Fave Flicks of 2012

2012 was an odd year for film. There were, as always, some great original ideas and amazing performances, mostly from the margins of the indie and mainstream realms, but this was not the most consistently amazing year for film. But, it didn't have to be. There was a lot of middling crap, but there were a handful of films that really stood out--or at least stuck with me after the credits rolled--that were spectacular in their own ways. 

That said, I offer my sort of comprehensive list of ten favorites from this year that managed to make me smile, think, or laugh a little bit more than the rest of this years releases.

10. Cabin in the Woods

Joss Whedon had kind of a big year, and if you ask the Scoobies and Browncoats, such recognition is long overdue.  Whedon's first big splash this year came in the form of the long-shelved horror movie satire, Cabin in The Woods. Cabin is far more intelligent and legitimately scary than any horror movie parody can ever hope to be, and while it doesn't rewrite the rules of horror movies, it offers a clever twist on the tried and tired formulas that have fueled horror franchises for decades. Best of all, Cabin is responsible for bringing us the unforgettable army of monsters.

9. The Raid: Redemption/Safe House/Safe (tie)

Far from the best movies this, or any, year--though The Raid is easily one of the best pure action movie in years--this trifecta of action flicks reminded audiences that good old-fashioned balls-to-the-wall mid-range action movies still have a place in the cinema. The Raid brought us brutal martial arts action to rival the best of Tony Jaa's output over the past few years while Safe House delivered spy action that was far more visceral and less restrained than 90% of the best spy fi from Abrams, Cruise, or the Broccolis. Safe, on the other hand, was clearly the lesser of the three, but it was a chaotic, brutal, and fast paced actioner that was far less neutered than most of Statham's disposable action flicks. 

8. Wreck-It Ralph/Rise of the Guardians (tie)

Fall brought us the one-two punch of Wreck-It Ralph and Rise of Guardians, two animated films with more heart and genuine thrills than most of the live-action cartoons Hollywood releases in the summer. The nostalgia-drenched Wreck-It Ralph was Disney's best shot at creating their own brand of Pixar magic, complete with heartwarming relationship between lost souls and the main character's search for self. Conversely, Rise of the Guardians is Avengers-lite, an all-star team-up superhero movie with fantasy characters like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny that is as well-crafted as the big-time Avengers, minus some of the plot gaffes.

7. Paperman

Playing in front of Wreck-It Ralph, Paperman was a delightful animated short that recalls the best qualities of 2012's Best Picture winner The Artist. Paperman hearkens back to the silent film era, following a salaryman and his comical, yet infinitely charming, pursuit of a cute-as-a-button secretary. With its charming characters, beautiful score, and gorgeous animation--courtesy of Disney's new Meander animation technology--Paperman encapsulates the heart and wonder of old-school romances with an amazing contemporary sheen.

6. Paranorman

Preceding the fall's animated delights was Paranorman, a sharp and touching stop-motion animation feature from Laika, the good people beyond the similarly creepy and affecting Coraline. Paranorman is a smart tale about forgiveness wrapped up in a classic, hilarious zombie comedy that actually does a better job of turning the genre on its ear than many of the more daring deconstructions that have hit theaters in the past decade. Filled with characters that were as three dimensional as the animation and a meaningful moral to boot, Paranorman was one of the true surprises of the summer.

5. Chronicle

Early this year, we finally got the live-action Akira movie we've been waiting for, and hopefully, the one that will halt Hollywood's plans to attempt a big budget remake. Josh Trank's Chronicle is Akira in all but name, only with a far more focused and cohesive plot, one in which Tetsuo is the center of the story and the overblown melodrama of post-apocalyptic Tokyo's warring factions are replaced by a taut examination of the toll of abuse on the fragile mind, and the damage that mind can do when it grabs the power to burn down the world.

4. Skyfall

Sam Mendes' soft reboot of the 007 franchise was one of the year's biggest blockbusters, and rightly so. Drawing influences from Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy, boasting some of the most amazing cinematography to grace the screen this year, not to mention one of the best Bond themes ever, Skyfall brought Bond back to his roots, telling a wonderfully simple tale of revenge and rebirth while demolishing and honoring the continuity of the past decade. Bond is ready for the future, and judging by the box office receipts, so are audiences.

3. Django Unchained

Quentin Tarantino's slave revenge fantasy may draw on the Boondocks' Legend of Catcher Freeman episode, but it does so with such craft that it canot be denied as a potential new classic. Jamie Foxx finally finds a role where his cockiness and vulnerability are not a handicap, but he is still outclassed by scene stealers Samuel L. Jackson, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio in a flick that is consistently fun, funny, and furious, just like a slave revenge fantasy should be.

2. The Avengers

The Avengers was unquestionably the highlight of Joss Whedon's big year. With the Avengers, Whedon brought fun back to the superhero narrative after years of grim tales of brooding sourpusses dominated the silver screen. As much as it was every true Believers dream come true, Avengers also happened to be a generally light-heartened, fun experience that was more ride than movie. It also brought us one of the single most exciting third acts in superhero films ever committed to film. With Whedon now the "head" of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the future of Marvel's movie future looks bright in more ways than one.

1. Looper

Great sci-fi makes you think. Great movies make you feel. Looper does both. Rian Johnson's third film continues a short streak of perfection that began with high school noir Brick. Looper may be the tale of time-traveling hitmen, but it is truly a story about consequence, the power of compassion, and the ability of love to make us better people. Looper is that rare film that leaves audiences thinking about how they can better themselves while entertaining them with a clever plot and deep, affecting characters. Looper is a modern classic, no question about it, and one can only hope it is a sign of many more great things to come from Johnson.

Django Unchained: How Tarantino Brought Catcher Freeman to Life

"Knock'em dead, kid"

I've never been a fan of Jamie Foxx. I always felt he was way too cocky for his own good, despite being clearly, if middlingly, multi-talented. That said, Foxx has made some decent movies, cockiness notwithstanding. With Django Unchained, he's finally at the center of a movie that matches the flair for cockiness and dramatic vulnerability that has defined his roles since his turn as Ray Charles. It just so happens that he does so in a movie most of us thought we'd never see: a live action version of the Legend of Catcher Freeman.

Django Unchained is unquestionably Tarantino's stab at bringing a Boondocks episode to life, right down to Samuel L. Jackson playing Uncle Ruckus. And what a magnificent stab it is. Django, like Inglorious Basterds before it, is the best kind of revisionist fantasy: violent, hilarious, and surprisingly sobering--all of which are expected from Tarantino. That Django is a ridiculously audacious sort-of masterpiece is no surprise, what is a surprise is the sheer fact that Tarantino can make audiences laugh so consistently at the single ugliest era of American history while still making them cringe. legitimately Granted, some members of the audience are gonna cringe at the buckets of blood Tarantino throws at the screen, but even more will cringe at the real, and occasionally exaggerated-but not too exaggerated--treatment of African-American slaves during the height of the Antebellum Era, an amazing feat that makes Django one of the most affecting--far more than the trailers would lead the audience to believe--exploitation homages in years.

With Django, as with most of his work, Tarantino takes a simple plot and runs with it in the most audience-pleasing manner possible. It all begins with German bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (played with immeasurable charm and grace by the consistently exceptional Christoph Waltz)--indeed, the irony of that character is not lost--and his search for a particularly nasty band of outlaws, The Brittle Brothers. In search of a way to identify the Brittles, the enlightened Schultz, who is positively baffled by this slavery malarkey, "purchases" former runaway slave Django (Foxx) on the condition that he will "free" Django if he helps him find the Brittle brothers. Their pursuit of the Brittle siblings leads the two to form a fruitful, long-term mentor-mentee partnership and begin a journey to save Django's wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), who resides in hellish Candieland plantation in the heart of Mississippi run by dandy Calvin Candie's (Leonardo Dicaprio finally looking like he's having fun on screen) and house negro supreme, Stephen (a particularly evil Samuel L. Jackson knocking the Uncle Ruckus impression out the park).

As to be expected of a Tarantino enterprise, Django is an alternatively talky and violent affair elevated by amazing performances. At two hours and twenty minutes, much of Django's runtime is devoted to the colorful diatribes between the equally vibrant characters, though the dialogue is far more pointed and careful, considering the time period and the lack of widespread pop culture touchstones that would usually pepper Tarantino's dialogue. Of course, the big to-do over the dialogue is Tarantino's furious use of "nigger", which is essentially much to do about nothing considering this is a tale about a slave turned bounty hunter in the Antebellum South. If Tarantino didn't allow his characters to use nigger he would be courting the greater danger of being inauthentic; thus rendering much of Django's effectiveness mute by neutering the antagonists and diminishing the quality of the conflict. Indeed, some in the audience will be offended by Tarantino's flagrant, racially-charged expletive fest, but this is par for the course with Tarantino as is the ultraviolence on display. 

Within the first ten minutes, a horse's and a man's heads are decimated in a manner that is so gloriously over-the-top that it long jumps over realism into the realm of Looney Toon violence. While most of the violence is cartoonish enough for reasonable audience members to dismiss, there are moments of brutality that no matter how exaggerated will make even the boldest viewers flinch, but it is all done in a way to emphasize the cruelty of the characters rather than glorifying gore for the sake of gore. For all intents and purposes, the violence in Django is more punctuation than pure spectacle--though it is undoubtedly spectacle--and it is only relentless in bursts, which should be heartening for those with weak stomachs. However, audience members who are thinking about seeing Django should inform themselves about Tarantino's work before making the choice to see this flick. 

Dialogue and violence aside, Django is enlivened by uniformly strong performances with the real standouts being Samuel L. Jackson, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio. Jamie Foxx may take top billing but he's saddled with a typically stoic hero, albeit one with more pain behind his eyes than the average hero, who doesn't really become larger than life until the climax, and Kerry Washington is a tad underutilized in the damsel-in-distress role. Meanwhile, Jackson, Waltz, and DiCaprio get to have all the fun playing outsized characters. Jackson is particularly entertaining as the repugnant Stephen, an evil, quick-witted slave who runs Candieland with greater efficiency and cruelty than DiCaprio's "slave master". Stephen's dialogue is so vitriolic that he Jackson seems to spit every word, but it also teeters into inexplicably modern Sam Jackson, BAMF, territory that it becomes unsettlingly comical. Waltz, on the other hand, is consistently appealing as Schultz, the total flipside of his relentless but no less affable Col. Landa. Schultz is almost the living embodiment of white guilt, to a fault, and he displays overwhelming earnestness and grace that counters the duplicitous hospitality of the Southern gentility. Schultz effectively serves as a counterpoint to every slave master he and Django encounter, especially DiCaprio's Candie. Candie is the result of what would have become of Amsterdam Vallon if he embraced the ways of Bill the Butcher. He is a devilish fop with an affinity for Mandingo fights and humiliating his slaves. He is probably, and sadly, the most fun character DiCaprio has played on screen.  In fact, this may be the most DiCaprio has ever smiled in a film since Titanic. DiCaprio, Waltz, and Jackson may run away with the show, but even "bit players" like Don Johnson and Jonah Hill shine in small roles. 

From performances to plot, every ounce of Django is masterful. Tarantino shows great maturity and restraint here, opting to tone down, but not eliminate, some of his trademark flourishes like the 70s score and old school on-screen graphics while delivering some great shots of the frontier. Yet, for all the mastery on display, I can't help but think all of the ground covered in Django was addressed with the same audacity, humor and violence in the Boondocks' "Legend of Catcher Freeman" episode, not to mention the Dave Chapelle's time traveling pimps who pleasantly introduced slave owners to a pistol.  By the same token, Samuel L. Jackson's Stephen is Uncle Ruckus through and through, just a bit more foul-mouthed. That's not to say that Django isn't a welcome addition to the canon of slave vengeance narratives; it's just not as original as it seems. But, what is? Still, it is an unabashed pleasure to watch a film as well-crafted and entertaining as Django based around the simple premise of a former slave dispensing righteous vengeance on his "masters". As Django says, "what's not love?"

Jack Reacher: The Joke's on You?

"Oh, I'm serious...snicker...DEAD serious"

Jack Reacher is ridiculous. The character and the movie.

As essentially the illegitimate child of Tropic Thunder, Grindhouse, Knight and Day, and Last Action Hero, it brings all those wonderful parodies of under-cooked action thrillers to life in a way that is so gloriously tongue-in-cheek in its late 80s/early 90s aesthetic and construction that it will undoubtedly leave most of their audience scratching their heads and asking: "Is this a comedy or an action flick?" The answer is both, yet Jack Reacher is so much more than that. It is, in fact, the latest stop on Tom Cruise's "Pardon My Madness" Tour in which he gleefully acknowledges that he is probably glib, smirking, nutcase who takes himself a bit too serious, but not serious enough to make fun of himself and the disposable entertainment he's made for the past few decades.

Jack Reacher is, by my count, the second film, the similarly eponymous Alex Cross being the other, this fall to attempt to recapture the spirit of thriller adaptations that kind of ruled the screens in the late 90s and kept Ashley Judd employed. Directed by new Cruise collaborator Christopher McQuarrie, Reacher revolves a basic mystery killer plot that kicks of with a extremely tense opening that may be challenging for some viewers to digest in light of the Sandy Hook tragedy and one that surely would have got this movie pulled when the D.C. Snipers were terrorizing the streets of our fair Prince George's and Montgomery Counties. When the police nab the perfect suspect, Tom Cruise, or Jack Reacher--same difference--shows up to reluctantly, at first, take the case. Now, I'm not at all familiar with Lee Child's Jack Reacher novels, but word on the'net is that Reacher looks more like Arnold Schwarzeneger than Tom Cruise. That said, Cruise swallows this role in so-much of his persona that it doesn't matter what Reacher was supposed to look like; he is Tom Cruise, no way around it. The rest of the flick plays out with a pretty standard litany of cliches and tropes, all wrapped around a mystery that is telegraphed in the first fifteen minutes, which is to say: there is no mystery--at all. Yet, the narrative is irrelevant to an astonishing degree because this is essentially another edition of the Tom Cruise Show, played tot he hilt in a way we haven't seen since the rise of Les Grossman.

Cruise is playing the same character he has been playing for years, only amped to an absurd degree that is similar to how Denzel Washington has consistently amped his decade-long performance of Alonzo Harris, and I appreciate it more in this film than I have in any of Cruise's films from the past five years. Cruise's Reacher is an unrepentant smartass who is clearly the smartest and toughest guy in the room, no matter what. If you are his enemy, you cannot hope to defeat him or outsmart him. If you are a woman, regardless of your affirmed sexual orientation, you will never resist him. Thus, Reacher becomes an exercise in full-tilt movie star  worship, not unlike this summer's Rock of Ages. But, why does Reacher work where Rock of Ages flopped? Simple, most members of the audience are accustomed to an audacity that borders on the stupidity in action movies. That audacity allows Michael Bay to 360 and  demolish his way to box-office gold with crap like Transformers; it is the same audacity that enabled Arnold Schwarzeneger to rule the box office for years despite some often questionable charisma. We suspend our disbelief so fully when we watch these broad far-reaching action flicks that we enter into a sort of "uncanny valley" where we no longer shirk from the absurdity and embrace it because it exists so far out of recognizable reality--a phenomena certain movie stars [coughTomCruiseWillSmithDenzelWashingtonNicolasCageetccough] are also experiencing--and taps into a subconscious desire, among most but not all, to become snarking badasses. Then, the flick laughs at us for thinking that way, and we laugh too, mostly because it's damned entertaining to see someone spit out lines like "I'm going to beat you to death then drink your blood from a boot"--which joins the hallowed ranks of lines like "King Kong ain't got $#!+ on me" and "Mahalo, motherf@#$er"--with just the right amount of winking and conviction.

Ultimately, that delicate balance between parody and ham-fisted seriousness, which is found in spades in Jack Reacher, will confuse a good chunk of audience. Many folks will go into Reacher expecting an action movie, and they will get that, albeit one that is decidedly retro in its aesthetic and narrative structure and generally middle of the road in terms of action. But, they will also find a phenomenally intentionally and unintentionally hilarious send up of contemporary actioners built around Holmsian supermen as well as a pretty stinging, if again unintentional  dig at Tom Cruise movies, in the vein of Knight and Day--only this time we, and the wide-eyed leading lady (Rosamund Pike) actually see the action. When viewed through this lens, Jack Reacher appears to be an elaborate joke, one that you need at least cursory knowledge of Cruise's oeuvre to truly understand. Indeed, it's possible that I may be the only who gets the joke, but I highly doubt it as audiences are always far smarter than Hollywood gives them credit for. Thus, going into Jack Reacher with the understanding that it is essentially a long gag, a false movie brought to life with only the barest of plots and cheapest action but a preponderance of earned and unearned laughs, will lead to surefire enjoyment, the likes of which have not been seen since another movie bait and switched seriousness for unintentional  and lasting hilarity. That equally thinly plotted and ridiculously cliched yet eminently enjoyable movie: Training Day.

Same Old Vanilla Fantasy: Why It's No Surprise that The Hobbit is Just Okay

"Hashish, you say?"

What a difference a decade...

and seven harry Potter movies...

and four Twilights...

and three Dark Knights....

and more than a dozen other fantasy epics...

....makes.

Ten years ago, Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy was something special. it was a never-before-seen event that delivered a fantasy world more tangible than any that had preceded it. It was expansive at a time when fantasy and sci-fi, outside of Star Wars, was still treated with a light touch and barely a modicum of respect from audiences and auteurs. But Jackson's LotR trilogy changed things. More specifically, the success of the trilogy changed things. Jackson showed Hollywood that big-budget fantasy not only had a place in the market, but it could dominate the market, kick off a franchise, earn awards, produce multiple DVD releases, and force audiences to sit in awe at a 3-hour video game--albeit with a gripping story, stunning effects, and amazing performances--all after a marathon filming schedule. The result: today, we are inundated with  fantasy, sci-fi, and superhero epics and franchise starters by the boatload. Few of which even bother to demonstrate a hint of either gender, racial, or cultural diversity among its casts. Fewer still indulge in anything other than broad, rote examinations of the sweeping moral, ethical, and social issues that form at the core of their narratives. Thus, LotR, with its lily-white exaltation of wartime brotherhood, begat the current trend of ambitious but generally oblivious epic entertainment that now welcomes The Hobbit. The Hobbit is indeed gorgeous and technically proficient with a delightfully slight and inoffensive, if not particularly electric, narrative that has been extended to epic proportions. Yet, aside from its 48 frame per second frame rate--which makes the movie either look like an awesome 3D ride or a sped-up soap opera--Jackson's latest is no different than anything that has graced the silver screen in the past ten years, and that's okay because only the most die-hard Jackson apologists and Tolkienites expected anything different.

The 1977 animated adaptation of The Hobbit, clocking in at a scant 77 minutes, was the first adaptation of The Hobbit I ever saw, and one of the earliest "feature" length pieces of animation I recall watching. It wrapped the tale of Bilbo Baggins and his journey to defeat the dwarf-smashing dragon Smaug with such completeness and brevity that I was shocked it was only a precursor to a much longer, darker tale. Unfortunately, as much of the online community is well aware, Jackson abandoned such brevity in favor of kickstarting a new Tolkien trilogy. Despite all arguments and proclamations to the contrary, there's no way that was a decision dictated purely by creative desires. Essentially, Jackson has turned The Hobbit into a multi-film experience in the vein of Deathly Hallows and Breaking Dawn. It has been split into a series to meet the supposed needs of an audience that craves serialization, despite the very real possibility that said audience is likely growing tired of such nakedly greedy shenanigans. More to the point it reduces, ironically, a swift, light-hearted tale to a cardboard cut-out epic, with a HFR!

The best response to this movie came from my girlfriend:

"They went all that way and spent all that time, and they still didn't get to that damn dragon? Come on!"

Sadly, my response was:

"With Lord of the Rings movies, that's pretty much how it goes."

That is heartbreaking. As an audience, we should not be so accustomed to such ploys. Yet, in the age of the geek epic, such is to be expected, for good and ill. In the case of The Hobbit, the expansion mostly works against the material, as there is a clear, if unnecessarily complex, impetus for the narrative to move forward as quickly as possible: Thorin Oakenshield and a company of dwarves from the demolished dwarf-kingdom of Ebenor "The Lonely Mountain" must reach a secret gate at an opportune moment so they may sneak into their former kingdom and reclaim it from the evil dragon, Smaug. Simple. And, in any standard quest action flick or heist flick, which this resembles to more of a degree than Jackson and company may be willing to admit, this would take two maybe two and a half hours of screen time to wrap up. Extending the narrative only serves to draw attention to foibles that could have easily been accepted or glossed over in a shorter, more surefooted narrative.

Instead, The Hobbit is a bit of a slog, mostly in the beginning as with most LotR movies. It spends a significant amount of time on a gathering of heroes that develops maybe 5 out of its 15 heroes. Admittedly, that's a lot of character work to cover, and I understand and applaud Jackson's decision to focus on the needs of the few over the many. However, the audience knows they're going to be with these characters for at least two more years, so some attention should have been devoted to ensuring that we at least knew every dwarf's name. That said, the central characters of this installment are fairly worthy attention, despite being retrograde rips on Frodo, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. Martin Freeman does solid work job as the unsure, but secretly thrill-seeking Bilbo. He gives Bilbo an eagerness and bristling nature that makes the character tougher than Frodo yet still a bit uncomfortable amongst the warrior dwarves. Richard Armitage's Thorin is essentially Aragorn as an angry, stubborn dwarf, but one whose story is far more personal than Aragron's ever was, which allows the audience to better connect with the character. Ian McKellan brings the requesite mischevious pluck and wit to Gandalf that makes Gandalf a far cooler wizard than Harry Potter will ever be, but not quite as cool as Dumbledore. Of course, Andy Serkis is on hand to bring life to everyone's favorite manic-depressive, ring-addicted Halfling, Gollum, just to show everyone on board how to bring some real life to the party. The rest? Well, I'm still trying to remember their names. 

Character development is but one, odd, victim of The Hobbit Franchise Expansion, as the pacing is the element that suffers most from Jackson and the studio's franchise planning. Granted, all LotR movies are long, with a tendency to meander into moments of awe and philosophical navel-gazing before breaking out into full-on Orc slaughterfests, but in the case of The Hobbit, sluggish pacing works against the narrative and alienates an audience that is losing the capacity for long-term attention spans by the second. The Hobbit is a narrative that is as propulsive as it is episodic. Sure, there are diversions along the way, such as the giant spider battles and the rescue from the Wood-Elves, but the narrative is mostly focused on Bilbo getting the dwarves back to Ebenor, a task that is Herculean in terms of commitment required not duration. Essentially, adding a cliffhanger at the 2:30 mark turns The Hobbit into a very expensive mini-series, one that needed no such narrative cliffs and would have been better served as one complete, potentially 3-hour, film. More to the point, The Hobbit was designed as a children's fantasy novel. Parents out there: how many of you think any kid under 14 is going to sit through this experience after surviving 8 Harry Potters and four Twilights? Honestly, even for those of us with a high tolerance for long features, this is pushing our ability to stay focused and awake.

The saddest flaw the expansion spotlights is the lack of diversity. Yes, Tolkien's European -style fantasy has always been lily-white and male-dominated, but after years upon years of these narratives--looking at you, Avengers. Opting for Hawkeye, who is for all intents and purposes visually indistinguishable from Captain America, over Black panther is pretty inexcusable--is tiring. In 2001, LotR was so novel that its vanilla-ness was less of an issue, albeit one that was noticeable. In 2012, kids know that an African-American can be President just as sure as they can recognize the population of the world is not one color; an all-white, predominately male--Cate Blanchett's Galadriel is literally the only female with appreciable screentime--cast in a European fantasyland may be acceptable--and I wouldn't encourage Jackson to change a thing about the source material--but it starts to really seem unnatural, which is par for the course. Now, Jackson has no responsibility to comment on changing demographics or gender equality, but one has to wonder at what point a contemporary audience should start to balk at being fed the same stories about the same people over and over again. Maybe this is just my breaking point, and it's not yours. It doesn't have to be, but after a decade, I wonder if it wouldn't kill Hollywood to let a director give this kind of treatment to the Arabian Nights or the Journey to the West. Just for a change. I know it might not be profitable over the oceans, but would it hurt to give it a try?  

All things considered, The Hobbit may be a mildly entertaining technical wonder and a step forward for 48 fps cinematography, but it is a relic that reflects just how behind the curve Hollywood can be, as if that was ever a surprise.