, edited by David P. Pierson, Lexington Books, 2014

Part two of my look at the ten best picture nominees, giving you insight into each film and predicting its award chances.

Belfast

Belfast is based on director Kenneth Branaugh’s life as a child growing up during the Irish Troubles. Filmed beautifully in black and white, the film shows from nine-year-old Buddy’s eyes the confusing political turmoil around him, his struggling but loving family, and the hallmarks of growing up, from first crushes to peer pressure and school troubles. In many ways, it reminded me of Jojo Rabbit. While not nearly as funny or satirical (or devastating) as Jojo Rabbit, Belfast has an overall hopeful tone and messages of resilience and family. 

The best part of the movie is its performances, which are all lovely, from Jude Hill as Buddy, to Ciaran Hinds and Judi Dench (both nominated for best supporting!) as his grandparents, to Caitriona Balfe as his mother (I think she deserved to have been nominated) and Jamie Dornan as his father. 

When I saw the film, I walked away thinking it was a very sweet, well-made movie, if not one I could call the best of the year. While it’s valuable to see the Troubles being explored on screen, and the family drama feels universal yet deeply personal, I don’t know if Belfast really encompasses 2021 in filmmaking or breaks any new ground. 

But it was later that I came to reconsider Belfast in a new light. In early February, Dua Lipa asked Stephen Colbert on his talk show about how his comedy and Christian faith overlap. In his answer–which you absolutely should watch, it’s a fascinating response– he brought up Belfast and how he liked how the movie “is funny, and it’s sad, and it’s funny about being sad. In that same way sadness is a little bit like an emotional death, but not a defeat, if you can find a way to laugh about it, because that laughter helps keep you from having fear of it.” 

With that in mind, Belfast becomes a little more profound. It’s a tricky balance, to give sadness its full weight and still have humor and joy. Jojo Rabbit dilutes its sadness through snark and satire– to great effect. But Belfast is incredibly sincere, and in that way, pulls off a trickier feat. 

Belfast seems to be in the top running for best picture, alongside Power of the Dog and CODA. Besides that, its best award chances may be either best supporting for Hines, or original screenplay for Branaugh. 

Drive My Car

Also nominated for best international feature, adapted screenplay, and best director for ​​Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Drive My Car snuck up on many as a heavy-hitter this year. The Japanese film will inevitably draw comparisons to 2019’s South Korean Oscar juggernaut Parasite, which won best picture, international feature, and best director for Bong Joon-Ho, along with original screenplay, editing, and production design. But beyond their nominations, the two films have little in common, and because of that, Drive My Car’s winning chances are much slimmer. 

At three hours, Drive My Car is a meditative character drama about a widowed actor (Hidetoshi Nishijima) who goes to Hiroshima to direct a play, and as part of his residency, he is given a chauffeur, which ends up being a young woman (Tōko Miura). The two slowly begin to become friends and through this friendship and the play they process their past. The movie reflects on the value of art, language barriers, intergenerational friendships, and the regret and burdens that block us from connection with one another. 

Like many of the nominees this year, it has a beautiful and cathartic ending that makes the whole movie better in retrospect, and there is much to admire and appreciate in the film. However, I couldn’t help but find it a bit tedious, never quite feeling like my patience was fully rewarded. But part of that may have been going in without any sense of what the movie was, so I think it might be the kind of film where it is better to go in having read some reviews or analysis of the film to better be able to appreciate what is carefully being built in the story and what literary references and allusions to be on the lookout for. 

While there are things the Academy usually likes to reward in Drive My Car (it’s a story about actors making art, after all!), there is still a big barrier to the Oscars awarding international films in non-international feature categories. Parasite was an anomaly that it was able to break through, not only because it is a truly outstanding, deserving film, but it was also mainstream enough, with a semi-recognizable director, to appeal to an American audience. 

Drive My Car then is a near lock for international feature, but probably nothing else, with maybe a sliver of a chance for adapted screenplay. But its inclusion shows progress in the academy recognizing and rewarding international films, which is an exciting step for Hollywood at large. 

Dune

Dune is this year’s Mad Max: Fury Road. Like Mad Max, Dune was a genre hit with both audiences and critics that was nominated for a slew of technical awards along with best picture (10 nominations in all!). And it has a fighting chance in many of those categories, especially Han Zimmer’s score, sound, and special effects. But unlike, say, Return of the King, which swept its ceremony and got best picture, Dune is a part one of two, and feels very incomplete, so its best picture chances are very slim (and we’ll see about part 2). 

Helmed by Denis Villeneuve (Blade Runner 2049, Arrival) and featuring an all-star cast (Timothee Chalamet! Zendaya! Oscar Issac! Jason Mamoa! Javier Bardem!) the film admirably translates its dense source material into a sprawling epic that really does feel like it can both satisfy fans and general audiences alike. Along with West Side Story, it may be the best feat of adaptation and remake this year, and deserves to be nominated. The story of a young man discovering his destiny on a new planet is full of classic science fiction and literary tropes, so we’ll see if this timelessness appeals to academy voters, or if it’s ultimately snubbed. 

Don’t Look Up

Maybe the most broadly polarizing film on this list, Don’t Look Up is a Netflix release directed by Adam McKay (The Big Short, Vice, Anchorman) and featuring an ensemble with the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence, Meryl Streep, Jonah Hill, Cate Blanchett, Timothee Chalamet, and Ariana Grande. Don’t Look Up follows DiCaprio and Lawrence as an astronomy professor and his grad student, who discover a comet is on the fast-track to collide with Earth. In their efforts to warn the public they face opposition from everyone from the self-serving president (Meryl Streep) and her obstinate administration, to the media that refuses to alarm the public, to pop stars, activists, and tech billionaires who all want to co-op the comet to advance their own agenda. The comet serves as a clear metaphor for climate change, and the film satirizes the modern indifference to this threat. While I thought the movie fairly critiqued all sides of the political aisle, I have talked to many people who didn’t think the film was nearly as fair. 

If there’s a common theme with these best picture nominees, I think I would say that it’s sincerity.  Belfast and Licorice Pizza were both inspired by the director’s childhoods and fondly recreate their adolescent years. King Richard and CODA are both classic heartwarming stories about underdog families. Nightmare Alley, Dune, Drive My Car, West Side Story, and The Power of the Dog are all remakes or adaptations that lovingly breathe fresh air into their source material with clear respect for the originals, and tell stories of complex protagonists with clear empathy. But Don’t Look Up, is, to be frank, a mean movie about horrible people. And I say that as someone who actually liked it! But there’s no denying that Adam McKay, whose most recent work shows a general disdain for general audiences and no problem skewering everyone from the everyman to the most powerful politicians in the world, has made a movie that to many comes across as overly preachy and spiteful. 

Besides best picture, Don’t Look Up is nominated for original screenplay, film editing, and Nicholas Britell’s score. It may have a fighting chance at original screenplay. But for a movie that touted its all-star cast as its greatest strength, the lack of acting noms is an indicator of how little the academy voters may actually care about this film. There’s always a chance for a surprise, but I think all signs point to this, once again, not being Adam McKay’s big year. 

The Power of the Dog

Netflix’s Power of the Dog, directed by Jane Campion, has been a critical darling, but treated with ambivalence by audiences, following a trend of the Oscars showing favor to small movies that few have seen (or will remember). I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, smaller films are often the most groundbreaking and move filmmaking forward, and shouldn’t those be recognized in a ceremony that aims to celebrate the art of filmmaking? But on the other hand, I think the Oscars should strike a balance to also recognize movies that have defined and shaped the year, and will be remembered in public memory, which I don’t really think Power of the Dog will be.

Okay, but is Power of the Dog good? And to that I say…. yes. It’s a movie I have a lot of respect for. It’s a slow-burn, acting tour-de-force about Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) a spiteful cowboy who terrorizes his brother (Jesse Plemons) and his new wife and stepson (Kirsten Dunst and Kodi Smit-McPhee). But as the film progresses, you begin to realize the power dynamics in play are not quite what they seem, and Phil’s aggression is what ends up blinding him to even more sinister forces.

Power of the Dog is an anti-western, a movie that turns the historically macho and violent western genre conventions on their head to instead be a quiet, psychological movie about sexual repression, grief, resentment, and familial strife. A main undercurrent of the film is that Phil is suggested to be gay, and is mourning the loss of his mentor/partner, and his cruelty is a symptom of his grief and repression. The four main characters are carefully drawn to be fascinating foils of each other, and Campion’s directing shows clear precision and restraint. 

My biggest problem with the film is that it’s sometimes so subtle you don’t know what’s going on or where the movie is going, and the twist at the end is so quiet that many people I know completely missed it (and I would have too if I hadn’t been spoiled beforehand). The ramifications of the ending cast the rest of the movie in a fascinating light when you really think about it, but I wish the film had found a way to build up to a more cathartic end, instead of tapering off like a whisper. 

While it was considered the frontrunner for much of the race, CODA and possibly Belfast have gained enough momentum to catch up to Power of the Dog, meaning the race might be way more surprising than expected. Interestingly enough, we may also have a situation where voters don’t vote for Power of the Dog because they assume it’s the frontrunner anyways, so they vote for another film, and no majority ends up voting for it in the end. If Power of the Dog won, it would be a huge win for streaming services.

I think besides best picture, out of its 11 other nominations, its other best chance for a win is Jane Campion as director (she deserves it). And while not the frontrunner, I think Kirsten Dunst could be a dark horse for the best-supporting actress. And while he definitely won’t win, I’m rooting for Jesse Plemons, who I genuinely think should have been nominated for best supporting in 2019’s El Camino. He’s good in this movie and deserves the nomination, but he’s building a fascinating career and I definitely don’t think this will be the last time we see him nominated. As for Benedict Cumberbatch, I don’t think he’ll win, but I think this too will set him up nicely for a future win one day. And maybe, if it doesn’t win best picture, that will be Power of the Dog’s biggest lasting legacy: setting up its actors and director for even greater future success, and a new opportunity for the Western genre to reinvent itself. 

Happy Oscars everyone!

– Madeleine D. 

Hollywood’s biggest night is only a few days away, and with that, it’s time for all of us to place our bets and pick our favorites. But with 10 nominees for best picture, and the weird release schedules that COVID and streaming have created, it’s easy to have missed some of them. Never fear! I’m here to give you a little background on each movie and a look at its award chances, with a bit of my personal commentary, so you can win your Oscar ballot. 

King Richard

King Richard is probably the most “commercial” film on this list, in that it’s a feel-good sports movie with broad appeal with a big star. But being “commercial” is not a bad thing– in fact, I think it’s actually a positive thing when it comes to the Oscars because so few of the movies nominated have broad appeal and have actually been seen by a wide audience. King Richard stars Will Smith as Richard Williams, the father behind one of the greatest female tennis players of all time and two of the best athletes in the world- Venus and Serena Williams. King Richard is a role seemingly tailor-made for Will Smith. It makes perfect use of his charisma, his dramatic and comedic chops, and provides some interesting meta-commentary on his own personal family life and the kind of dad he’s been to his celebrity kids. But while I think he is deserving of best actor, the whole ensemble is excellent, from Saniyya Sidney and Demi Singleton who play Venus and Serena respectively to Jon Bernthal as Rick Macci. Aunjanue Ellis, who plays their mother Brandi, is nominated in the best supporting actress category. While Ellis has a very slim chance of winning, she was a standout and I’m so glad her work was recognized with a nomination.

The movie is a classic sports movie, but its focus on black athletes and a strong black family unit (and centering dad/daughter relationships), the focus on having integrity over winning, along with an eye towards the business savvy athletes must have, make it special. However, its chances of winning best picture look slim, although Will Smith looks like the best actor frontrunner (although it’s a competitive category!). While it may end up walking away with nothing, like the movie itself says, it’s not necessarily about winning, but how you play the game, and King Richard puts it all on the line. 

Licorice Pizza

Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza, starring Alana Haim (who I wish had been nominated for best actress) and Cooper Hoffman, is nominated for best director and original screenplay along with best picture. With Jane Campion looking like the frontrunner for director, Licorice Pizza’s best shot is probably screenplay. PTA is a famed auteur who has made a film with a lot to like, especially to Academy voters. Licorice Pizza is a nostalgic look at Los Angeles and Hollywood past, with a quirky love story (the ten-year age gap between the leads has led to some controversy, but not enough, I think, to dampen the film), and great performances. It is the quintessential “hang out” movie, with three hours of episodic storytelling, evoking the feeling of an anthology of shorts rather than a plot-driven movie (Bradley Cooper’s “episode,” where he plays real-life Jon Peters, a boyfriend of Barbara Streisand, is the best part of the film). It might remind voters of the similarly Hollywood-themed Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Quentin Tarantino’s last film (although Licorice Pizza does not contain any gory shoot-outs). 

I enjoyed Licorice Pizza while I watched it, and I think it’s a must-see for fans of PTA and Hollywood history. I think a breezily-paced, episodic structure to a film is not necessarily a bad thing, but there were certainly times when I wished the movie had an editor who would curb PTA’s more self-indulgent moments. Overall, I think Licorice Pizza is certainly deserving of the nomination but won’t win. It doesn’t break any kind of filmmaking barriers, it doesn’t have any timely or important messages, and its award campaign has seemed a little weak. However, PTA has been nominated for an Oscar eight times before and never won, so perhaps that will make the Academy more favorable in giving him a win. 

Nightmare Alley

Nightmare Alley is a remake of a 1947 film, based on the 1946 novel. The film, directed and co-written by Guerillmo Del Toro, stars Bradley Cooper as Stanton Carlisle, a mysterious down-on-his-luck man who begins working as a mentalist at a carny, and quickly spirals down into his own deceit. It co-stars Toni Collette, Cate Blanchett, and Rooney Mara. 

To be honest, I started watching Nightmare Alley on HBO Max, got through thirty minutes, then turned it off. Then it got nominated for Best Picture, so I begrudgingly went back and finished it after two more tries. At first, I didn’t find myself gripped by the achingly slow-paced noir. I didn’t know where the film was going or if it had any substance under all the style (and to be fair, it’s a gorgeous production). But, unfamiliar with the source material, I was completely caught off guard in the last act, and specifically, the very last scene. The last moments of the film are so perfectly executed, with such a wonderful marriage of Cooper’s performance and Del Toro’s directing, that I got literal chills. It’s the kind of gut punch of an ending that makes you reconsider the whole film. 

But, even with that scene, in retrospect the film is still weak as a whole, looking the part of a psychological thriller without delivering one. Critics and audience reception were all over the place, making its nomination a real surprise. Besides best picture, it is also nominated for cinematography, production design, and costuming, which seems to be evidence it won’t win anything (best picture winners usually also have nominations in other major categories like actor/actress, writing, and directing). I think if the movie had to have been nominated for anything, I would have nominated Bradley Cooper. But as it is, I’m not personally rooting for it to win anything. Del Toro won best picture and best director for 2017’s Shape of Water, so there’s no rush for the academy to reward him again anytime soon. 

CODA

CODA, on Apple TV+, is a coming-of-age story about Ruby (Emilia Jones), a high schooler who is caught between her desire to go off to college to pursue singing, and her family’s need for her to work for their fishing business. Why is that a problem? The rest of Ruby’s family is deaf, and need her to translate for their business, and can’t appreciate her singing. 

My roommate, who considers herself to be a “voice for the people” when it comes to movies (i.e, not a critical snob), said of CODA: “It’s the perfect balance of being chill and having something to say.” And I agree! CODA is progressive in that it is depicting a community not usually seen on screen, which is a great thing, and it’s also a broadly appealing, heartfelt family drama that is subversive and smart about its tropes to tell a new story (with excellent writing and performances to boot). While its status as a streaming movie made it an unlikely contender, in the past few weeks CODA seems to have become a dark horse that might just pull off a win for best picture, and I’ll certainly be rooting for it. 

Besides best picture, it’s also up for best supporting actor for Troy Kotsur and best adapted screenplay. While I don’t think it has a shot at either of these (Dune should win for best adapted screenplay, although The Lost Daughter will probably win), Kotsur is certainly deserving of the recognition. 

West Side Story

This Steven Spielberg-directed remake of the 1961 musical (an Oscar heavy-hitter itself), is up for seven nominations, including best picture, best director, and best supporting actress for Ariana DeBose as Anita (the role which won Rita Moreno her Oscar). The remake has been praised for the way it infuses modern sensibilities (including the casting of actual Puerto-Rican actors as the Sharks) with the emotionality and old-school feel of the original.

I was skeptical of this project when it was announced and was prepared to dislike it, having grown up with a great fondness for the 1961 film. However, having seen it, I now agree that it is an example of a great remake. I think Spielberg chooses the right things to change and lean into (like more attention paid to the class dynamics; not subtitling the Spanish) while retaining elements of the original. While not as colorful or theatrical as the 1961 version, I think the musical numbers retain their energy and are well-done. It’s a remake that hopefully will appeal to modern audiences while encouraging them to also check out the original. 

Despite all the ways I enjoyed the film, it didn’t personally grab me or register as one of the best films of the year, and I actually expect it’s not most Academy members’ best film either. But because of the ranked-choice voting system the Oscars use, the movies that win are usually everyone’s second or third choice. And that’s where West Side Story could win a lot of awards, if everyone thinks, “hmmm, I want Jane Campion or Paul Thomas Anderson to win for director this year, but I’ll put Steven Spielberg next because, well, he’s Steven Spielberg!”

West Side Story was a commercial flop, but it’s definitely one of the most audience-friendly films being nominated. While I don’t think it’s the best film of the year, I would like the best picture award to start going to movies people have actually heard of and seen, so I’m not opposed to a win. Out of its nominations though, I am rooting for the film to win for Ariana DeBose, and she’s currently the favorite. 

Coming soon: Part 2 of the nominees!

Twice a year- once in June and once in December- I make a list of ten things I liked this year. While the lists sometimes include movies I haven’t otherwise reviewed, it’s mostly a chance to talk about the television, music, podcasts, and books I recommend anyone check out. 

TV

Cobra Kai, Season 3 (Netflix)

Cobra Kai is the kind of show I would have never expected I would like. I’ve only seen The Karate Kid once, I haven’t seen any of the sequels, and I don’t have any nostalgia for the ‘80s (I wasn’t there!). But Cobra Kai, which follows the karate shenanigans of the now-middle age characters of Karate Kid and their children, is a delight. It’s a ridiculously fun soap-opera drama, full of ridiculous and cheesy ‘80s references that somehow aren’t obnoxious. How is that? The show purposefully explores how these characters are stuck in the past. The references and obsession about their past are fun for the audience, but the show itself uses them to show how pitiful Johnny Lawrence (William Zabka) and Danny LaRusso (Ralph Macchio) can be, and how their refusal to move on from their past manifests in their children. 

An exploration of generational trauma sounds like a weighty topic for such a light show, yet the show pulls it off, balancing serious drama with amazing stunt work and comedy. The whole ensemble is excellent, with the young cast, led by Mary Mouser and Xolo Marideuna, being especially strong (and Courtney Henggeler is a scene-stealer). Season 3 spends too much time setting up the next season, and the show’s attempts to counteract criticisms of cultural appropriation by having Danny taking a trip to Japan ends up weighing down the season, but the series is so strong that even a weaker season is worth recommending.

Shadow and Bone (Netflix)

The common theme in this list is fun surprises. Just like I had no real background knowledge or expectations for Cobra Kai, I had never read Leigh Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone books before deciding to tune into the first season of the eight-episode Netflix show. The young adult fantasy series is about Alina (Jessie Mei Li), an orphan who realizes she is actually a Grisha, a magical being with elemental powers. She is whisked away from everything she’s ever known to be trained by the mysterious General Kirigan (Ben Barnes). Meanwhile, a trio of criminals set off to find Alina for their own purposes.

Besides the big budget, which allows for stunning fantasy sequences, the best thing about Shadow and Bone is the cast. There’s not a weak link here, but Ben Barnes as Captain Kirigan may be the best surprise. I’m tired of men in young adult franchises (which are usually female-oriented) who ridicule the property and their roles (looking at you, Robert Pattinson in Twilight). In contrast, Ben Barnes plays his role with total seriousness and sincerity, and it’s clear he and the rest of the cast are having a blast, which in turn makes it more enjoyable for the audience. Kit Young and Amita Suman are also standouts. If you’re looking for a binge-worthy fantasy epic with some confusing worldbuilding but big emotions, complex relationships, and thrills, Shadow and Bone will certainly scratch that itch. 

Mare of Easttown (HBO Max)

Like many great detective stories, HBO’s Mare of Easttown stars a grizzled and weary defender of good in a small town full of secrets and hidden darkness. And like the town she protects, Mare Sheehan (Kate Winslet) has some secrets and darkness of her own. As she investigates the murder of a young woman and the disappearance of two others girls, Mare constantly wrestles with pursuing the truth, even when it comes at the expense of her friends and family. Her attempts to love those same people are what make the show incredibly moving. There are uneven parts of the series– Evan Peters is a little underwhelming, Guy Pearce feels out of place at times, and sometimes the show takes detours that don’t pay off for a while. But attention to detail and a strong spiritual undercurrent, as well as an astounding finale, make it a rewarding must-watch.

WandaVision (Disney +)

The great Marvel-Disney+ show experiment officially kicked off in January of this year with the release of WandaVision, starring Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany reprising their big-screen roles as Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch and Vision. Even those of us who were familiar with the comic book inspiration the show was drawing from and knew the conceit of the show–Wanda creates an alternative reality that plays out her and Vision’s life in the style of different American sitcoms– were shocked by how weird the show is. It leans fully into the premise and does not coddle the audience until late in the game. Unfortunately, the show loses its nerve at the end and opts for a big Marvel CGI-battle instead of sticking to its guns, and the whole series suffers for it. But even though the ending is a bit of a dud, there is much to like here. Olsen is marvelous, effortlessly slipping into each decade of acting styles. Bettany, who has been underrated for a long time, gets a few moments to shine. Kathryn Hahn (who is now Emmy-nominated for her role here!) is the ace up the show’s sleeve. WandaVision isn’t able to totally reinvent the wheel, but it is a charming oddity in the ever-expanding world of Marvel and a promise of the potential of the Marvel-Disney+ experiment.

Books

The Echo Wife, by Sarah Gailey

I can’t stop thinking about The Echo Wife. It’s a small, tightly written story with a limited cast of characters, but enormous ideas regarding medical ethics, artificial life, femininity, marriage, and recovering from abuse. The book is about Evelyn, a scientist who discovers that her husband Nathan made a clone of her and then had an affair with this clone (named Martine). The clone is a more docile, gentle, nurturing and submissive version of Evelyn. When something happens to Nathan, Evelyn and Martine must work together. They must confront the differences, and similarities, between them as they untangle their connection to Nathan and their own senses of self. If you want an uneasy, twisty, character-driven science fiction story, in the vein of a movie like Ex Machina, I highly recommend checking out The Echo Wife.

Who is Maud Dixon?, by Alexandra Andrews

In Who is Maud Dixon?, the trope of the “genius eccentric loner asshole artist” is put on trial. Florence, an aspiring writer, takes a job being the assistant of a mysterious author who writes under the pseudonym Maud Dixon. This author is the classic egotistical, tempestuous writer. But it turns out, so is Florence. As these two women fight over the mantle of Maud Dixon, in a beautiful Moroccan setting, author Alexandra Andrews slyly examines the myth of the author and the real price of creativity and ambition. A fast-paced, easy read, this is a “beach read” in the best sense of the term.

Raft of Stars, by Andrew J. Graff

Following in the tradition of boyhood adventure novels like Huckleberry Finn or Hatchet, Raft of Stars follows two young boys- Fish and Bread- as they escape into the woods after they think Bread’s father has been murdered. At first, the book’s attempt to pay homage to its literary influences feels overdone, but slowly the novel hits own stride, especially as it shifts its focus onto the winsome adult ensemble who are chasing the boys– Tiffany, the self-reliant gas station clerk and secret romantic; the haunted Sheriff Cal; Fish’s tough-as-nails grandfather Teddy; and Fish’s gallant mother Miranda. Author Andrew Gaff plays with genre tropes to fashion a story that, while sweetly-old fashioned in some ways, also gives a more inclusive, thoughtful update to the classic adventure novel. It’s literary but also very cinematic, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was adapted to the big screen soon, so check it out before then!

Podcasts

The Improvement Association, from Serial 

From Serial, the hit true-crime podcast that helped launch the age of true-crime podcasts, comes this more modest, intimate story of election fraud and small-town politics. Hosted by Zoe Chance, the series follows the allegations of election fraud in Bladen County, North Carolina, where a Black political activist group is the subject of suspicion and disdain by white citizens, and trust is broken across races and political parties. The Improvement Association refuses to be sensational or to manipulate viewers with explosive twists and accusations. Chance carefully looks into every lead and logically breaks it down. She’s not the most exciting narrator or storyteller, but she is a trustworthy one that feels steady and reliable, and she clearly cares for the people she encounters, even at their most irritable or eccentric. These five episodes are perfect if you want a better understanding of the mess American politics is in, told in a measured, methodical yet personal way, on a small-scale.

In God We Lust, from Wondery

In God We Lust, meanwhile, is the exact opposite of The Improvement Society when it comes to reporting. While TIS strove to provide a factual, balanced, restrained narrative, In God We Lust is like sitting by the pool with your friend after having one too many margaritas as she recalls a scandalous story she heard second-hand. Hosts Brooke Siffrinn and Aricia Skidmore-Williams are fabulous guides who add plenty of color commentary to the central story: the story of Liberty University president Jerry Falwell Jr. and his wife Becky Falwell’s affair with Giancarlo Granda, a young pool attendant they met on vacation. What unfolds is a murky, juicy story at the intersection of all sorts of hot-button issues: #MeToo and sexual harassment, Christian institutions, Donald Trump, Christian leaders and wealth, and purity culture. There’s a lot here to think about, especially if you’re a serious Christian who cares about these issues. But the hosts don’t do much to prompt thoughtful discussion or questions; they’re more prone to laugh at the scandal than lament it. So if you do listen, enjoy it at face-value, but dig deeper into what this story really can be mined for.

Movies

Inside, (Netflix)

Comedian and writer/director Bo Burnham’s Netflix special Inside has been called a lot of things. A genre-bending meta-examination of comedy (true). Auteur achievement (true). A catchy musical (true). Inside is a fascinating examination of the internet and internet culture, and there are many reviews out there that break down its layers that I would recommend checking out. But there is something I haven’t seen discussed yet, so I want to bring it up here, which is the theme of “humiliation” throughout the film. 

I’m going to define humiliation here on more spiritual terms: humiliation is not just feeling embarrassed or having your ego bruised, it is the feeling of the gap between how you are being treated, and what you deserve. Humiliation is a betrayal of dignity. If we believe all humans have inherent worth and dignity, then humiliation is when someone is treated with less-than that deserved dignity, either by having to treat themselves poorly or by being treated that way by others.

The special starts with Bo Burnham (or, his protagonist character) making fun of comedians who are white guys with a lot to say (like him). It starts as typical form of self-deprecation, the kind we as the audience usually appreciate, with our love of self-awareness. Then the special moves deeper into Bo’s conflicted feelings about the internet. He started his comedy career making internet videos, and now he’s having to examine himself and his complicity in the space he is now ambivalent about. There’s the humiliation of examining yourself and realizing, Oh no, I’m embarrassed with how I have made my living and how it’s contributed to something bad and shallow. This self-examination creates doubt and begs the question: Can I ever be truly authentic?

Then the special digs into Bo’s mental illness and how his panic attacks made him quit performing comedy, and there’s that gap again, the gap of my body and mind has betrayed me, this is not how it should be, I deserve better. There is humiliation in being impaired in this way, and even more humiliation in wanting to tell people the truth of your experiences, but not wanting to be pitied. Then at the end of the show, Bo sings a song about how next time, he should watch the audience, instead of the audience only watching him. Shortly after, Bo appears naked under a spotlight. Being on the internet and performing on stage means you are always vulnerable and naked to the audience. Humiliation abounds. 

There are little parts of the special that strive to show that on the internet we reduce ourselves to one-dimensional caricatures, because that’s how these platforms work. The song “White Woman’s Instagram,” is a funny takedown of stereotypical white woman Instagram accounts, but halfway through the song Bo sings of a post where this hypothetical woman writes about her deceased mom, a touching, humanizing moment. But there’s discomfort here as well: this woman can only have an authentic, genuine expression of humanity in a space otherwise full of pictures of pumpkins and lattes. How could an Instagram page ever convey the complexity and three-dimensionality of someone? It can’t! We’re made for so much more than this! But this is all we have, so we have to settle for this lesser form of self-expression. This is a division of self, and that’s humiliation.

The last scene has Bo walking out of his house, then immediately trying to go back inside the house, but it’s locked. While he struggles to get back inside, a laugh track plays. This is the humiliation of being exposed to people, the humiliation of a parasocial relationship where you both desperately need the audience, and you also despise them. Inside is the best film to come out of the pandemic so far, and I think everyone will take something very different away from it.

– Madeleine D.

Three months into 2021, and despite some good news (Covid vaccines!), there has already been plenty of evidence that 2021 will continue to be just as strange as 2020. However, while we hope 2021 will be different when it comes to movies and theaters, let us also look back and celebrate the movies that helped 2020 suck less. As always, my criteria for this top 10 list:

1. How much I enjoyed the film and how much it stuck with me.
2. How “good” of a film it is, in terms of craft and use of the medium.
3. Cultural significance and relevance

I have not yet seen: The Father and Promising Young Woman. And as a note: while the Oscars have widened their eligibility window to includes some films released in 2021, I will be keeping my list to films that were released during the 2020 calendar year in the United States.

Honorable Mentions: The Trial of the Chicago 7, Never Rarely Sometimes Always, Sound of Metal, News of the World, I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Athlete A, Time, Bad Education, Run, The Old Guard, Nomadland, and One Night in Miami 

10. Dick Johnson is Dead

Dick Johnson is Dead is a strange little documentary. The premise is wonderfully morbid: a filmmaker has her aging father stage a bunch of ways he could die as a way for both of them to process the end of his life. Along with being an honest look at dementia and a celebration of a man’s life, Dick Johnson is Dead looks death straight in the face in a way that we so rarely do in American culture. Memento mori. 

9. Minari

While I have never been apart of a Korean family in the 1980s that moved to Arkansas to start a farm, Minari feels both so intimate and universal that I feel like I have. While the film fails to have a satisfying ending, the superb ensemble cast and excellent directing makes Minari a highlight of the year.

8. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom doesn’t do much to transform August Wilson’s play into a film, but despite the lacking direction, the performances (including Chadwick Boseman’s last) and the writing are just too good to overlook. It has several things in common with Regina King’s directorial debut One Night in Miami, which I also debated putting here. One Night transforms its theater/play roots into something more cinematic, but it too has its historical characters embodying warring ideologies about Black uplift, performance, artistry, and autonomy. Both are excellent, but in the end, I simply enjoyed Ma Rainey and its stylishness a bit more.

7. Herself

Like Driveways (which is further down on my list) Herself is about neighborliness and community. It follows Sandra (Clare Dunne), a woman who escapes her abusive husband with her two daughters to start a new life. Sandra decides to build her own house, and must rely on the help of strangers and estranged friends to get the job done. Commentary on well-meaning but often restricting social services simmer under the more-important emotional story of a woman rebuilding her life with the support of others.

6. The Invisible Man

I debated between putting The Invisible Man or Run here, as I loved both of these female-led thrillers. In the end, I chose The Invisible Man because I was just so impressed with the creativity of this retelling of the H.G Wells story and how it becomes an examination of domestic abuse, gaslighting, and the psychology of victimhood. Elizabeth Moss and her agony carry the whole film.

5. Ordinary Love

Ordinary Love is a masterclass in acting by Liam Neeson and Lesley Manville. Neeson and Manville play an older married couple who get a breast cancer diagnosis. The film follows treatment and the stresses it puts on their relationship. Ordinary Love is an intimate look at a relationship between two characters you desperately want to protect, which makes every little blow devastating. It made me feel multitudes. 

4. The Personal History of David Copperfield

This was easily the best movie-going experience I’ve had this year (in part because I actually got to see this in theaters, just a few weeks before my town’s Regal Theater closed indefinitely). A quirky and whimsical adaptation that does right by the source material, The Personal History of David Copperfield was an unexpected delight.

3. The Assistant

The Assistant follows a young assistant (Julia Gardner) to a film producer as she struggles with what to do when she realizes her boss is sexually assaulting other women. We see our protagonist in an ethical dilemma where there is no way to do the right thing without being punished. It and Athlete A are the best films, I think, to have come out of the #MeToo movement, with The Assistant giving a clear-eyed view of the complex power dynamics within the film industry in a subtle, unflinching way.

2. Sorry We Missed You

Sorry We Missed You reminds me of 2019’s Uncut Gems, in that both are equally stressful films to watch. However, while Uncut Gems is about a man ruining his own life through terrible decisions, Sorry We Missed You sees an English family make every right decision they can, yet continually be pummeled by circumstance and external forces, never able to get ahead no matter how hard they try. The film is not explicitly political, but I still think it is the most political film of the year by showing the plight of the working class and the traps of the gig economy. It probably won’t get the same awards attention as Parasite, last year’s Oscar-winning class-conscious film, but it certainly deserves your attention. 

1. Driveways

Like Ordinary Love and Herself, Driveways is a drama with a small cast of characters, and here, the stakes are even smaller. Following a single mother and her son as they try to clean out her dead sister’s house to sell, Driveways is a meditation on neighborliness, loneliness, and intergenerational connection. It’s a gentle, sweet parable that encourages us to set aside our fear of strangers and pursue relationships with them. In a year where we were divided not only ideologically, but physically, Driveways felt exceptionally poignant. 

-Madeleine D.