The phenomenon of “Barbenheimer”—that is, the films Barbie and Oppenheimer, which were released on the same day this summer—was many things: An internet meme turned marketing gimmick. A triumphant return of the double feature. A point of pride for those who saw the films back-to-back on opening day.

But mostly, it was an indication that good films, not based entirely on IP (okay, Barbie was…but with a twist) still have an audience.

Oppenheimer was a particular surprise—a three hour film about the making of the atomic bomb that, as many critics pointed out (including this one), mostly consisted of talking—so much talking. And yet, in the hands of a master like Christopher Nolan, it managed to thrill. The aforementioned twist of Barbie, the year’s biggest film, was that it was an auteurist take on the Mattel doll, a candy-colored, whipsmart feminist dreamscape that was a send-up of the very thing it was meant to celebrate. I was dazzled by it, just like everyone else, but found its themes of female empowerment a bit heavy-handed and trite, so it only made my “honorable mentions” this year.

Of course, Hollywood being Hollywood, they’ll take away all the wrong lessons from the Barbenheimer phenomenon. We already know that an American Girl Doll film is in the works—insert massive eye roll. And I wouldn’t be surprised if a film about Albert Einstein was also in the pipeline. What’s more, we know some studios are going to try to replicate the “Barbenheimer” model by releasing contrasting high profile films on the same day in the hopes of creating another wave of memes. Silly studios, don’t you know these things need to happen organically?

Still, all told, it was a good year for film—not just because the movies were quite good (they were) but because audiences really demonstrated an appetite for films that weren’t just Marvel, Star Wars, or DC Comics. Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon, a three-and-half-hour epic (with no potty break!) about a dark and little known period of American history, raked in $67 million domestically—not Barbie numbers, but nothing to sneeze at. (The banality of evil was an overarching theme in 2023, by the way—seen not just in Scorsese’s epic but Oppenheimer, Saltburn, and the unsettling Zone of Interest, about a Nazi commander who lives contentedly with his family next to Auschwitz, a film I saw on my laptop and need to see again in a theater to truly assess.)

And speaking of dolls, the camp horror film M3GAN, about a lifelike doll gone rogue, managed to tap into our anxieties about AI and inspire a thousand fabulous Halloween costumes. It raked in a hefty $95 million domestically. The films that were original, auteur-driven, and creatively bold were the ones that ruled the year. Let’s keep it up, Hollywood.

With that, here are my 15 favorite films of 2023. (In some cases, I am using excerpts of my own full-length reviews.)

1. The Holdovers

The oxymoronic phrase “instant classic” has always bugged me—only time will tell if something is truly a classic. And yet, the minute I saw Alexander Payne’s wise, mordantly funny, and sneakily sentimental The Holdovers, I knew I would want to revisit it again and again. Set in 1970, with a look straight out of The Paper Chase, it tells the story of a curmudgeonly and ostentatiously principled teacher (Paul Giamatti) saddled with a sad and surly boy (Dominic Sessa) during the Christmas break of a New England prep school. The film takes its sweet time in allowing these two prickly outsiders to warm up to each other, making their ultimate bond all the sweeter. A third character, a kindly cafeteria manager (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) who bears the impossible weight of the loss of her son in Vietnam, becomes the mother figure in this unlikely surrogate family. It’s a Christmas film for people who don’t love Christmas films and yes, an instant classic.

My full review. (The Holdovers is in theaters and available on demand.)

2. Anatomy of a Fall

What would you do if your mother was accused of killing your father—and you weren’t completely convinced of her innocence? That’s the premise of Justine Triet’s tense and slippery courtroom drama, Anatomy of a Fall, a film that gets under your skin and stays there. Sandra (a masterful Sandra Hüller) and Samuel (Samuel Theis) are having trouble in their marriage, stemming from several things, among them an accident which left their young son blind (they each secretly blame the other) and the fact that her writing career is thriving while his isn’t. Couple that with a dormant sex life—she sleeps with women on the side; he grudgingly accepts it—and it’s a recipe for an extremely tense home life. Samuel has a nasty habit of playing his music incredibly loud to get under Sandra’s skin. And one day, after just doing that—the song in this case, for maximum irritation, is a reggaeton version of 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.”—he ends up dead on the snow-covered ground in front of their log cabin. Did he fall from the attic window—or was he pushed?

In the courtroom, Sandra encounters all the misogyny you might fear—an accusation that she stole Samuel’s ideas for her own gain, an intimation that she’s a man-hating lesbian or, worse yet, a crazed one. And young Daniel (Milo Machado-Graner) is the only “witness”—although he must rely on his other senses to recreate the events of that day. At one point, he becomes angry at his mother, somewhat convinced of her guilt, but gradually, his memories change to become more favorable to her case—is he lying for her? And if he is, does that necessarily mean she’s the killer? Believing in someone’s innocence, the film argues, is always a leap of faith.

(Anatomy of a Fall has just left theaters. No streaming date has been set.)

3. Killers of the Flower Moon

Martin Scorsese always makes wildly entertaining films about terrible men. Killers of the Flower Moon is also about men doing terrible things—in this case, marrying and murdering Osage nation women so they can inherit their oil—but for the first time, he keeps his lens focused on the victims, the Osage women themselves. Yes, the stolid, greedy Ernest (Leonardo DiCaprio) is the film’s main character, but it’s his bride, the wary and tentatively open-hearted Mollie (an astonishing Lily Gladstone) who is the film’s soul. Ernest’s uncle, “King” Bill Hale (Robert DeNiro) is the film’s true villain. He pretends to be a benevolent white man, a friend to the Osage, while actually masterminding their murders. In a lesser director’s hands, this film could be too grim to bear, but Scorsese manages to inject urgency and excitement into every frame, even the quieter moments. The film ends on a remarkable bit of fourth-wall breaking commentary, where Scorsese seems to interrogate his own body of work by asking the question: Whose stories get told and why?

My full review (Killers of the Flower Moon is now available on demand.)

4. All of Us Strangers

In Andrew Haigh’s heartbreaking film, a lonely gay man named Adam (Andrew Scott) is navigating two unexpected events: He has met a handsome stranger (Paul Mescal) in the new apartment complex where he lives and he has begun visiting his parents at his childhood home. But there is a twist: He hasn’t lived in that home since he was 12, which was how old he was when his parents died in a car crash. Mom and Dad (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) are there, frozen in time, with outdated ’80s clothes and hairstyles, actually bit younger than he is now—but still, parental, doting. Meanwhile, the neighbor, Harry, becomes his lover—an uncommonly kind and tender one; it opens him up. Together, the two men unpack their traumas—the trauma of growing up gay and closeted, of the specter of AIDS, of losing one parents, or, in Harry’s case, getting rejected by his. So what exactly is happening here? Is Adam cracking up? Is the film supernatural? Haigh never fully answers that question—nor should he. The film, which is exquisitely acted by its four leads, especially Scott, is about loneliness and the need for connection. It’s about the particular trauma of the gay male. But its themes of longing to be accepted—by one’s parents, by society, by a romantic partner—are universal.

(All of Us Strangers is coming to The Charles on January 12.)

5. Passages

There’s sex—and lots of it—in Ira Sach’s wonderful Passages, a complex, voyeuristically fascinating film about a love triangle where characters are revealed, through their desires. Tomas (Franz Rogowski), a bratty, but undeniably magnetic film director comes home after a party and proudly announces to his husband, Martin (Ben Whishaw), that he has slept with Agathe (Adèle Exarchopoulos). Martin accepts this news with surprising equanimity—he is clearly used to such provocations. Briefly, Tomas thinks he loves Agathe, but it’s possible he just loves the taboo of it all, the disruption he has caused in everyone’s life. When he finally realizes it’s Martin he really wants, will it be too late to repair their marriage?

My full review. (Passages is now available on demand.)

6. Oppenheimer

Just because science can, does that mean it should? That’s the question at the heart of Christopher Nolan’s explosive (pardon the pun) Oppenheimer, an absolutely jaw-dropping cinematic achievement about the creation and deployment of the atomic bomb. The film works on numerous levels. It’s a character study of the brilliant and obsessive J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy)—a man whose ego ultimately got in the way of his principles. It’s a philosophical contemplation of how the thirst for knowledge and the pursuit of power can intersect in catastrophic ways. And it’s a riveting procedural, about the creation of the atomic bomb and its aftermath. There are lots of scenes in classrooms and courtrooms—and tons of great supporting work by the likes of Robert Downey Jr. (as a friend turned jealous rival) and Emily Blunt (as Oppenheimer’s long-suffering wife)—but the scene that will stay with audiences most comes after Oppenheimer’s mighty bomb is first deployed. As Oppenheimer’s underlings cheer him on like a conquering hero, he’s overcome with a feeling of dread.

My full review. (Oppenheimer is now available on demand.)

7. Maestro

Yes, there are parts of Leonard Bernstein’s life that Bradley Cooper left out—I, for one, wanted to see much more about the making of West Side Story and Candide. And yes, the prosthetics occasionally distract, especial in the film’s first third or so. But man oh man, this is the good stuff—a sumptuous, old-fashioned biopic, emotional and involving, delivered to near perfection. Cooper smartly chooses to focus on Bernstein’s loving but fraught relationship with his wife, Felicia (Carey Mulligan), who knew her husband was gay, but thought she was okay with it. (She wasn’t.) The film, which guides us smoothly from the ’40s to the ’80s, from his breakthrough conducting performance at Carnegie Hall, to his days as classical music’s greatest (and most glamorous) American ambassador, has immaculate costumes and set design in support of two colossal lead performances. It argues that Bernstein was a man of great appetites—for love, for sex, for conversation, and mostly for music.

My full review. (Maestro is now playing in theaters and on Netflix.)

8. Asteroid City (and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar)

I’ve described Wes Anderson as like cilantro—you either love him or he leaves a bad taste in your mouth. I’m Team Anderson (and cilantro, for that matter—I wonder if there’s a corollary). So what a treat to get not just a Wes Anderson feature film this year, but four shorts, all available on Netflix. Among those shorts was The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, a bewitching tale of a yogi (Ben Kingsley) who can see while totally blindfolded and the eccentric millionaire (Benedict Cumberbatch) who becomes obsessed with this ability. But the main course was Asteroid City, a film that somehow manages to be a TV show, a play, a backstage drama, and a meta commentary on all of the above. It largely takes place at the Junior Stargazer competition in “Asteroid City,” a sparsely populated town (one diner, one motel) so named because an asteroid once landed there. Its main character is a widower father of four (Jason Schwartzman) who doesn’t quite have the heart to tell his kids that their mother died. Other characters include Tom Hanks as the kids’ cantankerous grandfather, Tilda Swinton as the astronomer who oversees the compound, and Scarlett Johansson as a languorous starlet who starts a romance with the widower.

But as mentioned, the film occasionally pulls back—showing us the making of the original Asteroid City play (we’re now watching the teleplay) and assorted behind-the-scenes dramas. What exactly is going on here? I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. But through it all, Anderson is clearly reflecting on grief, on man’s place in the universe, on the euphemisms we tell ourselves about stars and heaven and death. He’s also reflecting on the power of images and storytelling—even within this elaborate, self-referential framework, I got completely caught up in the characters and story.

My full review. (Asteroid City is now available on Prime Video.)

9. Showing Up

At the art center where Lizzy (Michelle Williams) works in Oregon, it seems that everyone is a working artist. But there’s a hierarchy, of sorts. Lizzy, who works in the office and sculpts on the side, feels somewhat dismissed by her more successful landlord and neighbor, Jo (Hong Chau), who keeps promising she’ll get the hot water back on in Lizzy’s house just as soon as she finishes her two upcoming exhibits. “I have an exhibit, too,” Lizzy mutters, lamely. Later, Lizzy finds herself caring for an injured pigeon that has been passive aggressively foisted upon her by Jo. She’s also looking after her father (Judd Hirsch), a ceramicist himself, who seems to have given up on art (and maybe life) and her troubled brother (John Magaro). She is put upon, insecure, but driven to make art—and we root for her. Director Kelly Reichardt captures the daily rhythms, roiling creativity, and various artistic rivalries and collaborations of this art center with a keen eye, wry wit, and remarkable, tender insight.

(Showing Up is available on Showtime and on demand.)

10. Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret

Worth the wait. Fifty-three years after the publication of Judy Blume’s seminal novel about the inner life of 11-year-old Margaret, who’s freshly relocated from Manhattan to the Jersey suburbs and rudely encountering popular girls, religious uncertainty, and puberty, we get Kelly Fremon Craig’s charming adaptation, filled with affection for both the novel and its characters. Craig doesn’t try to ramp up the drama. She accepts it for what it is—life or death to Margaret (a winning Abby Ryder Fortson), a bit mild to the rest of us. Craig deftly highlights the book’s humor, from the infamous chant of “we must, we must, we must increase our bust!” to Margaret’s hormones stirred by the sight of her crush’s underarm hair. With Kathy Bates as Margaret’s drama-queen grandmother left behind in New York (“I read when you don’t have any loved ones around your life expectancy drops drastically”) and an excellent Rachel McAdams as Margaret’s sympathetic mother, who is having her own (mild) crisis of identity. The film’s gentleness, its goodness, feels a bit like a tonic.

My full review. (Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret is available on STARZ and on demand.)

11. NYAD

Not a love story, exactly, but something more rarely explored and perhaps even more interesting—the story of best friends as soulmates. Annette Bening is the titular long-distance swimmer—stubborn, brave, self-aggrandizing. Jodie Foster is her best friend and coach, who loves her, admires her, and is aggravated by her in equal measure. Not just a pitch-perfect (and exquisitely acted) character study, but a riveting adventure film, too—the scenes of the 64-year-old Diane Nyad attempting to swim from Cuba to Florida, will take your breath away.

My full review. (Nyad is available on Netflix.)

12. May December

Elizabeth Berry, the striving, B-list actress played with almost vibrating ambition by Natalie Portman, takes things way too far in her attempt to understand the interior life of Gracie Atherton-Yoo (Julianne Moore), the notorious woman she is about to depict in an independent film. Gracie is not-so-loosely based on Mary Kay Letourneau, the 35-year-old school teacher who slept with a 13-year-old pupil, went to prison for her crimes, and later married the boy. Charles Melton plays the boy, now a 36-year-old man-child (with teenage children of his own), who still hasn’t comprehended that he was the victim of abuse. Director Todd Haynes foregrounds the doppelganger showdown between Berry and Atherton-Yoo, to brilliant and sometimes hilarious effect, while Melton quietly breaks your heart in the background.

My full review. (May December is available on Netflix.)

13. You Hurt My Feelings

Nicole Holefcener, the master of the chronicling the petty disruptions in the life of the bourgeoisie, is at it again. In this case, writer Beth (Julia Louis-Dreyfuss) discovers that her therapist husband (Tobias Menzies) has been lying about liking her latest book draft. This sends her into a spiral of self-doubt and recrimination. Meanwhile, he’s having his own crisis at work (he fears his patients disrespect him) and feels unsupported by Beth. As the minor disagreements between this loving couple metastasize, Holefcener dares to ask: Why do the ones we love annoy us the most?

My full review. (You Hurt My Feelings is available on demand.)

14. Priscilla

Another one of Sofia Coppola’s little lost girls, trapped in a meticulous gilded cage. This time, the auteur takes on Priscilla Presley (Cailee Spaeny), who meets (and is seduced by) a dashing young Elvis Presley (Jacob Elordi) when she’s still just a girl. He brings the initially besotted teen to Graceland—where she can have all the jewels and clothing her heart desires—and essentially never lets her leave. Elvis cheats, abandons her for long stretches of time while he’s on the road, and tries to control her ever move. At first the fear of losing him, which he wields like a weapon, is enough incentive to stay. Eventually, she comes into her own. The scene where she finally pulls away from Graceland once and for all is pure catharsis.

My full review. (Priscilla is available on demand.)

15. Peak Season

How this one got lost in the shuffle is beyond me. I caught this smart, quirky film at the New/Next film festival and absolutely loved it. It’s an off-beat love story of sorts, about a stressed out city gal (Claudia Restrepo) who falls for an off-the-grid wilderness guide (Derrick Joseph DeBlasis) while vacationing with her Wall Street-bro fiancé in Wyoming. She, like many others, idealizes the guide’s easygoing lifestyle, the loose rhythms of his life. But the scales fall from her eyes when she realizes he might not be quite as carefree as he seems. My full review. (At this time, there is not streaming date set for Peak Season but it will likely become available on MUBI.)

Honorable Mentions: Air, Barbie, Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, Ferrari, Past Lives.

As of this writing, I still have not seen Poor Things, American Fiction, or The Color Purple. Look for reviews of those titles coming soon.

Source

It was the summer, you recall, of Grown Ups 2 and Iron Man 3 and Fast and Furious 6 (not to mention, The Lone Ranger and White House Down)—and I thought: I literally don’t care about any
of these movies. If I had to slap on one more pair of 3D glasses or see
one more action film with a number after its title, I was going to lose
it.

I articulated this crisis of conscience while sitting with two
friends—both film critics of far greater stature than myself—and they
talked me off the ledge, so to speak.

“Wait until December,” they told me, in soothing voices. “There are
many more good films to come.” It was the film critic’s version of the
“It Gets Better” talk.

Well, I took their advice and damned if they weren’t completely
right. It did get better. Much better. In the end, 2013 turned out to be
a great year for film. The kind of year where I struggled to limit
myself to a mere Top 10 list (the 10 runners-up were all seriously
considered for the main list).

And because Year-in-Review lists compel us (sometimes artificially)
to make connections among the year’s releases, it was hard for me not to
notice that this was a year that celebrated rugged individualism and
the indomitability of the human spirit.

While Gravity, All is Lost, and Lone Survivor all explicitly featured one human fighting alone for survival, films like Captain Phillips and Dallas Buyer’s Club also featured heroes who bravely spat in death’s eye. It’s a stretch, I admit, but even Inside Llewyn Davis was about going it alone (as an artist in this case), consequences be damned, and Nebraska was about one man’s need for a personal crusade.

So is there a reason why 2013 was the Year of the Individual? Umm, I could give you some New York Times-style
think piece about these films being a reaction to our social media,
crowd-sourced age or how we’re trying to find ways to praise the human
spirit at a time when snark and cynicism are the prevailing attitudes,
but that would just sound like so much twaddle. So instead I’ll say:
Weird coincidence, dude.

Anyway, here are the films that made me glad I stayed in the film critics’ game this year.*

1. Enough Said There were more important films this
year, more serious ones, but that none lit up my particular pleasure
sensors quite like Nicole Holofcener’s Enough Said. It was
funny, tender, and smart as it explored finding love in middle age and
the whole “who am I now?” crisis that arises when kids leave the nest
(especially for single parents). It had one of the great rom-com
premises in recent memory—a woman finds out that her new best friend
used to be married to her new boyfriend and does the absolute worst
thing possible (tells neither of them and mines her friend for damning
intel on her ex). It had a brilliant, arguably career-best performance
from Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who proved that she has dramatic chops that
rival her comedic ones (and that’s saying an awful lot). And it was a
nearly flawless step into the mainstream for Holofcener, long one of my
favorite indie auteurs. My only regret, of course, is that this was
Gandolfini’s last film, as his sweet, tender, sexy performance could’ve
opened so many new doors for him. He was perfect. In my eyes, the whole
film was. (My review)

2. Stories We Tell Six months after I’ve seen it,
and my mind is still slightly blown by this genre-busting documentary
that manages to be an affectionate character study of director Sarah
Polley’s quixotic late mother, a riveting who’s-your-daddy mystery, a
tender portrait of a relationship between a daughter and her emotionally
reticent father, and a juicy family exposé. It’s also about
perspective, and how the same story can morph and shift when told from
different angles and about the importance of self-mythologizing. (Also,
for you cinephiles out there, it’s about the very process of making a
documentary film). It is one of the most honest and humane personal
excavations I’ve ever seen at the movies. But what exactly is it? Well, that’s up to you to watch and decide for yourself. (My review)

3. Inside Llewyn Davis This wonderful film—one that
somehow manages to simultaneously deflate and uplift— can be seen as a
companion piece to the Coen Brother’s Barton Fink. That was
about the nightmarish hell of writer’s block. This one is about the
nightmare of trying to be an authentic artist in a commercial world. The
setting is Greenwich Village in the early 1960s and Llewyn Davis
(dazzling newcomer Oscar Isaac) is a folk singer who just lost his
longtime singing partner to suicide. He’s a true talent—a singer of
mournful, slightly cracked folk ballads—but he’s having a rough go of it
as a solo artist. It doesn’t help that he has an abrasive personality
(he heckles fellow musicians at the Gas Light Café) and that, at this
particular point in time, it seems that everybody and their Great Aunt
Irma has a folk album (this is one of the film’s recurring nightmarish
jokes). He goes couch surfing, pissing people off along the way
(including an amusingly ticked-off Carey Mulligan as a former flame),
trying to make money and live life as an authentic artist. All the music
in the film is wonderful, even the treacly ditties that Llewyn
disdains. And then there’s this tabby cat. Any film can have a folk
singer and a scruffy dog. But it takes the Coen brothers—with their
slightly off-kilter perspective—to give us a folk singer with a squirmy,
unreliable cat (or two, to be precise). Llewyn riding the subway,
cradling the cat in his arms, is just one of the many indelible images
of this film.

4. Blue is the Warmest Color Take away the
controversy—the disgruntled lead actresses, the seven-minute sex scene
that some saw as voyeuristic—and you’re left with Abdellatif Kechiche’s
remarkable achievement: A three-hour film about a subject no less
well-trodden than a young girl’s first love that is absolutely
mesmerizing from beginning to end. As the girl, Adèle Exarchopolous is
extraordinary. She takes us through the entire emotional repertoire of
female adolescence. Of course, defending a film against accusations of
the “male gaze” can be tricky. (And the fact that the central love
affair is between two young women only adds to the sense that Kechiche
is projecting his own desires). But aren’t all films essentially the
“gaze” of the director? Yes, Kechiche’s film is abundantly
sensual—fleshy, you might even say. But he doesn’t only apply this gaze
to the sex scenes. He eroticizes a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese as much
as a naked breast. The whole film is an orgy of human desire. (My review)

5. Nebraska Does any living director capture the
rhythms of the open road better than Alexander Payne? His latest is
about a father/son road trip that defies all expectations. The trip
itself hardly a grand quest, but in fact, meaningless: Old Woody (Bruce
Dern) is convinced he has won a million dollars in one of those
Publisher’s Clearinghouse-type sweepstakes and is determined to claim
his prize. The bonding, between Woody and his sweet, sad-sack grown son
(Will Forte) is neither sentimental nor obvious. There are no “I love
you, man”s, no great epiphanies. Instead, there is a grim but tender
understanding that grows between them. The film suggests that Woody
knows his mission is futile: He wants to live for something, he wants a
quest, a mission—it’s his way of reasserting some control over his own
life. As he did so wonderfully in About Schmidt, Payne gets to
the heart of a certain kind of taciturn, Midwestern persona. He shoots
the film in an affectless black and white, mirroring the stoicism of its
characters and the flat Midwestern landscape. In more than one scene,
Woody and his brothers —reunited at an aunt’s house—sit in front of a
TV, gaping wordlessly at the screen. This is the torpor that Woody wants
to break free from. The film is often quite funny, but the overall tone
is elegiac. As usual, Payne is clear-eyed and unsentimental, until the
very last frames, at which point he allows himself (and us) a few
explicitly touching moments. Heck, we’ve all earned it. (My review)

6. Short Term 12 There are two scenes in this film,
about a melancholy young woman name Grace (Brie Larson), who works in a
home for troubled teens, that stayed with me long after the credits were
over. In the first, a disillusioned teenager named Marcus (Keith
Stanford) sits on the edge of the bed with Grace’s boyfriend Mason (John
Gallagher Jr.), also a counselor at the home, and raps about his life.
“So put me in your books so you know what it’s like,” Marcus raps, as
Mason thumps along on a bongo, “to live a life not knowing what a normal
life is like.” That scene destroyed me. Later, Grace sits with a young
girl who reads a children’s book she has created. It’s clear through the
metaphors in story—about a rapacious octopus—that the girl has been
sexually abused. As stirring and powerful as these scenes are—they trust
the audience to just sit and listen to the power of self-expression
through art—the film also has a fair amount of levity, a loose and
frisky sense of daily life in the home. Ultimately, the film shows how
damaged people can find solace and self-healing by advocating for
others. It ends on a note of profound optimism.

7. American Hustle The story of a couple of con
artists helping the FBI ensnare some corrupt politicians with the help
of a fake sheik is so ridiculous it has to be (at least partly) true.
And director David O. Russell mines the full comic potential of this
absurd scenario, giving us a 1970s straight out of a Tony Manero fever
dream and broad, hilarious performances from the leads. Everyone here is
great: Christian Bale as the vain but shrewd Irving Rosenfeld, a con
artist and, more importantly, a survivor; Amy Adams as Sydney, his wily
mistress, a born hustler, and the love of his life; Jennifer Lawrence as
his sultry, bored, manipulative wife; Jeremy Renner as his good-hearted
mark, a populist New Jersey mayor whose desire to please his
constituency makes him vulnerable to bribes; and Bradley Cooper as
Richie DiMaso, the twitchy, crazed-with-ambition FBI agent who sets the
whole thing in motion. (Also, kudos to Louis C.K., as the only sane man
at the FBI and Alessandro Nivola as Richie’s enabling boss). Still, all
of this broad hilarity would be meaningless if we didn’t somehow believe
in and root for these characters, and we do. In fact, despite all the
double-crossing, deals, decadence, and partying—American Hustle is ultimately a romance, about the lengths a couple of grifters in love will go to stay together.

8. 12 Years a Slave When I was a young girl, I saw the mini series Roots
and it had a profound effect on me, as it did for many of my
generation. But in a way, by focusing on the plight of a single
man—Solomon Northrop (Chewetel Ejiofor), a free man captured into
slavery—12 Years a Slave packs even more of a visceral wallop.
Director Steve McQueen gets in close—at times impossibly, unflinchingly
close—so that we feel every threat, every humiliation along with
Solomon. And Ejiofor is just remarkable as a man whose survival instinct
is strong enough to see that he must suppress his pride and his anger
and simply . . . wait. Equally vivid: Michael Fassbender as Epps, the
sociopathic plantation owner who makes Solomon’s life a living hell, and
wondrous Lupita Nyong’o, as the slave Epps is sexually obsessed with.
There are a few scenes of almost unbearable brutality, but one that will
haunt me forever: As punishment for presumed insubordination, Solomon
is strung up to be lynched, but given a last minute reprieve. Instead of
being cut loose, he’s left dangling, still too high to plant his feet.
Two tip-toes dancing on the ground are Solomon’s only means to stay
alive, for hour after hour, as life on the plantation continues around
him apace. It is truly one of the most chilling images I’ve ever seen on
film. (My review)

9. Her In the not so distant future, a lonely man
(Joaquin Phoenix) falls in love with an intuitive operating system (the
voice of Scarlett Johansson). Meanwhile, his friendship with a recently
divorced female friend (Amy Adams) flourishes. You think you
know where this story is going—except that you don’t. Because
writer/director Spike Jonze is simply too interesting, too weird (in the
best possible sense) to tell us to embrace humanity over technology.
Instead, he suggests that happiness, even artificial happiness, is not
something to be trifled with. Jones’s future, where people walk down the
street so plugged into their interactive devices they barely notice
each other, is not that far off from our present. But he doesn’t judge,
he simply observes, with humor and humanity. This is science fiction,
through the eyes of a poet.

10. Blue Jasmine Woody Allen’s understanding of
class and, in particular, the near panicky snobbism of the upwardly
mobile, is at the forefront of Blue Jasmine, featuring a
brilliant, fearless performance by Cate Blanchett in the titular role.
As the film starts, Jasmine’s ideal life has been shattered—her investor
husband Hal has been caught red-handed (both as a marital cheater and a
financial one) and she is broke and ostracized by society. So she goes
crawling back to her kid sister Ginger (Sally Hawkins, in a marvelously
unpretentious performance), a good-natured, unfussy girl living in San
Francisco, who nonetheless adores and even idolizes Jasmine. Blanchett
plays Jasmine’s class consciousness as a physical thing—she literally
recoils from things that she finds distasteful, and that includes
virtually everything and everyone in Ginger’s life. Jasmine knows that
she has no coping skills—her only hope is to latch herself onto a
successful worldly man. When she does, briefly, to a wealthy aspiring
politician (Peter Sarsgaard), her palpable relief has more than a whiff
of desperation. This is the genius of Cate Blachett’s
performance—Jasmine is a horrible person, but she secretly knows it. She
sees herself as ridiculous, albeit in a tragic, glamorous sort of way.
Her life was perfect, but it was also a carefully constructed illusion.
Allen watches, not exactly kindly, as it all crashes down. (My review)

Runners Up (in alphabetical order): All is Lost, Dallas Buyer’s Club,
Don Jon, Fruitvale Station, Gravity, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire,
It Felt Like Love, Much Ado About Nothing, The Spectacular Now, The
World’s End.

*In some cases, I have lifted direct passages from my previous reviews. Links included.

**I’m seeing The Wolf of Wall Street this Thursday, so it was ineligible for this list.

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