Best 8 of 12

In honor of something (but certainly not the arbitrary end of the decade), we at Two Thumbs Sideways are attempting an experiment. We will independently determine which eight movies were the best of the past twelve years. Why eight? Why twelve? Because they are arbitrary and obviously so, as opposed to being arbitrary and not so obviously so (i.e. best ten of the decade lists). Why independently? We want to see the differences in what we come up with. (I just ended that sentence with two prepositions. That takes talent…) Then, after posting our separate lists and explanations, we will post together, explaining the differences and similarities. It goes without saying that Battlestar Galactica will adorn both lists, even though it isn’t a movie. This is a “best of” list. It belongs.


Battlestar Galactica

What is there left to say? 73 hours of visual euphoria.

The Insider

My man-crush on Russell Crowe notwithstanding, it is hard to deny the guy’s talent. He can play a macho gladiator, a nuanced cop, a Napoleonic-era ship captain, a neo-Nazi, and apparently, a chemist-turned whistleblower with startling skill. If he isn’t the best actor of his generation, his generation is spoiled with two transcendent actors.

Of course, Al Pacino is hardly a lightweight, and when thrown together behind Michael Mann’s direction (yeah, the same Michael Mann who almost rescued Public Enemies from the abyss of one of the most sterile scripts ever written), you get a thriller so thrilling that I would have found it outrageously compelling even without its being a true story.

Then, with about twenty seconds left in the film, it dawned on me that it is in fact the true story. If a movie can keep me interested for that long before I realize it is all (mostly) real… It deserves a place on this list.

Children of Men

When Clive Owen walks out of a restaurant, and then it blows up, the tone for the whole movie is set. Stuff just happens. It isn’t dramatized or aided by the crescendo of a John Williams score. It just happens. Later, one of the most startling and best executed long takes of all time continues this mantra by taking you through an entire battle-ridden neighborhood—without slowing down to appreciate anything that is going on. Sometimes, a movie needs to slow down. But Children of Men wants you to experience life without children. And without children, our lives would never slow down, and the dramatic crescendos would never come. It is rare for a movie to even appreciate what it is trying to do—actually executing it is rarer still.

Wall-E

Science Fiction is the world of ideas. The greatest Sci-Fi movie ever made, Stanley’s magnum opus, the wonder of wonders that is 2001: A Space Odyssey, understood this by asking all of the big questions. All of them. Wall-E understands this by asking all of the little questions. All of them.

Never, in a movie ostensibly dealing with robots and global warming, have the importance and wonder of the little things been more important or wondrous. Wall-E’s affection for all things with hinges (while ignoring a diamond ring), the gorgeous but barren landscape which exaggerates every small bit of color, the ship with everything but a soul—Wall-E appreciates the little things in life. Few movies, animated or otherwise, have ever shown a greater appreciation for these details than Wall-E.

In Bruges

I could say In Bruges is funny; it is. I could say it is haunting; it is. I could say it is touching; it is. I could say it is clever; it is. I could say it is a bit manipulative, and made for smart guys. I don’t know if it was. But if it was, they did a good job. Colin Farrell (yeah, this guy) is not exactly what I would call a character actor. But he creates a character here who is somehow both of these things: 1) an assassin, 2) believably naive. It seems absurd, but he pulls it off so well that you don’t come to the end of the movie and suddenly realize you have been fooled. I still think of him and I still think of the movie as if the footage continues to roll.

The Passion of the Christ

Before we get to the big two—the two movies, without which, the last twelve years would have been more or less lacking in sheer greatness—we must mention a film which does something pretty amazing.

Nothing can truly capture the significance, power and divinity of the crucifixion. But as Truffaut said, and as I firmly believe, cinema is “the most beautiful fraud in the world”. Movies can’t actually be real—but they can seem so real as to cause us to react in real ways. In much the same way that we more or less trick our muscles into growing larger by lifting weights, we trick our minds into growing by watching movies. And the Passion of the Christ more completely envelops you in the story of redemption than any other film has ever managed to do. From beginning to end, it seems like the world is at stake. It just so happens that the world actually was.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence

Great science fiction is hard to find. In an era that has been quite the high mark for good science fiction (Dark City, Gattaca, Minority Report, Primer, War of the Worlds, etc.) we have only seen one truly great Sci-Fi film (outside of the aforementioned animated world). This is not hard to explain—film and Sci-Fi do not necessarily mix so easily. The world of ideas and the world of images are hard to reconcile at times. When it works, it is the height of art and intellection (Blade Runner). When it doesn’t work, it is a bit painful to watch (the Fountain).

A.I. works. It isn’t quite a modern 2001, but it asks questions that are relevant to our time while still big enough to endure through time. You might call it 2001 for kids, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. A.I. deals with issues surrounding childhood that don’t disappear just because our own childhood did. We shouldn’t lose our sense of wonder and our love for our mothers—and a little robot child doesn’t. But often, we do. What the heck is going on there? A.I. wonders. It does so vividly, intensely, and, lest it scare people off, intelligently.

In an ending that annoyed some people and depressed others, I see a bit of Spielberg’s optimism shining through (though clearly not blatantly, as evinced by the fact that most people think the ending was cynical). Maybe it seems out of place for a shot of optimism in a nearly apocalyptic film, but I think it works. We should always hope. And the child-robot that remains attached to his mother also remains attached to that hope. And we gave him that. If we could instill that into a “mecha”, we must still have it in ourselves.

No Country for Old Men

The perfect movie. Such a moniker does not always imply greatness—sometimes it means the filmmakers didn’t try to do anything, so they managed to do very little… perfectly. But when the Coens construct a perfect film, it means something. The Coens never shortchange themselves on goals. Their somewhat (Read: drastically) uneven filmography is the result of always aiming for the stars and a willingness to take risks. When it all works, you get classics such as Blood Simple or Miller’s Crossing; when it doesn’t, you get refuse such as Intolerable Cruelty or Burn After Reading. Then, you have No Country for Old Men. They didn’t aim too high. All they tried to do was explore the nature of guilt, evil, courage, the passage of time, and do it all in a visually resplendent manner while keeping you on the proverbial edge of your proverbial seat.

And they did. The Coens, quite simply, fit more onto the screen than other modern filmmakers. No Country is two hours long (almost exactly) but doesn’t waste a second or a pixel of screen. So it seems like you have had many years worth of images thrown at you. And you have. Two years later, I am still marveling at it. And I think I will be many years from now. And that is why it is the Best Film of the Past Twelve Years.