Wide Angle: 2011 in Review

An article? A "think piece"? An indulgent journal of an LA cinephile? It's all part of my non-reviews in 'Wide Angle'

It's folly to unequivocally declare an entire year a good or bad one for movies - quality doesn't follow the calendar. It's easier than ever to curate your own viewing, making it tempting to perceive a critical mass of depth. On the other hand, the sheer number of releases available to the average person can also give one the feeling of drowning in a sea of dreck. A fruitless scan through the Netflix Streaming library is the new lament of the media-saturated mind, the "100 channels and nothing good on" of the next decade.

But it's helpful and instructive (and more than a little fun) to take stock of everything when a benchmark presents itself. I had a chance to do just that a couple of weeks ago with a top ten list for Screen Invasion. Such exercises can be frustrating because they will never be definitive, with second-guessing virtually guaranteed. It can't be helped. And to be honest, it's a big reason of what makes movies fun. Films are missed only to be discovered later, opinions are reconsidered, and experience interprets a story differently than it would have a year, a month, or even a week before. Doing a year-end survey like this really reminds me why I love the movies, these things than can be so trivial and yet so essential, explaining nothing but meaning everything.

Top Whatever
I don't see a whole lot of sense in numerical rankings or round numbers when talking about great films. So my list of 2011's best begins chronologically with the bizarre fable that was Rango, distinguished by a voice-acting performance from an A-list star (Johnny Depp) who is there to complete the character and not just to fill in space on the poster. The poetic Tree of Life confused and polarized and perfectly matched an uncompromising narrative to a daring method of storytelling. Conversely, Attack the Block was an unquestioned crowd-pleaser and announced itself as an instant genre classic in every frame.

The Interrupters was never easy to watch, but the way it invested a gritty topic with genuine warmth and hope was a stunning achievement. I can still hear the grumbling during the end credits of Drive, a tense and terrific rebuke to the consequence-free world of the typical action movie; similarly, Moneyball focused on a compelling human drama and proved that the best sports movies are not necessarily about sports.

Melancholia and The Skin I Live In were decadent, anxious, and personal movies orchestrated to maximum emotional effect by two great directors, but it doesn't get more personal than Martin Scorsese's Hugo, a wish-fulfillment fantasy for cinephiles that also captures pieces from the reality of a lifelong love affair with film. And sneaking in at the end of the year, A Separation belied its unassuming nature with a story and performances that cut to the quick while We Need to Talk About Kevin delivered the goods in every aspect of its lurid premise.

Other Good Stuff
2011 had plenty of films that were a notch or two below greatness but no less memorable, including the moving biography Senna, the inscrutable Into the Abyss, the elegiac War Horse, the hilarious Bridesmaids, and the intimate Another Earth.

50/50 successfully mixed pathos with comedy, as did The Trip. And The Artist, whether trifling or manipulative or unrealistic, was still a superior cinematic confection.

Best Performances
Only Ryan Gosling's taut, mannered work in Drive stands as tall as the Year of Michael Fassbender, whose tortured cycle of restraint and release elevated both Shame and A Dangerous Method. Newcomer Elizabeth Olsen hinted at an ocean of torment underneath a placid exterior as an cult escapee in Martha Marcy May Marlene, while Elena Anaya found a certain strength as another type of captive in The Skin I Live In.

The pairing of Kirsten Dunst and Charlotte Gainsbourg as Melancholia's sniping sisters was all the better for being so unexpectedly natural, likewise Paul Giamatti and Alex Shaffer in Win Win, where a non-professional actor and real-life wrestling champion brought out the best in an Oscar winner. Tilda Swinton (We Need to Talk About Kevin) and especially Michael Shannon (Take Shelter) gave great performances as individuals whose worst fears are not taken seriously, while Seth Rogen successfully translated his wisecracking schtick into a heartfelt role as a bulwark for a seriously ill friend in 50/50. And this list could not be complete without John Lithgow, who steals New Year's Eve with the briefest of scenes as a record executive who has to shriek lines like "But it's Grammy season!" in a hot, hammy lather as only he can.

Flawed But Fascinating
Midnight in Paris is an agreeable, lighthearted trip into the past but egregiously dresses up its simplistic themes in a way that makes its audience feel smart without having to do much actual thinking. Bellflower's unique visual style and interesting characters can't fully compensate for the ugliness of its second half, a juvenile and indulgent revenge fantasy that should captivate therapists for years to come.

But neither is anywhere near the piece of work that Sucker Punch is, Zach Snyder's hot mess of a thesis on feminism in pop culture. Somehow believing that he can coherently explore the physical and psychological oppression of women from the exploitative vantage point of a leering fanboy, Snyder's presence is heavily felt in every second of a fascinating disaster with a methodology far too dumb to properly execute an experiment this clever.

Most Unexpected Surprises
Raise your hand if you thought Rise of the Planet of the Apes would even be a watchable action flick, let alone a surprisingly thoughtful portrayal of the relationship between man and beast. The remake of Fright Night was another of 2011's entertaining overachievers, and I suppose Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol belongs here too for making us all forget that Tom Cruise is a bit of a weirdo.

Biggest Disappointments
Simon Pegg and Nick Frost's sterling track record was sullied by the inert, only sporadically funny Paul (maybe they should collaborate exclusively with Edgar Wright?). Super 8's nostalgia train derailed spectacularly as it squandered a pitch-perfect first act on two-thirds of a ridiculous monster movie. And don't get me wrong - I liked most of The Muppets, but it took a major second-half rally to make me forget its early tone-deaf humor and abundantly puzzling creative choices.

Just the Worst
I would just as soon forget the painfully unfunny Your Highness and ridiculous character dynamics of Something Borrowed, but I fear that nothing will be able to remove the stain of Human Centipede 2: Full Sequence from my memory. Inexplicably addressing his own (very small) audience with an undue sense of contempt, Tom Six at least makes clear his intentions in extending his ass-to-mouth horror "franchise" - he simply loves forcing people to swallow his shit.


And on that note, here's wishing everyone good health and good movies in 2012! Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and sometimes confronting me in person about my reviews. I can't wait to continue the conversation.

War Horse (2011)

War Horse (2011)
Dir. Steven Spielberg

4 out of 5

The use of horses as cavalry mounts and beasts of burden in World War I - a conflict that introduced so many horrors of modern combat - is a sad anachronism tailor-made for effusive metaphors of old ways surrendering to new. While director Steven Spielberg can't completely resist such obvious comparisons in War Horse, his adaptation of the critically-acclaimed play itself drawn from a children's novel, he deserves credit for largely avoiding simplifications and letting the story's elemental struggle between beauty and brutality unfold at its own pace. For the first half-hour it's the tale of a boy (Jeremy Irvine) and his horse, Joey, a magnificent and headstrong colt impulsively purchased by his father (Peter Mullan) at auction. Irvine's special bond with the animal is solidified when he must turn Joey into the plow-horse that Mullan was meant to acquire. This bond is then tested when the family's continuing financial struggles force Mullan to sell the horse to an English cavalry officer (Tom Hiddleston) shortly after Britain declares war on Germany.

From there Spielberg and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski create a gradual and seamless transition from the perpetual stillness of the verdant English countryside to the perpetual hell of the Western Front. Joey is featured in a series of vignettes that flow effortlessly into each other, winding up with a pair of deserters, a sickly French girl and her protective grandfather (Neils Arestrup), and a German artillery detail. Slowly but surely, the horse transforms into a type of ennobling symbol, a benchmark of the innocence lost in the great slaughter. Though the film's thematic motifs and emotional cues bear a certain resemblance to those in Saving Private Ryan, Spielberg's trademark sentimentality works just as well with this particular narrative, distinguished by a message more universal than the director's solemn tribute to the Greatest Generation.

War Horse also has a harshness that distinguishes it from typical feel-good fare. Few films do a better job of capturing the utter confusion of trench warfare and its complex mixture of savagery and camaraderie. Virgin forests quickly transform into the muddy, denuded wasteland of No Man's Land, where an encounter between the horse and two enemy soldiers turns into a conspicuously theatrical yet moving commentary on how the promise of friendship could possibly overcome an appetite for destruction. After spending so much time surrounded by anxiety and fear and muck, the film's one major misstep is raising the possibility of redemption too conveniently. But the world of War Horse is one of fundamentally good people trying to make the best of a terrible situation - caring for Joey allows them to believe in the brightness of humanity while they endure a maelstrom attributable to the worst angels of our nature. "The war has taken everything from everybody," remarks Arestrup, echoing a German officer who forcefully requisitions war matériel from his small family farm. After witnessing the film's endless string of sacrifices, a sweet catharsis is well deserved.

A Separation (2011)

A Separation (2011)
Dir. Asghar Farhadi

4.5 out of 5

A Separation is not so much about a difficult divorce as it is about loyalty, truth, and the vicissitudes of the Iranian justice system. The affecting domestic drama of estranged husband Nader (Peyman Moaadi) and wife Simin (the striking Leila Hatami) takes a backseat to the slow-burning intrigue that envelops Moaadi when he hires a working-class woman (Sareh Bayat) to look after his Alzheimer's-afflicted father. A series of misunderstandings and miscalculations lands Moaadi in hot water with the law, suddenly charged with murder after Bayat suffers a miscarriage while on the job.

The audience quite literally plays jury as the details of the case are hashed out in front of no one but the litigants and a judge operating out of a tiny office in the local courthouse. To Western eyes, these sessions have the look of informal hearings, but they are official proceedings that can produce a binding verdict. The process doesn't appear to involve any lawyers. There is much talk of honor and of God. Though Moaadi and Bayat are gradually convinced to negotiate a financial settlement, we hear plenty of times that it's not about the money. What's important is whose word can be trusted most. even though both parties waver when attempting to pass their stories through their personal moral barometers - for Bayat, the Qu'ran, and for Moaadi, his studious daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi, the real-life daughter of the film's director).

Watching the young girl's confidence in her father crumble is especially heartbreaking, and a crucial part of the emotional fabric of a film that has a tendency to put the concerns of its female characters on the back burner. After her compelling arguments for divorce in the opening sequence, Hatami disappears for long stretches of the film as it shifts almost exclusively to Moaadi's perspective. But it's probably this upending of expectations that makes A Separation so compelling. People make decisions big and small without knowing exactly where it will take them. Writer-director Asghar Farhadi has a similar perspective in weaving the threads of his unassuming dramatic tapestry, eventually rewarding the viewer who knows that life has a knack for unraveling at the corners.

We Bought a Zoo (2011)

We Bought a Zoo (2011)
Dir. Cameron Crowe

2.5 out of 5

Based on the memoir of a British newspaper columnist, We Bought a Zoo is a big-hearted dramedy about a widower (Matt Damon) who, well...it's right there in the title, and I'm not going to repeat it. His hope is that a financially risky whim can rehabilitate his grieving family, particularly troubled son Dylan (Colin Ford) who has been filling sketchbooks with angsty drawings that are a little like what Edvard Munch might have posted on deviantART. Damon must also win over the animal park's skeptical staff - led by zookeeper Scarlett Johansson - to get up and running by the summer tourist season.

Undeterred by the thin premise, director Cameron Crowe manages to stretch the film over two hours by relying heavily on melodramatic contrivances, time-expanding editing, and an unbearably lightweight set of obstacles to Damon's success. In a lazy attempt to build dramatic tension, Crowe and co-writer Aline Brosh McKenna settle for a string of hoary clichés, among them an outrageously strict bureaucrat (a campy John Michael Higgins) and an ill-timed rainstorm. All of this is at least partially redeemed by Damon's surprisingly dignified presence in an otherwise cloying role that requires him to hold a conversation with the ghost of his dead wife (Stephanie Szostak). He fares far better than Thomas Haden Church, on autopilot as Damon's surfer-bro brother who is forced to spout gag-inducing maxims like "I like the animals, but I love the humans."

To be fair, We Bought a Zoo makes a decent effort to address the moral complexities of owning a menagerie of exotic creatures. A subplot involving the declining health of the park's beloved tiger is as close as the film ever gets to evoking a genuine emotional response without relying on heated shouting matches or giggling toddlers. If only the rest of the movie was handled with such delicacy. Crowe is still adept at arranging a warm, inviting background for his experiments with a diverse palette of human emotion: witness solid supporting work from Elle Fanning as Ford's love(ish) interest and a finespun Jónsi score that trembles as much as it thunders. It's just a shame that he's endeavored to paint the rest with the broadest brushes in his arsenal.

The Adventures of Tintin (2011)

The Adventures of Tintin (2011)
Dir. Steven Spielberg

3 out of 5

The world of a beloved Belgian comic book hero bustles to life in the motion capture film The Adventures of Tintin, following the exploits of a young investigative journalist (Jaime Bell) as he unravels a centuries-old mystery involving a cache of hidden pirate gold. When Bell ignores a stranger's ominous warning and purchases an old model ship at a flea market, he comes into possession of a cryptic message that launches him into a maelstrom of adventure, intrigue, and murder. It turns out that the message is a clue leading the finder to treasure concealed on a real ship, the Unicorn, which was sent to the bottom of the sea with an untold fortune in gold bullion stashed in its hull. Joining forces with the tippling Captain Haddock (Andy Serkis), an ancestor of the Unicorn's original captain, Bell races to locate the ship's final resting place before a nefarious gentleman (Daniel Craig) who will use any means necessary to get there first. It's the type of ruddy, two-fisted adventure story from the time when Men were Men, sea captains were lovable drunkards, and villains wore mustaches just begging to be twirled.

Tintin features perhaps the most colorful and fluid use of motion capture animation to date. It's a wide-angle cartoon that takes unabashed pleasure in flaunting the laws of physics - a license Spielberg takes full advantage of with impossible tracking shots and a giddy mayhem that's both breathtakingly dense and just plain noisy. The visuals strike an agreeable balance between photorealism and comic surrealism; characters' noses seem to have been assigned in a particularly haphazard and sometimes tragic fashion. Spielberg is successful in being as faithful to the look of the original Hergé books as he possibly can, while adding the proper cinematic touches - a rousing John Williams score here, some deft editing there, topped by the clever juxtaposition of an inebriate Haddock acting out lengthy flashbacks to events on the Unicorn.

But while Tintin is often evocative of a great adventure yarn, the final product is somewhat less than the sum of its parts. Not even a king's ransom of creative talent - Spielberg, producer Peter Jackson, and three-headed writing hydra Steven Moffat, Edgar Wright, and Joe Cornish - can disguise the fact that the actual Tintin stories haven't aged particularly well. Nor is it guaranteed to capture an aged imagination: the film's intended audience skews younger than you might expect, and there is plenty of room for dissatisfaction in its simplistic, circular storytelling. Bringing modern technology to bear upon this antiquated Euro-curio has not changed its essence, keeping Tintin as clear-eyed and optimistic as ever but making it the cinematic equivalent of a splashy Sunday comics serial that temporarily stirs the senses before being folded up with the rest of yesterday's news.

Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)

Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Dir. Brad Bird

3.5 out of 5

Your mission, should you choose to accept it...these are words that call not only to Mission: Impossible series lynchpin Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise), but also to the bevy of action-minded directors who have each taken a turn at the helm of this surprisingly hardy franchise. In Ghost Protocol it's former Pixar wunderkind Brad Bird (The Incredibles) who accepts the invitation to play with M:I's inexhaustible toybox of high-wire thrills in his live-action debut and, in doing so, submits the series' best entry since the original. After a bombing at the Kremlin gets pinned on Cruise, he must go off the grid with teammates Simon Pegg, Paula Patton, and Jeremy Renner to pursue a twisted nuclear scientist (Michael Nyqvist) hell-bent on initiating a global thermonuclear war. Veteran spies just can't seem to go more than a few missions (or a couple movies) without needing to restore their good names.

While much of the film is comprised of recycled parts from other spy thrillers, Bird manages to keep the proceedings fresh by refusing to let the audience catch its breath, taking advantage of as many swooping helicopter shots as Paramount can afford. With a narrative confined to three major locations, the action remains coherent and focused, even as the heroes produce a menagerie of gadgets that can't all have fit in their duffel bags. But it's difficult to sweat the details when the next breathtaking action sequence is just around the corner. Cruise and company's visit to Dubai is particularly noteworthy, a bravura piece of action filmmaking that manages to pack as much suspense into a tense exchange of stolen nuclear codes as a risky ascent of the world's tallest skyscraper.

Ghost Protocol suffers whenever there's a plot-necessitated lull - if you see the main characters sitting around a table or standing in a circle, you can be fairly certain that someone is about to start dictating their allotment of the film's expository dialogue. The entire Mission: Impossible series also shoulders the unique burden of attempting to humanize the action automaton that is Hunt/Cruise. It's mitigated in this film by the addition of new agent Renner, who lends a wry skepticism to a franchise that tends to project a greater swagger than it has truly earned. Truth be told, Ghost Protocol isn't too far from being a James Bond rip-off with more than a few hastily-drawn roles, but luckily distinguishes itself with an excess of confidence and panache. It may not stand up to the closest scrutiny, but it's such a successfully wild, satisfying ride that any direct resemblance to other films always feels more kindred than derivative.

The Descendants (2011)

The Descendants (2011)
Dir. Alexander Payne

3 out of 5

Far from an exotic paradise where people come to while away the hours in a sleepy idyll, the Hawaii portrayed in The Descendants is a thoroughly modern place, full of anxiety about family, money, and the Way We Live Now. It's not much more than a picturesque place for the American dream to die. Not that busy lawyer George Clooney is in any danger of losing the farm. He does, however, have a million headaches as the sole trustee for a old missionary family's massive tract of virgin beachfront property and the sole parent to a wayward teenage daughter (Shailene Woodley) and a younger one (Amara Miller) who might be headed down the same path. A virtual widower due to a boating accident that has left his wife in a coma, Clooney stumbles upon an unexpected connection between financial and familial crises: his dear spouse was sleeping with the real estate agent who's poised to negotiate the sale of his family's land. "Fuck paradise," he asserts in the copious narrated exposition that begins the film. It's difficult to disagree with him.

A ramshackle plot like this needs a solid anchor, and it has an excellent one in Clooney. His performance is subtly magnificent, conveying the quiet impotence of a successful striver who can't fathom why everyone else has such trouble keeping up. It's a slightly darker spin on the his character from Up In the Air, where he played a cocksure man who is just learning what it truly means to fail. The Descendants throws even more slings and arrows his way, triggering a simmering rage that manifests itself in frequent verbal confrontation. This is an Alexander Payne film, after all - violence delineates the uncouth and the stupid from the heroic. It's telling that the only hand raised in anger belongs to Clooney's exaggerated bully of a father-in-law (Robert Forster) and comes down upon Woodley's beatific moron of a friend (Nick Krause).

While strong at its center, The Descendants struggles to provide its protagonist with worthy accoutrements. The dialogue is often clunky, particularly that of the younger characters, and the pacing gets tiresome as Clooney bounces from emergency to emergency like a schizophrenic superhero. Beau Bridges has a nice little turn as one of the cousins pressuring Clooney to ignore his moral misgivings and sell the family's land, but the rest of the characterizations are often too weak and set up a clumsy dichotomy between the competent Clooney and the selfish sharks that surround him. That's a shame, because The Descendants ultimately has an affecting message about the immutable bonds of family. It would just be better if it wasn't such a one-man show.