Monday, December 30, 2013

Favorite Movies of 2013

The list-making continues! My post for my favorite music of 2013 went over pretty well (in fact, it became the most viewed post yet on this blog; thanks for that!), so I thought I'd continue to contribute to the Internet's year-end obsession with lists. This time: my favorite movies of the year.

It's been kind of funny keeping up with the critical conversation of cinema in 2013. If you look back to June, July, and August, it seems like all anyone was talking about was how broken the current Hollywood system is, the emptiness of this year's plate of blockbusters, the suppression of unique vision in American cinema, the overemphasis on foreign marketing, etc. Even well-respected industry veterans bemoaned the state of film in America. But come mid-autumn, something changed. Well, actually, I'm not sure anything really changedthe Hollywood system, I assume, is still as problematic as ever—but what did happen was that a whole lot of good movies started hitting theaters, and now, you don't have to look too hard to find people calling 2013 one of the best years for movies in recent memory.

I don't think I ever got quite as cynical about the future of cinema as some professionals did, but I am still pleasantly surprised at how great a year for movies this one turned out to be (although I'd say 2010 and 2007 have it beat, as far as "best in recent memory" goes). Considering all the fantastic films that came out this year, it was really hard to narrow this list down to a Top 10, so I've added an appendix of sorts to recognize other noteworthy movies from 2013—because what pop culture list couldn't benefit from being a little longer, right? As always, if you disagree with me, I'd love to hear about it. I've said it before, but the most valuable thing about lists like this one is not the ranking itself (which, after all, is a kind of silly thing to do) but the discussion to come out of the ranking. So please feel free to post your own lists in the comments below or on Facebook or wherever. I'd love to hear from y'all.

Two more things before the actual listfirst: the movies I considered for this list are ones that had a theatrical release in the US during 2013. That means a few movies here might have actually been released in 2012 but didn't reach America until this year. Second: unlike music or literature, it is actually technically possible to see every theatrical release in a given year; however, I didn't, so there are several movies out there that probably would have made this list had I gotten to see them. The two I'm primarily thinking of are 12 Years a Slave (semester got busy, then I couldn't find it in a theater) and Her (don't even get me started on how frustrated I get about movies that don't get wide releases in the same year that they're up for awards), but I'm sure there are others out there I would have enjoyedAll Is Lost, Frozen, Captain Phillips, Dallas Buyers Club, Short Term 12, and The Spectacular Now spring to mind already, not to mention the host of blockbusters I haven't caught up with yet (Star Trek: Into Darkness and Thor: The Dark World, to name a couple). I know there's technically still a day left in the year, but it's not looking like I'll be able to get out to see anything else, so I figured I'd just go ahead and publish this list now. Let me know if I missed something else awesome.

Now, the movies!

Favorite Movies

1. Before Midnight
Since the release of Toy Story 3, I've contended that the Toy Story movies are the best film trilogy of all time. And while I'm not exactly reneging on that idea just yet, the Before... movies are giving Pixar a run for its money. Part of what's so revelatory about Jesse and Céline's story is that each successive installment has a way of making the previous movies feel incomplete without it. Without Before Sunset, Before Sunrise is just the story of a coincidence, not the beginning of a majestic love story. Now, with the hindsight of Before Midnight, the previous two become blindly romantic (albeit masterfully crafted) fairy tales. Throughout its often harrowing 109 minutes, Before Midnight picks apart every little bit of idealism in its predecessors, forming a stunning depiction of two people as broken as any of us.


2. Gravity
If nothing else, Gravity wins the award for most stressful movie of the year, and by a considerable margin. But this isn't a nothing-else situation. Gravity is an embarrassment of cinematic riches, from the masterful use of CG effects to the swooping, inventive camerawork to the primal man-vs.-nature story that, despite the space-age setting, feels ancient, almost mythic. People have complained that the movie skimps on character development (and even I'll grant that the movie cheats majorly at one point near the end), but I don't really think character is the point, not in a modern sense. Sandra Bullock's character is more reminiscent of Gilgamesh or Odysseus than Ellen Ripley, fighting erratic gods in order to say something sweeping about humanity. Oh yeah, and it's also great blockbuster entertainment.


3. The World's End
Though not quite as funny as Hot Fuzz or Shawn of the Dead, The World's End is, for my money, the most mature, thematically rich, and flat-out best of the Edgar Wright/Simon Pegg "Cornetto Trilogy" (though to be honest, I didn't know the trilogy had that name until just recently, and I didn't know "Cornetto" was ice cream until even more recentlyshame). But don't take "not as funny" to mean "not funny at all"; The World's End is often hilarious, with jokes that are at once silly, meticulously constructed, and satirically sharp. It's just that more than any of the previous Cornetto entries (and probably more so than any Wright creation, save maybe a few episodes of Spaced), The World's End focuses on the brokenness and misery of its characters. And it's all the more powerful for it.


4. Stoker
I've never seen Oldboy (neither the original nor this year's Spike Lee remake), but if Stoker is any indication of director Park Chan-wook's visual flair and twisted, twisted sense of humor, I should seek out Oldboy pronto. Stoker is a movie unhinged in the best way possible, completely mesmerizing in its over-the-top gothicness and self-aware cinematographic antics. The big hooks here are the camera work and editing, which are immaculate and darkly witty. It's the kind of film Alfred Hitchcock would have made if he'd survived into the post-Tarantino film world, form and function meeting seamlessly. The style and overall grisliness may not be for everyone, but for those of us who can dig it, it's a great ride.



5. Inside Llewyn Davis [1]
One thing Joel and Ethan Coen don't get all that much attention for is their use of physical humor (especially in their existential works, a category in which this film totally fits), but one of the many pleasures of Inside Llewyn Davis is that it's a great showcase of their talent for wringing comedy out of subtle physical interactions. The scenes with the cat, of course, are wonderfully choreographed bits reminiscent of old Disney shorts, but even beyond that, John Goodman, "Please, Mr. Kennedy," and so on provide great gags. What's even greater, though, is the emotional sincerity that comedy services. People rag on the Coens for being detached, but this film, along with their last feature, True Grit, seems to indicate a new period of emotional forthrightness for these guys. I'm cool with that.


6. American Hustle
Saying that "some of this actually happened" is probably the best way possible to introduce writer/director David O. Russell's latest film (or really, any "based on a true story" movie). Thankfully, that's exactly American Hustle's claim in its opening title card, preemptively dodging the tiresome trend of fact-checking every movie with any semblance of realism (an astronaut vouches for the realism of Gravity! Real-life PK finds Carrie highly inaccurate[2]!) while also announcing the film's commitment to both farce and "hey, this is kinda like real life" observationalism. And make no mistake: this is a farce. I mean that in the best way possible. Some have called it "Scorcese-lite," but that assumes a straighter face than American Hustle ever wears. Most of the movie is for yucks. And what yucks they are.


7. Frances Ha
If you're into the "indie" corner of the film world at all, you've seen this movie before: over-educated twentysomethings wandering NYC aimlessly, afflicted by ennui and the crushing burden of being sophisticated white people in the cultural center of the United States. If I'm being a little snide, that's only because the movie itself is a little snide. Several moments in Frances Ha (the "Everyone's a Winner" montage; the "you aren't poor" interchange) are refreshingly self-conscious about the shortcomings of its characters in a way that this sort of movie usually isn't. What makes Frances Ha a winner, though, is that it balances out this self-critique with a warm sense of humor and a sincere affection for Frances, despite her flaws. It's a movie deft enough to have both biting honesty and a beating heart at its core.


8. In the House (Dans la maison)
Remember the end of Atonement? Well, imagine that stretched into a full-length movie told by way of Stephen King's novella "Apt Pupil," and you'll have a pretty good idea of the kind of experience you're in for with In the House. What at first seems to be a critique of the French educational system quickly morphs into something much stranger, an exploration of the nature of literature and the relationship between author, audience, and art. It's at once a thriller, a black comedy, and a (sometimes) tender character study that never ceases to be inventive and insightful.




9. Monsters University
Reports of Pixar's demise are greatly exaggerated. While the studio's recent abundance of sequels in current and future projects is troubling in the abstract, as long as they keep making movies with the grace of Monsters University, we shouldn't be in too much trouble in practice. Look, I'm just as much of a fan of Pixar's more showily daring movies as the next guy (WALL-E and Up are awesome), but there's something to be said for their more accessible features. Scratch that; labeling Monsters University as "only" accessible or family-friendly sells it short and ignores how the movie is quietly daring in its own way. I've already talked about that idea at length, so I won't belabor the point. Just go see MU if you haven't. It's quite good.
 

10. Drug War (Du zhan 毒戰)
My exposure to non-English-language movies is sadly lacking, and my exposure to non-Western, non-English-language movies is even worse. So it's a happy coincidence that the only new non-Western, non-English-language movie I saw all year turned out to be one of the best films I saw all year, period. Drug War is a tight thriller about the policing of the drug trade in China. I don't know enough about Chinese crime to have anything intelligent to say about the social commentary this movie engages in (see again: my embarrassing lack of exposure to the non-Western world), but what I do know is this: it's exciting, smartly paced, thought-provoking, and fun in that meat-and-potatoes way of the best crime thrillers.



Appendix: Miscellaneous Movies Also Worth Noting

Favorite Movies, Documentary Division: Stories We Tell and Cutie and the Boxer—By all accounts, it was a great year for documentaries, too, and I'm bummed I didn't have room in my Top 10 to recognize any. So, lest they be ignored, here are two documentaries from this year that I enjoyed. Coincidentally, they're both observant, sensitive examinations of the intersections between storytelling and family relationships, and not so coincidentally, they're both very good. Harder, more journalistic documentaries came out this year, but these two were the most beautiful ones I saw.

Best Action in an Action Movie, Runner Up: Pacific Rim—Honestly, this award should go to Gravity, but since that's already getting glory aplenty at #2 up there, I thought I'd give a shout-out to Pacific Rim, which is a blast in its action sequences.

Best Non-Action in an Action Movie: Iron Man 3—The action is okay, but where Iron Man 3 really shines are the long, actionless stretches where the characters are just hanging out, shooting the breeze. It's fun, and some of the best character work in the Avengers-connected Marvel movies.

Biggest Surprise: The Hunger Games: Catching Fire—I liked the first Hunger Games movie okay (and even thought it was an improvement over the book it was adapting), but the bland competence of the first movie did nothing to prepare me for how immensely entertaining and just plain good its sequel would be.

Best Use of Outer Space, Runner Up: Europa ReportGravity wins again. But really, Europa Report does a fantastic job of capturing an austerity and mystery that (I imagine) space instills in those who travel through it. Found footage has been overdone (and this one isn't without its shortcomings—lookin' at you, ending), but for fans of golden-age sci-fi, Europa Report is worth a look. 

Best Sci-Fi, Non-Space Division, Incomprehensible Division: Upstream Color—It's not as hopelessly confusing as Shane Carruth's other feature film, Primer, but I'd be lying to you if I said I understood everything about UC. That's not a bad thing, though. Like Primer, a lot of the power of this movie comes from the feeling of letting go, of allowing the narrative complexity wash over you. It's also like a thousand times better-looking than Primer, which makes the washing-over that much more beautiful.

Movie That Most Benefits from Being Based on True Events: The Bling Ring—Sure, The Bling Ring is beautifully shot, has a few killer scenes, and is generally well-made. But the thing I find most engaging about the movie is that people actually did this!! Maybe I'm more star-struck than I should be, but the absolute craziness of a bunch of bored teenagers robbing celebrities blind and the celebrities not noticing (!) feels more at home in satire than real life. But lo and behold, it's real, y'all [3].

Movie Almost Ruined by a Secondary Character: The Kings of SummerMoisés Arias's character was so gratingly absurd and out-of-place in this otherwise winsome coming-of-age dramedy.

Movie I Want to Like More Than I Do: The Place Beyond the Pines—It's complex and interesting and sophisticated, but darn it all, it seems like every time I'm getting into it, the film switches gears, and I lose it.

Worst Use of a Director's Worst Tendency: Terrence Malick's To the WonderSo. Many. Voiceovers.

Great Job, Michael Cera! Award: Crystal Fairy—I really didn't like this movie at all, but hopefully Michael Cera's utterly fearless turn as a douchey drug tourist will finally put to rest the misconception that he can't do anything besides pretend to be George Michael Bluth [4]. It's a phenomenal performance in a film that didn't sell me on anything else.

Great Job Yet Again, Jessica Chastain! Award: Mama—A pretty good horror movie with two great things going for it: first, it realizes that most great horror stories are really just great tragedies, and second, it stars Jessica Chastain. Her breathtaking work in last year's Zero Dark Thirty should have cemented her status as a legitimately great actress, but if you needed any more proof, look no further than Mama.

Pi Award for Bizarre but Oddly Compelling Black and White Movie About Early Computing: Computer Chess—It's a weird one, for sure, but if you can get on its level, it's a hilarious and kind of sweet exploration of intersecting fringe groups. Plus, for nerds like me, all that old computer technology is super nifty to look at.

Best Non-2013 Movie I Saw for the First Time in 2013: His Girl Friday—This movie is so good, I'm legitimately sad I can't experience it again for the first time. Comedy sometimes doesn't age well, but this one certainly did; that it has some of the most virtuosic dialogue I've ever seen in a movie no doubt helps.

That's all I've got for now. Don't forget to disagree with me.

Until next time!

1] If anyone's curious how Inside Llewyn Davis ranks in my previous rundown of Coen brothers movies, I'd put it squarely in the middle, right between Raising Arizona and A Serious Man. It's a testament to the ridiculously deep nature of their filmography that I have to put a movie as good as Llewyn Davis so low.

2] Unfortunately, this one's a fake. Real PKs never reveal the secrets of their trade!

3] Part of me also feels exceptionally cloistered for not hearing about the robberies when they happened in '08 and '09. And another part of me feels kind of bad for being this excited about theft. Maybe I should stop criticizing those "Team Walt" Breaking Bad fans.

4] Even George Michael Bluth didn't act like George Michael Bluth this year. His transformation into a half-hearted Bluth-douche was one of the funnier things about this year's new Arrested Development (a season which I liked quite a bit, by the way). Perhaps Mr. Cera has found his new niche.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Christian and Non-Christian Influences in High Fantasy Literature


For the longest time, I was a big fan of high fantasy. The Chronicles of Narnia were some of the first "grown up" books (i.e. more words than pictures) I ever read, and by the time I got to middle school, I was devouring Lord of the Rings, Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea books, and whatever Terry Brooks was writing at the moment (which I can now scarcely remember, such was Brooks's impact on me apparently). Sometime late in high school, I kind of fell out of the genre, though I still enjoy reading a good epic quest from time to time[1]. But anyway, the point is that I read a lot of that sort of thing.

One particular series that stands out in my mind is Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising sequence, which is really the main event of this post. The more I think about this series, the more it feels to me like a complete anomaly in the high fantasy genre.

For those who don't know[2], The Dark Is Rising sequence is a series of five children's books (although they probably would have been classified as YA novels if such a distinction existed at the time) written in the '60s and '70s during the post-LoTR explosion of epic fantasy literature. The main premise of the books is this: throughout history two forces—the Light and the Dark—have fought for control over Earth. The Old Ones, an ancient order of protectors allied with the Light, have to collect five magical artifacts to defeat the Dark, which is (you guessed it) rising for one final battle in which the fate of the planet hangs in the balance, and in order to do so, the Old Ones recruit several British schoolchildren (among whom is Will Stanton, a sort of Chosen One) to help them save the world. Pretty standard high fantasy stuff, right? Well, sort of.

Now, there is a whole host of reasons why The Dark Is Rising stands out as a non-standard entry in the fantasy canon, but here's the one I want to focus on in this post: unlike almost every other fantasy series I read growing up, this series values its pagan influences over its Christian ones.

Pretty much every modern fantasy epic has two major influences on its storytelling and world-building philosophies: medieval Christianity and pre-Christian European mythology[3]. From medieval Christianity, we get the setting (castles, noble knights, etc.) and the overriding storytelling morality of absolute good vs. absolute evil (including the accompanying imagery—white=good; black=bad). From European paganism, we get wizards/druids, dwarves, magic rings, and pretty much all the other mythical trappings. Of course, that's an oversimplification of the factors at play in fantasy, but I do think (please correct me if I'm wrong) it's broadly accurate.

What ends up happening in most traditional fantasy sagas is that the pagan elements (aka the magic) work in service of Christian ones. Consider (as anyone must when discussing this genre) Tolkien. Lord of the Rings has pagan influences aplenty: magic items, monsters, cloaked figures who perform ancient ceremonies—all that comes from pre-Christian Norse and Celtic mythology; Tolkien even cribbed some of the names (Gimli, for instance) directly from Norse myth. But the storytelling ends to which Tolkien puts these influences to use are decidedly Christian. Lord of the Rings, with its redemptive plot arcs, corruptible humanity, and figures of pure good and evil, is an undeniably Christian work that uses its non-Christian elements as tools. The same thing happens in most other fantasy epics I'm familiar with. The individual components may harken back Norse, Celtic, or even Greco-Roman mythology, but the central philosophy and storytelling devices are more in-line with Christian thought[4].

Cernunnos, letting it all hang out

That's not really the case with The Dark Is Rising. Sure, the series has Christian influences (the books make frequent allusions to churches, King Arthur pops up in conversation from time to time, and iconography like crosses plays an important role in the plot), but as the sequence progresses, pre-Christian Celtic narratives crop up more and more. For example, Herne the Hunter (a folk figure often connected with Celtic deity Cernunnos) makes a prominent appearance in the second book, while the third book is entirely focused on a town's annual "greenwitch" offering, which seems to be a benign version (read: no killing) of the Druid wicker man tradition. By the fourth book, it's revealed that three powers (not just the Light and Dark) rule over the world, effectively doing away with binary morality. And these aren't just passing allusions; these are major mythological touchstones for the sake of themselves, without any sort of Christian endgame. By the end of the series, it's clear that The Dark Is Rising is first and foremost interested in ancient traditions that predate Christianity's arrival in the British Isles, and it uses its fantasy structure to build a story more in-step with those traditions than any Western ideology. In a way, it's reminiscent of the original Wicker Man movie, only without all the human sacrifice and horrorhow a mostly Christian (or at least Western) premise gives way to an exploration of how ancient Celtic traditions override modern sensibilities.

In a way, The Dark Is Rising takes the medieval Christian tendency to appropriate pagan traditions for theological ends (just check out the historical origins of our Christmas and Halloween celebrations) and turns it on its head, using high fantasy, a genre typically associated with Christian mores, to explore old Celtic beliefs. That's pretty fascinating stuff, even if I for one identify much more (aka completely) with Christianity than Celtic paganism.

Not the bees... oh wait.

I feel like I need to end this discussion by reiterating that I haven't paid nearly as much attention to the genre recently as I did in my middle and high school years. If I ever was an expert on epic fantasy, I certainly am not one now. Furthermore, I've never been an expert on mythology. So take all these ideas with a grain of salt. This post is more of a rambling muse than a well-researched treatise on the subject. If any of you out there know more on either subject, I'd love to hear about it!

As always, I'm super willing to discuss anything you might bring up, and moreover, I'm sure I've said something reductive, stupid, or just plain wrong in the above paragraphs. So let me know what you think. Thanks so much for reading.

Until next time.


1] In fact, I just finished Neil Gaiman's American Gods, which is pretty much a high fantasy novel set in the contemporary USA.

2] Judging from its ubiquity in libraries, I think there must have been a time when this series was at least semi-popular, but I rarely hear it discussed nowadays. Aside from a go-nowhere attempt to adapt the books into a series of movies with The Seeker (which I haven't seen but is by all accounts pretty lousy), I get the impression that not too many people pay attention to The Dark Is Rising sequence anymore. Maybe I just fly in the wrong circles, though, so apologies if I'm pretending like these books are more obscure than they are.

3] You could probably say, more accurately, that every modern fantasy epic has one influence, Lord of the Rings, and that Lord of the Rings is the one directly influenced by Christianity and paganism.

4] I'm not saying that fantasy authors always have Christian intentions or identify with the Christian religion (though that certainly seems to be the case with J. R. R. Tolkien and his fantasy co-conspirator, C. S. Lewis), but the conventions of 20th-century English-language fantasy do tend toward broadly Christian ideology, even if not in an explicitly theological way. Maybe a better way to put it is that they represent the generally Western way of thinking most closely aligned with Christianity. Even Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, as explicitly anti-Christian as it may be, still uses Western Christianity as a primary philosophical touchstone, if only to refute it.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Watching The Twilight Zone at Night: It's Different

 Da da dee doo, da da dee doo...

"There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area we call the Twilight Zone." - Rod Serling, Twilight Zone opening credits 

On and off for the last year or so, I've been working my way through The Twilight Zone. Now, I've seen a good portion of the show's episodes before on TV, but this is my first time watching through the series from beginning to endthanks to the wonders of modern media, via Netflix and Hulu (which, between the two of them, have every episode). And I've noticed something that never occurred to me before: more than any other show I can think of, The Twilight Zone benefits from context.

I'm not talking about context in the sense of the social, political, or historical background surrounding the show's creation (though, given the sheer number of Cold War allegories, there's something to be said for that). What I mean is the physical context of any given viewer of the show, the literal space surrounding the TV set, computer screen, or whatever the view chooses to watch it on. Basically, how you watch The Twilight Zone has a huge consequences on its effectiveness.

Before my discovery of its availability on streaming services, my only exposure to The Twilight Zone was through late-night TV marathons of the show that aired during my middle and high school years. Often I'd be sleeping over at a friend's house, my buddy and I flipping through the channels at some weird hour of the night as the manic energy of the sleepover's escapades (video games, junk food, etc.) dissipated. Half asleep, we'd stumble upon some episode of the show, immediately arrested by Rod Serling's monologue or a singularly striking image of sci-fi weirdness, and before we knew it, we'd watched seven or eight of the suckers, and it was 4:30 am. The experience was nightmarish, sad, hazy, and a little funny, and we'd wake up the next morning with only sketchy memories of the episodes we'd watched.

That, I argue, is the single most effective way to watch The Twilight Zone: randomly discovered in the middle of the night, with the lights off, with your mind slowly falling asleep.

What I've found upon revisiting the show is that watching it fully alert in the middle of the day or at dinner time or over breakfast is a completely different experience. That's not to say that the show isn't still great (in fact, I'd still rank it among the best TV shows ever), but it is a decidedly different series at 3 pm than it is at 3 am. During the day, The Twilight Zone is a well-written (if occasionally over-written), immaculately paced, inventive show that vacillates between a twisted sense of humor and a deeply humanist impulse for sentimentality. But in the middle of the night, in the dark, all those intellectual characteristics take a back seat to the oppressive and altogether unnerving mood. Each episode begins with an uncanny feeling of displacement that grows over the next thirty minutes until it blossoms into the terrible realization that there is something irreversibly not right about the world. The logic of the show (which is occasionally shaky) ceases to matter, and the story on the TV becomes phantasmagorical, making only enough sense to convey twisted epiphanies and the fearful awe of encountering the unknown.

Okay, yeah, I'm getting a little over-the-top—that last paragraph was just about as purple (albeit not as eloquent) as a Rod Sterling intro. But it really is striking how much your state-of-mind and the surrounding environment affect how you view the show [1]. Or maybe that's just me. After all, everyone brings their own set of emotions, biases, and experiences to the art they consume. All I know is that I can watch shows like Lost or Seinfeld at any time and get roughly the same thing out of the experience; not so with The Twilight Zone. I dunno, maybe it really does take place in a fifth dimension.

Until next time.

1] Yeah, technically we viewers always bring different sets of baggage to different settings (e.g. if you're watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off in a hotel room by yourself, it's not the same as when you watch it in a friend's living room with a bunch of pals), but the extent to which I feel differently about The Twilight Zone based on the setting in which I watch it goes way beyond the normal effects of setting-shifting. The only other things I can think of that have a similar transformation are horror movies, a genre with which The Twilight Zone shares more than a little of its DNA.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Favorite Music of 2013

Well, folks, it's almost the end of 2013, and you know what that means for the pop culture world: lists. Being the shameless trend-follower that I am, I decided to make a list of my own. So here it is. My favorite music of 2013.

It speaks to my unhealthy addiction to obsessing about pop culture that I managed to craft this post in the midst of end-of-semester projects and papers. Yeah, making lists like these is pretty self-indulgent (even more so in my case, considering I really know next to nothing about music), but I've been doing the whole self-indulgent-blogger thing for about five months already, so why stop now? I do realize that it's only the 7th of December, so this is technically my favorite 2013 music released between January 1st and December 7th. Having looked at the release schedule for the rest of the month, though, I don't think I'll be interested in anything else released this month.

Still, it's probably in my best interest to admit that this list was not made with any sort of comprehensive knowledge of 2013's musical output. Even not counting these last few weeks of December I'm ignoring, I'm sure there are many, many great albums and songs I've missed, especially because I have only a narrow exposure to this year's releases. Metal and rap, for example, are almost completely absent from this post because I don't keep up with either genre very closely. So if you think I've missed something great, let me know! I'm always open for music suggestions. Alternately, I realize this list (as well as all other pop culture lists) is a bit reductive and arbitrary, so if you disagree with my rankings, let me know that, too! Discussion is the great product of lists like these, and I wholeheatedly encourage it.

Sorry for all the wordiness, both in the above introduction and in the commentary below. Feel free to skip it all if you want. It won't hurt my feelings. Now, without further ado, let the listing commence.

Favorite Albums

1. Vampire Weekend: Modern Vampires of the City
Vampire Weekend shed most of their world-music and twee influences and upped the thematic heft of their lyrics, and they managed to do so without losing their ear for lightweight melody, by itself a great achievement. What's even more impressive is that in the process they created something that is actually profound, something I never expected of VW (a band I considered good but mostly just "for fun," whatever that means). Modern Vampires of the City is about the disconnect between doubt and faith that in the end comes down on the side of doubt, but what's great about it is its nuance in that position, making the faith just as appealing, if only romantically so. Very compelling stuff.


2. Arcade Fire: Reflektor
The rumors are true: Reflektor is too long, the lyrics can be overbearing, and it lacks the chest-thumping climax of previous Arcade Fire albums. It speaks to the towering achievement of Reflektor that even with those flaws, the Arcade Fire's latest is a near-masterpiece of rock theatrics. You'll be hard-pressed to find a band out there right now (especially in the increasingly complacent indie world that birthed AF) so committed the marriage of sonic expansion and conceptual complexity. More so than ever before, Arcade Fire's approach to music recalls the '70s heyday of Neil Young, Pink Floyd, and David Bowie, when rock was not only a sound but a medium for philosophical discourse.


3. The Knife: Shaking the Habitual
Before Shaking the Habitual, I hadn't listened to The Knife very much outside of "Heartbeats," the closest this duo every got to a hit song. With Shaking the Habitual, though, The Knife is about as far from "Heartbeats" as you could imagine. Gone are the electronica hooks, and in their place are dissonance, ambiance, and polyphonic rhythms. It's hypnotic and tense music full of strange left turns (19-minute ambient interlude, anyone?) and dance beats to soundtrack the most paranoid party you've ever been to. The whole thing takes some close listening to get into, but once you're on its brainwave, it's entirely worth the effort.



4. Janelle Monáe: The Electric Lady
When I wrote about Janelle Monáe's first album, The ArchAndroid, in my 2010 year-end list of albums (in one of those old-fashioned Facebook notes, no less—hello, old-school social media), I wrote that she was the only contemporary R&B artist I really liked. Well, things have changed in the three years since (both in my own musical tastes and the creatively renewed R&B scene), but Janelle Monáe is still the queen of whatever genre she decides to try on. The Electric Lady isn't quite as colorful as the kaleidoscopic ArchAndroid, more focused on soul and funk grooves, but it's still an inventive, danceable, and infectiously fun entry into Monáe's android world. Power up!



5. Foxygen: We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic
I don't really have anything to add to my initial write-up on this album and its position in the current musical landscape. It's a great album full of fun songs with great hooks, made even greater for people like me who hold an unabashed affection for the late-'60s underground scene its production mimics. Fans of Loaded rejoice!






6. Savages: Silence Yourself 
Sufjan Stevens may not have been a big fan of the font used on the cover (and I'm wont to agree with him—it's a bit cluttered, isn't it, folks?), but other than that, there's not much to complain about with Savages' debut. Propulsive tunes like "She Will" and "I Am Here" are give the record an awesomely primal punk sound, while pieces like "Waiting For a Sign" and "Marshall Dear" texture out the album with tinges of black metal and jazz. The way I'm talking about it kind of makes Savages' music sound academic, and in a sense it is. But really, Silence Yourself just rocks hard. Prepare to headbang.
 



7. My Bloody Valentine: m b v
I was still in diapers when the last (and long-presumed final) My Bloody Valentine record, Loveless, debuted, so I can't make any claims to the decades-long wait that some fans endured for this album. Still, having a new MBV album was an unexpected pleasure for me, and having that album somehow not turn into indie rock's Chinese Democracy (much less be this good) was an even greater pleasure. With the glut of dream pop/shoegaze that indie rock has experienced in recent years, it's pretty awesome that the granddaddy of the genre can still come back to teach everyone something new.


8. David Bowie: The Next Day 
Next in this year's "Surprise Art-Rock Return" is David Bowie, an artist who I (along with many others) assumed had entered that semi-retired, semi-nostalgic state of his career where he would churn a new single every few years just to let everyone know he was still alive (see also: The Rolling Stones). Boy was I wrong. With The Next Day, Bowie comes out of the gates swinging, delivering a smart, winning collection of hard rock ("The Next Day"), majestic ballads ("You Feel So Lonely You Could Die"), and classic-Bowie weirdness ("Dancing In Outer Space"). Semi-retired, nothing.



9. Jars of Clay: Inland 
I have a lot of problems with CCM (that's Contemporary Christian Music, for those of you unfamiliar with the wild, woolly world of Evangelical lingo). But Jars of Clay have always been a bright spot in the genre for me, and on this album, they've rarely been better. On Inland (without a doubt their best work since Good Monsters [by my money, still their masterpiece]), Jars of Clay deliver some of the most poignant and insightful lyrics of their career, set to some of their most adventurous musicianship in years. It's a compelling look at what it means to be aging, irrelevant, and Christian in 2013, and you'll be hard-pressed to find introspection that balances doubt and joy so well.


10. The National: Trouble Will Find Me 
Speaking of balancing doubt and joy... well, The National aren't so good at it. This Brooklyn quintet has always skewed much closer to the doubting (some might say despairing) end of the emotional spectrum, and this album is no different. Trouble Will Find Me shows The National in the rockingest mood they've been in since 2008's Boxer, but don't let the increased tempo fool you; these are still the same sad sacks we know and love, and the results are typically gorgeous. What's pleasantly surprising about this one, though, is that the band gets less and less dour as the album progresses, and by "Humiliation," the lyrics are actually playful. Maybe they're closer to joy than I think.


10 Great Songs Not On These Albums

Atoms for Peace: "Default"—While the Atoms for Peace album AMOK lacked the warmth and sparse sensuality that made Radiohead's underrated King of Limbs so enjoyable for me (was I the only one hoping Flea would play a more prominent role in AfP?), Thom Yorke's latest project yielded its fair share of good songs, most notably this one. "Default" is groovy and percussive and awesome in a way that Radiohead hasn't been for years.

Chance the Rapper: "Pusha Man (feat. Nate Fox & Lili K.)"Chance the Rapper's mixtape Acid Rap was number 11 on the albums list, so really, the whole thing is worth a listen. But this song in particular captures the best of Chance the Rapper: the jazzy production, Chance's woozy delivery, the uneasiness with drug culture, and the tension between hedonism and social commentary that undergirds the whole mixtape.

The Civil Wars: "From This Valley"This one's just gorgeous. There was apparently some intra-band turmoil leading up to the release of The Civil Wars' eponymous second album (so much so that it's kind of a surprise that there's an album at all), but you can't hear any of it on this song. It's a beautiful bit of country folk, and if we never hear anything else from The Civil Wars again, it might well be their mini-Abbey Road, for all the joy its 3:33 run time exudes.

Daft Punk: "Get Lucky (feat. Pharrell Williams)"Daft Punk albums tend to run a little long and tedious for my tastes (this year's Random Access Memories included), but taken in single doses, this duo can sure crank out some excellent tunes. Of the veritable tsunami of neo-disco that's come out in the past few years, "Get Lucky" is among the best, funkiest, and catchiest of them all, not to mention a pretty great return to pop songwriting by Daft Punk.

The Flaming Lips: "You Lust (feat. Phantogram)"Has there ever been a group so determined to defy aging-rock-band conventions as The Flaming Lips? Thirty years into their careers, these guys are still constantly pushing themselves into new territories, be it 24-hour-long songs, Virgin Mobile commercials, possible Ke$ha collaborations, or, as is the case with "You Lust," 13-minute krautrock jams. "You Lust" sounds more like a cut from a Can or Kraftwerk album than anything from the band that released The Soft Bulletin, but that doesn't stop it from being a fantastically aggressive, provocative piece of music. It's dark stuff, to be sure, but it's also riveting to hear unfold.

Laura Marling: "Master Hunter"This British folk singer channels Joni Mitchell and especially Led Zeppelin III-period Led Zeppelin, and the results are fantastic. Laura Marling delivers an awesome three minutes of progressive folk, sounding at once mythic and personal.

Saint Pepsi: "Call Me Maybe (SAINT PEPSI Edit)"I've already written at length about my love for "Call Me Maybe," so I'll just leave you with this proposition: what if it were an R&B slow jam? Wonder no more.

Justin Timberlake: "Mirrors"Even for someone like me who doesn't listen to a lot of radio Top 40, 2013 was a great year for pop music. Exhibit A: "Mirrors." While I never really got into the whole "JT pretends to be Stevie Wonder" shtick that was The 20/20 Experience, "Mirrors" hits that epic, melodic, just-cheesy-enough sweet spot that all Justin Timberlake songs should aim for. Don't listen to the radio edit; let all eight minutes of the album cut wash over you. An added bonus: the song also has a seriously great music video set to the eight-minute version.

Kanye West: "New Slaves"Yeezus. Good grief. For every brilliant moment Kanye delivers on that album (and there are quite a few), there are at least three more eye-rolling, narcissistic, and straight-up ugly ones in close proximity. "New Slaves," however, manages to condense everything great about Yeezus (the noisy production, the social commentary, the classic-soul allusions) without absorbing the worst (the misogyny, the self-obsession, the *ugh* "Jesus wept" line). There's still plenty of ugliness in "New Slaves," but I'd argue that it's necessary ugliness in service of the song's razor-sharp criticism of consumerism. Kanye's often a provocateur, but when he's using that status to call out the racism in consumer culture and big business, I don't so much mind it.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs: "Sacrilege"Mosquito is not a great Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, but "Sacrilege," the lead single and opening track from that album, is most definitely a great Yeah Yeah Yeahs song. One of their best ever, I'd say. It takes the high production values and sweeping scope of their more recent albums and mixes it with the visceral impact of their earlier work. The end product is stunning.

Until next time!

Friday, November 29, 2013

Candy Box! and the Thrill of Discovery in Video Games



The other day (at precisely the wrong time in the semesterhello, conference papers), I stumbled upon an unassuming browser game called Candy Box! [1] And when I say "unassuming," I mean it. That picture at the top of this post is a screenshot, and it's mostly representative of the graphical intensity (or lack thereof) of the game. The core mechanic here is simple, too. Each second you keep the game open in the browser window, you gain a candy. Pretty primitive stuff.

But somehow, Candy Box! managed to be one of the most unexpectedly pleasant gaming experiences I've had in a while.

I've been thinking a lot about why this might be, and I think what it is is that Candy Box! is a game whose sole hook is the joy of discovery. I outlined the basic premise above (the longer you play, the more candies you get), but really, that description doesn't capture the charm of the game at all. The real source of fun in Candy Box! is what happens when you start accumulating those candies. As the number of candies increases, the game begins to introduce new features, and gradually, these additions pile up to alter the entire shape of the game itself. I won't spoil anything here, but I'll just say that for me, it was legitimately exciting to watch huge sections of the game unfold as that candy counter went up. Basically, I was compelled to play Candy Box! because of the thrill of discovering something new.

That thrill, that feeling of discovering something completely new to explore, is something that pretty much guarantees I'll enjoy an experience. A lot of games broadcast the possibilities of their gameplay from the very beginning (BioShock, Final Fantasy VII, Super Mario Galaxy), and there's nothing wrong with that sort of awe-inspiring move. But it's much rarer (and I'd argue has the possibility to be more rewarding) for a game to completely hide huge swatches of its experience and let the players discover them for themselves like Candy Box! does. I hope you know what I mean: those moments when something unfolds to reveal that the game world is way bigger than you initially thought. I can think of a few examples in gaming history, and every single one of them ranks among my all-time favorites: the World of Ruin in Final Fantasy VI, the Special World in Super Mario World, arriving at Hyrule Castle in The Legend of Zelda: The Windwaker.

I just named a bunch of moments from console releases; however, I think the kind of game that manages best this sense of discovery (and the genre most analogous with Candy Box!) is interactive fiction (aka text adventure games). Outside of the interactive fiction community itself, I don't see too many people talking about text adventures—although for a few years in the '70s and '80s it was actually a commercially viable genre—and to a certain extent, I can see why. You've got to be patient enough to wade through a lot of genre conventions and intentionally opaque gameplay to get into one of these things. But really, the thrill of discovery I get playing through some of these games is unparalleled. One great example is the Zork trilogy, which begins its epic fantasy/sci-fi narrative with the following description:
You are standing in an open field west of a white house, with a boarded front door.
There is a small mailbox here.
No directions, no clues about the objectives of the game, just the house and the mailbox. It's disorienting at first, but the payoff for the initial lack of clues is enormous, much more so than if the game had begun with a prologue about the Great Underground Empire or something like that. A slightly more modern example of the form is Curses, which uses the initially mundane search for a map in an attic as a method for unfolding its magically oriented core. Both let the player make discoveries, even huge, foundational ones relating to the nature of the games themselve, and I find that kind of experience exhilarating.

Now, just to be clear, Candy Box! is not a great game (it relies a little too heavily on grinding in its later stages, to name one shortcoming). But it is a game that gave me a lot of joy from discovering its many layers. When the browser opens to read simply "You have 0 candies!", it's using that same tried-and-true method as Zork with its mailbox and white house or The Windwaker with its barren ocean. That's pretty cool to me.

You can play Candy Box! here if you're interested. I'd say it's worth at least a few minutes of your time.

Until next time.


1] I'm apparently a little late to the party on this game. Looking into it a little further, I found out that Candy Box! was a minor Internet sensation when it debuted in the spring, and there's even a sequel already (which I haven't played yet). That being said, the irony of my blogging about a free-to-play game on Black Friday is delicious.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Ranking the Coen Brothers' Films

I consider Joel and Ethan Coen to be two of the greatest living filmmakers. I've been a fan of theirs since I first saw O Brother, Where Art Thou?, but it was only recently that I finally finished out their filmographythanks for adding Intolerable Cruelty, Netflix Instant! To mark this occasion (and to anticipate the coming release of  Inside Llewyn Davis, which is already picking up some acclaim from its trot 'round the festival circuit), I've decided to get all self-indulgent and list the Coen brothers' movies from least to greatest. To be clear, I like every one of these movies, but not all Coen movies are created equal.

First, a note of definition: by "Coen movie," I mean a movie that is both written and directed by the Joel/Ethan team. Gambit, The Naked Man, and Crimewave all have writing credits by one or both of the brothers but were not directed by either of them, so I've excluded these films. I also only considered feature-length movies, so don't look for any short films on this list.

I have a lot to say about some of these movies and a little less to say about others (weirdly enough, the ones I like the best I have the least to write about). If I snub a film or say too little about a favorite of yours, don't hesitate to add to the discussion in the comments. I've said elsewhere that I think lists are great for stirring up conversation, so now that the ideas have been stirred, let's get to conversating!

Alright. Without further ado, the list.

Edit (3/5/2014): I've update this list to now include Inside Llewyn Davis, with a description taken verbatim from my Favorite Movies of 2013 post. I'll probably do the same thing for future Coen films. Note to self: don't do career-spanning retrospectives of people before the careers of the aforementioned people are over.

Edit (11/12/2017): I've decided not to update this list until the Coens either die or retire. Then I'll revisit when I can have the full spectrum of their career to examine.

16. Intolerable Cruelty 



Three movies share the reputation for being the "worst" Coen brothers movie: Intolerable Cruelty, The Hudsucker Proxy, and The Ladykillers. But really, calling these movies the "worst" is more a statement on the greatness of the rest of the Coens' movies than an indictment of these three, because they're actually pretty good, albeit flawed (and I happen to think one of them is borderline-great, but we'll get to that in a minute). As is obvious from its placement on this list, though, I think Intolerable Cruelty is the most flawed, though that doesn't mean it's bad. Catherine Zeta-Jones gives a bland performance as an already bland femme fatale character, and the dialogue is a little limp (probably because Joel and Ethan revised an existing script rather than creating something entirely of their own). Also, as is the case with many Coen comedies, the ending gets a little too loud and zany. But dwelling on these flaws does Intolerable Cruelty a disservice. By and large, it's an entertaining, joyously dark satire of modern marriage with lively non-Zeta-Jones performances. It may never reach the heights of some of the other movies on this list, but separated from the prestige factor of its writer-directors, it's a pretty fun way to spend 100 minutes.


15. The Hudsucker Proxy 


The Hudsucker Proxy is two-thirds of a much better movie. Lest I sound too hard on the film a few sentences from now, let me point out just a few of the many wonderful things about it. The camerawork, for one: it's clever and energetic in a way that cinematography in Coen brothers movies usually isn't (the hula hoop montage gets a lot of well-earned acclaim, but almost every scene sings with playful, punny camera movement). Then there's the farcical depiction of upper-level corporate dealings, which walks just the right line between dark and silly. And the film's screwball dialogue is one of the Coens' most accomplished executions of their love for paying tribute to old-Hollywood styles; Jennifer Jason Leigh is is the MVP here, delivering that dialogue with a spot-on pastiche of '40s-era movie wisecracking. Yet the elephant sitting atop the slight but otherwise pristine Hudsucker is its ending, which introduces an out-of-nowhere fantasy element that threatens to topple the whole enterprise. If you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about. It's a contrived twist that's only interesting for how it foreshadows the use of semi-mythical, omniscient characters in future Coen films like The Big Lebowski and O Brother, Where Art Thou? But, as with Intolerable Cruelty, you'd be missing out on the film's numerous pleasures by getting too caught up in the flaws.


14. Blood Simple 


Blood Simple
is the first movie the Coen boys wrote and directed together, and it's astounding how accomplished a debut it is. That this one ranks so low is probably my fault. Blood Simple is one of the last Coen movies I saw, and consequently it feels a lot more by-the-numbers to me than it would have to its original audience in 1984. So I really shouldn't fault the film for that. It's a tense thriller with engaging character work and just a hint of black comedy, and on those terms, it's a smashing success. But after seeing the later Coen thrillers, Blood Simple's morality tale of revenge and greed can't help but feel like a test run for the more ambitious likes of No Country For Old Men, Miller's Crossing, and Fargo. Still, if retroactive familiarity is a movie's only flaw, you've still got yourself one doozy of a movie.

13. The Ladykillers


One of the chief pleasures of most Coen brothers films is the aural spectacle of highly talented actors chewing up eloquent dialogue with hammy regional accents. We do a lot of intellectualizing when it comes to output of Joel and Ethan, but there's not really nothing too intellectual about the doancha-noing of Frances McDormand in Fargo or O Brother, Where Art Thou?'s sumbitching Charles Durning; it's just plain fun, and it turns the Coens' already acrobatic dialogue into something carnival-esque and, at its most giddy, reminiscent of Dr. Seuss. I write all this to point out that The Ladykillers is, alongside True Grit and the two aforementioned films, one of the brothers' best uses of this unique pleasure. There's just something mesmerizing about seeing Tom Hanks spin his dialogue in that Southern gentleman's accent, for instance, or any of the other actors at work within their various nooks of the Southern dialect. That isn't to say that the dialect is the only thing to recommend about The Ladykillers. It's a clever little heist comedy with a wicked sense of justice and a rich treatment of setting (which the T-Bone Burnett-produced gospel soundtrack accentuates gorgeously). As I've said, this movie has a reputation for being the Coen brothers' worst, a failed attempt to remake an older, already well-regarded film of the same name, and since I haven't seen the original, I have no way of knowing how much of the good in this movie comes from the original. To be sure, there are some missteps (the less said about J.K. Simmons's IBS, the better), but on the whole, I find it to be an engaging, albeit minor, entry in the Coen filmography. It's also notable for lacking the shrill, madcap finales that plague the endings of most other Coen comedies, which earns it a few more brownie points in my book.

 
12. Burn After Reading 


Here's a fun one. There's a ton to enjoy about Burn After Reading, the Coens' most successful execution of pure satire, but what's most remarkable to me is how much the potency of that satire has strengthened in just this year alone. In light of all the NSA goings-on in 2013, it's tempting to view Frances McDormand's character as an anachronistic spoof of Edward Snowden and the omniscient-yet-lazy government surveillance bumpkins as NSA stand-ins. Since the movie came out mid-2008, it's pretty clear the Coens meant Burn After Reading to be a Bush-Era commentary (and it works wonderfully as such), but if the shoe fits...


11. Fargo 


First impressions, man. They'll get you. The friend who first recommended Fargo to me told me it was a comedy, so I went into this decidedly dark, only-funny-if-you-squint movie looking for punchlines and slapstick in the vein of Raising Arizona or something. And to be fair, there's quite a bit of slapstick, even in the grizzled, leg-in-the-wood-chipper finale. But (if the whole "leg-in-the-wood-chipper" phrasing didn't already clue you in) all of it is buried under a very grim, very frosty (both literally and emotionally) morality tale chock full of ruminations on mortality, greed, and general human fallibility. Needless to say, Fargo caught me completely off-guard when I first saw it. In subsequent viewings, I've come to recognize the brilliant touches that endear it to so many film buffs—and don't get me wrong, it is brilliant—but I've never been able to shake off entirely my initial instinct to call it the sickest comedy I've ever seen.


10. The Big Lebowski 


Let me get this out of the way up front: I think The Big Lebowski is a tremendously uneven film. More so than any other movie on this list. Subplots overstay their welcome by several scenes (the porn ring, anyone?), and the whole enterprise feels about as shaggy and lopsided as The Dude himself.  But as with most movies that have accrued as much cult fandom as this one has, the worth is the details, not the overall production. And those details... well, they really tie the room together, so to speak. The bowling league. The nihilists. The carpet. And those quotes—the scores of jokes, non sequiturs, and one-liners to enter the popular lexicon. Given the strength of almost every Coen screenplay, it's no small feat that The Big Lebowski is the most quotable film on this list. Fun comments thread: what's your favorite Big Lebowski line? My pick: the Dude's immortal response to Jesus's bowling threats (and my go-to comeback to any criticism this list might generate)"Yeah, well, ya know, that's just like your opinion, man."


9. Raising Arizona 


What I think sometimes gets lost in the whole "Nicholas Cage sure is a wacko" internet obsession is the fact that he's actually a pretty funny guy (maybe even funny enough to be cognizant of how ridiculous his own acting choices seem), and Raising Arizona is a great showcase for him. Of course, he's not the only thing carrying this movie. Holly Hunter gives a hilarious performance herself and, more importantly, imbues her role with a kind of naked pathos not normally found in the often-austere world of the Coen films. Mix that with a few classic John Goodman-infused escapades and some of the most kinetic scenes in Joel and Ethan's career, and you've got yourself a pretty great movie.


8. Inside Llewyn Davis


One thing Joel and Ethan Coen don't get all that much attention for is their use of physical humor (especially in their existential works, a category in which this film totally fits), but one of the many pleasures of Inside Llewyn Davis is that it's a great showcase of their talent for wringing comedy out of subtle physical interactions. The scenes with the cat, of course, are wonderfully choreographed bits reminiscent of old Disney shorts, but even beyond that, John Goodman, "Please, Mr. Kennedy," and so on provide great gags. What's even greater, though, is the emotional sincerity that comedy services. People rag on the Coens for being detached, but this film, along with their previous feature, True Grit, seems to indicate a new period of emotional forthrightness for these guys. I'm cool with that.


7. A Serious Man



In terms of tone and execution, A Serious Man is of a piece with Coens' earlier work on Barton Fink. Both films are heavy on the existential dread, the tragicomic absurdity of life, and out-of-left-field forays into free-associative symbolism. Both end abruptly on moments that are at once beautiful and profoundly discomforting. Both feature male protagonists unable to motivate themselves to take action. A Serious Man frees itself from being Barton Fink 2 in two ways: 1) Whereas Barton Fink was all about the trials of the writing process, A Serious Man is concerned with the Coens' own Jewish heritage. Replete with references from the Old Testament and Hebrew tradition, it's a poignant examination of the Chosen People's history. 2) A Serious Man has some killer musical cues. This side of the Summer of Love, Jefferson Airplane never sounded so profound.


6. Miller's Crossing 


What's remarkable about Miller's Crossing is that there's really nothing remarkable about it. Don't take that to mean that I don't think it's a good movie; it is a very good movie (just look at where it is on this list!). But at far as Coen films go, it doesn't really have too many quirks to distinguish it from other notable entries in the brothers' catalogue. Miller's Crossing feels like the kind of movie these guys can make in their sleep. Early-twentieth-century period setting? Check. Crime thriller plotting? Yup. Hints of black comedy? For sure. Razor-sharp focus on the psychological/existential ramifications of the plot on an insecure individual? Definitely. Realist cinematography with art-house flourishes? It's all here. Really, Miller's Crossing ranks so high on this list by the sheer brute force of its craftmanship. It's just so ridiculously well-made. No gimmicks—just a pair of auteurs working within a formula and doing everything absolutely right.


5. The Man Who Wasn't There


The term "film noir" gets thrown at just about every Coen movie that isn't a comedy (and even a few that are). But, to paraphrase Charles Shulz, of all the film noirs in the Coen world, The Man Who Wasn't There is the film noiriest. It's at least the one that most nakedly pays tribute to the form. From the black-and-white cinematography to the world-weary voiceovers, the movie has a clear precedent in films like The Maltese Falcon, and it doesn't take too much of an imagination to envision the plot as taking place in some alternate universe where Sam Spade has decided to take up hair styling instead of sleuthing. The Coens take the isolation and nihilism inherent in the genre and turn them up to 11, making it their second-best exploration of a character's psyche (stay tuned for #1).


4. True Grit 


In some circles, the Coen brothers' films catch a lot of flak for being emotionally sterile and lacking empathy for their characters. I won't argue that, say, Fargo or The Ladykillers is a shining example of compassionate filmmaking, but True Grit is definitive proof that Joel and Ethan are indeed capable of emotional investment. This may be an odd thing to prove in a movie so grounded in amiable caricature (exhibit A: Matt Damon as LeBoeuf) and hang-'em-high vengeance. Two things sell the sentimentalism, though: the unironic use of piano hymns to score the film, and Hailee Steinfeld's stunning turn as Mattie Ross. The movie uses the inherent innocence of church music and childhood to tackle with vulnerability the emotional toll of revenge, something other Coen movies only give sidelong glances to. Mattie's snake bite and her subsequent flight home at the movie's end may be the most sincere moment in the Coen filmography, and boy, is it moving.
(P.S. For those who are curious, I think this adaptation tops the original film, though I prefer the meta-performance of John Wayne's self-parody/-tribute over Jeff Bridges's more ragged take on Rooster.)


3. No Country for Old Men


Okay, from this point on, it's pretty much a toss-up. I thought about ending the list in a three-way tie, but then decided that violated the premise of list-making, so here we go. The ordering of these top three slots represents my feelings about these three movies at the moment—ask me tomorrow, and I may rank them completely differently (or at least as differently as three different movies can be arranged—a whopping three distinct combinations, if my half semester of high school stats serves me well).

A lot of ink has been spilled over No Country For Old Men, so I'm not going to even try to say something insightful; Roger Ebert once called it a perfect film, and if that's an overstatement (what exactly does "perfect" mean, anyway?), I won't be quick to correct it. It is by far the most accomplished of the Coens' many crime thrillers, a chilling and utterly profound examination of the nature of evil and justice with impeccable casting and edge-of-your-seat pacing. I'll stop with the pull-quote fodder for now and move on to movie #2, but first: how did it take so long for the Coens to adapt a Cormac McCarthy novel? Seriously, y'all, great match.


2. O Brother, Where Art Thou?


You can divide the Coen brothers' movies into three broad categories, many of which I've already alluded to in this post. There are the crime thrillers: Miller's Crossing, No Country For Old Men, The Man Who Wasn't There, Blood Simple, Fargo; the existential comedies: Barton Fink, A Serious Man, The Hudsucker Proxy, The Big Lebowski, The Man Who Wasn't There (again); and the slapstick comedies: Intolerable Cruelty, Burn After Reading, Raising Arizona. The Ladykillers and True Grit are kind of hard to classify because of their being remakes and not autonomous works, but the real outlier here is O Brother, Where Art Thou?, the loose adaptation of Homer's Odyssey. On the one hand, it shares some of the rambunctious DNA of the slapstick comedies, but it's so exuberant, sincere, intricate, allusive, and insightful that it's hard to lump it in with something like Burn After Reading. For sure, it's a very silly movie at times. Even at its silliest, though, it's a rich experience, both aesthetically and thematically, flourished by T-Bone Burnett's gorgeous soundtrack. That makes the movie sound academic (kind of like one would expect an adaptation of a Greek epic to be); it's not, though. It's just deeply human unlike anything else Joel and Ethan have done—which, darn it all, also makes it sound academic. It's awesome, though. I promise. 


1. Barton Fink


It's been a long list, so I'll get to the point: Barton Fink is a masterpiece. You'll laugh; you'll cry; you'll be thankful John Goodman doesn't show up to take care of your own bouts with writer's block. Maybe it's because I'm a writer who enjoys the depiction of the creative process. Maybe it's because I'm a writer who feels about as pathetic as Barton ninety-eight percent of the time. Maybe it's this scene from The Simpsons. Whatever the case, I find Barton Fink incredibly funny, personal, and discomforting in the best way possible. Seriously, if you haven't already, go see it.

Actually, scratch that; go see all the Coen brothers' movies. Thanks for reading, folks!

Until next time.