Pop culturally speaking, 2014 kicked ass. Sure, there was the typical crop of pop mediocrity and garbage, but we see that year in and year out. In general, music, television and film from this past year was much better than we've seen in many prior, especially this decade. Planet Earth may be falling apart all around us, but some excellent artwork is coming out of it.
Let's dive right in, shall we?
The Pretty Damn Goods of 2014
The very end of Season Two of House of Cards
(SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen and/or intend to watch House of Cards,
DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!)
Come on! Has there ever been a better immediate ending to a season of television? When House of Cards started, I doubt anyone expected Frank and Claire Underwood's sinister plan to take over Washington and destroy everyone along the way would reach the mountaintop by the end of the second season, but there we were. Frank slowly glides into the Oval Office and pushes the rolling chair out from behind the desk. He places his hands over his new domain and feels it out. He slowly raises his head and looks at us, like so many times before. There are a few seconds of pause, then—BAP-BAP! His iconic double-tap of his ring becomes two epic fist pounds, and it smash cuts to black. So ends season two, and so begins the arrival of the baddest son-of-a-bitch to ever hold tenure in the Oval Office. The champ is here, baby.
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Right up front, I hate The Walking Dead. I've watched every episode since the first moment it hit the air and, despite my seething hatred for this over-acted, atrociously written asshole of a show, I continue to watch it. I tell myself it's because I hope it will one day match the greatness and grit of the first six episodes, but it's really because so many other people I know watch it. It's a conversation piece. I've thought about throwing in the towel on the saga of Rick and Carl more times than I can count, and season four just about reached my breaking point. But just like Michael Corleone and Silvio from "The Sopranos," just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.
It's the single darkest scenario in a show where head stabbings and decapitations are as frequent as the drawing of breath, but this was something otherworldly. Rick, Michonne and Carl get ambushed on the road by the Claimers, the gang Daryl's been tagging along with. Daryl tries to vouch for them, but Rick previously killed one of their men, and the leader, Joe, calls for him to be beaten. They're all about to be killed. One of the ambushers pins Carl down on the ground. He's clearly about to rape this young boy while his father watches. Joe has Rick wrapped up and just when it looks like things are about to end for the group—CHOMP! Rick takes a page out of the zombie booklet, bites a hunk out of Joe's jugular and spits it out like Triple H during his entrance in the heyday of the WWE. With blood dripping from his mouth, he then takes a knife and cuts his son's would-be rapist from navel to throat. It's the biggest "holy shit!" moment of the entire series, and one of the most left-field moments of 2014.
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The throat chomp - Season Four finale of
The Walking Dead
(I guess the pic kind of gives it away, but SPOILERS AHEAD)
Right up front, I hate The Walking Dead. I've watched every episode since the first moment it hit the air and, despite my seething hatred for this over-acted, atrociously written asshole of a show, I continue to watch it. I tell myself it's because I hope it will one day match the greatness and grit of the first six episodes, but it's really because so many other people I know watch it. It's a conversation piece. I've thought about throwing in the towel on the saga of Rick and Carl more times than I can count, and season four just about reached my breaking point. But just like Michael Corleone and Silvio from "The Sopranos," just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.
It's the single darkest scenario in a show where head stabbings and decapitations are as frequent as the drawing of breath, but this was something otherworldly. Rick, Michonne and Carl get ambushed on the road by the Claimers, the gang Daryl's been tagging along with. Daryl tries to vouch for them, but Rick previously killed one of their men, and the leader, Joe, calls for him to be beaten. They're all about to be killed. One of the ambushers pins Carl down on the ground. He's clearly about to rape this young boy while his father watches. Joe has Rick wrapped up and just when it looks like things are about to end for the group—CHOMP! Rick takes a page out of the zombie booklet, bites a hunk out of Joe's jugular and spits it out like Triple H during his entrance in the heyday of the WWE. With blood dripping from his mouth, he then takes a knife and cuts his son's would-be rapist from navel to throat. It's the biggest "holy shit!" moment of the entire series, and one of the most left-field moments of 2014.
X-Men: Days of Future Past
Never has the term "best of both worlds" been so adequately applied to something as it is to Days of Future Past. How genius a notion it was to use a time-travel storyline in the X-Men universe that brought characters from separate eras. Whoever it was that cast Michael Fassbender and James McAvoy as Magneto and Professor X, respectively, should be given a lifetime achievement award. And that baseball stadium/White House scene? Easily one of the best action sequences of the year. It's also indescribably impressive that, fourteen years after playing the role for the first time, Hugh Jackman's Wolverine is as badass as ever. Without hesitation, Days of Future Past is the most visually impressive, violent and fun entry of the X-Men saga.
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Top Five
I doubt I'm the only one, but I never would have expected Chris Rock to deliver one of the funniest movies of the year, let alone this decade. It seems oxymoronic (is that a word?) to make such a statement regarding the product of a undisputed stand-up comedy genius. You can count on one hand the other stand-ups besides Chris Rock who have delivered such simultaneously entertaining and thought-provoking ideas in their comedy, but other than the typical Sandler fare and voice work, he hasn't had much to speak of in the realm of cinema. It's impressive enough that he produced, wrote, directed and starred in Top Five, but he's done more than that; he has created a piece of cinema that calls back to classic comedies of a bygone era, something so hilarious, romantic and loving that it's hard to believe we're just now getting something as great as Top Five out of him. It's an ode to the art of comedy, how easy you can lose your identity in show business and finding your way back to the things that meant the most in your life.
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American Sniper
I suppose it shouldn't surprise anyone that American Sniper is a box office smash, especially anyone who saw the groundbreaking trailer for it. Even though he missteps every now and then, at 84 years old, Clint Eastwood is still out there, six decades deep into the business, making movies that are fun to watch. The meat of the movie and the story, though, is Bradley Cooper's dynamite performance. His transformation is something to behold. It’s the main selling point of the movie. The movie itself could have easily been a propaganda piece, but it isn't. It never lets anyone off the hook. There are consequences for every decision that Kyle or his peers makes. They, and every real man or woman in the armed forces, have to live with war for the rest of their lives.
Who could have ever predicted the enormous cultural conversation that still surrounds American Sniper? What's aggravating to me is the notion that have to believe Chris Kyle was a "hero" to have enjoyed the movie, and if you don't think he's a hero, you're somehow "un-American." Frankly, I don't think there's anything "heroic" about being a sniper. By the position's very nature, you're there to pick people off. It reminds me of when a hunter poses with the carcass of the kill he or she just made, donning a big smile like they just conquered a target. No. You blindsided an animal by hiding and waiting until the opportune moment to take it out with a precise shot. There's nothing to be proud of there. It's still bizarre to me that Chris Kyle himself wrote a book glorifying his actions as being the deadliest at the position in U.S. military history. How can you brag about that? But in a wartime scenario, regardless of what the circumstances are that put soldiers' feet on the ground of a war zone, you want someone in the "protector" position who really won't be bothered by what he's there to do. Kyle wanted to "protect his guys," and in that sense, this story of a sheepdog, thanks to an actor who is continually setting himself apart from his peers, is a success.
Favorites of 2014
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10. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
This movie is art. That term, while clearly applicable to anything creative, seems to be mostly thrown around when someone wants to identify something as being worth more than face value and having more artistic gravity than what is or was expected of it. In that case, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is exactly that. From the moment that red dot appears on the screen, showing the genesis and subsequent path of the virus that will inevitably wipe out the majority of humanity, we're hooked.
Personally, I don't think I've ever been so emotionally invested in protagonists that are pitted against humans. Every time the story shifted from the apes over to the humans, I got restless waiting for it to go back to the apes. We've been programmed all our lives, when it comes to tales of humans versus any other group of beings, to root for the humans. I don't think there's a single soul out there who saw this movie who can say they cared anything about what happened to the humans. Gary Oldman tries his best to make us care about the survivors' struggles, but neither he nor any of the other human characters combined equal the charisma of Caesar, the cool-headed anchor of the franchise. Of course, part of the way this reboot has arranged the story is that the humans brought about their own demise, and they kind of deserve it. However, a major point of emphasis of this series thus far is that, regardless of species, there is good and bad to be found everywhere.
Since its release, there has been talk of plot holes and continuity errors, of which there are a few, but when the end product is something as technologically and visually impressive and engaging as this, honestly, who gives a shit? It's a masterpiece.
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9. Jack O'Connell in Starred Up
From the moment Starred Up begins, we the viewer, along with every character in the movie, are held captive. We follow Eric Love (Jack O'Connell), who has been "starred up," the British term used when a young offender is ushered up into adult prison sooner than expected. That decision is usually made when a young inmate proves himself to be as dangerous and volatile as adults. We are trapped with him, this boy, in an unsettling claustrophobic journey from the moment he steps off the bus and walks through the labyrinth of a cages and gates, not knowing, but soon to be finding out, what madness he is truly capable of.
Jack O'Connell's performance is unequivocally the most unrestrained of the year. Eric Love is a war machine, programmed and ready to attack or defend at any and all times. It's an exhilarating ride watching him and the movie itself, all the way to the last frame. If Starred Up is any indication, we'll be seeing a lot more of Jack O'Connell for many years to come.
Jack O'Connell's performance is unequivocally the most unrestrained of the year. Eric Love is a war machine, programmed and ready to attack or defend at any and all times. It's an exhilarating ride watching him and the movie itself, all the way to the last frame. If Starred Up is any indication, we'll be seeing a lot more of Jack O'Connell for many years to come.
8. Ariana Grande - My Everything
I don't know a thing in the world about Ariana Grande. She looks like
an angel. She's dainty, untouchable, incorruptible. She looks as if a
light breeze would carry her any and every which way like the feather in
"Forrest Gump." Her presence in her music is ethereal, smooth and
effortless. Her songs run the gamut from light and heartfelt to
confident and booming. In the intro to the album, she lays herself bare,
and then goes straight into "Problem," one of the best dance and pop
songs of the year. Her voice is perfectly made to match the incredible
dance music of a song like "Break Free." When the chorus of "Why Try"
comes on, I just want to run outside and scream it with her at the top
of my lungs. With a genius sample of Diana Ross' "I'm Coming Out" and a
verse from rapper Childish Gambino, "Break Your Heart Right Back" is so
immensely danceable and fun it's a wonder why it wasn't chosen as a
single.
It doesn't appear that My Everything was
completely Ariana's brainchild; her name only appears on four of its
twelve tracks. She clearly has talent, though, and the team around her
seems to have made sure that the result, bookended by soul with
everything in between, was nothing short of one of the wholly greatest
pop albums of the decade.
7. "Uptown Funk" - Mark Ronson
feat. Bruno Mars
From start to finish, "Uptown Funk" is absolute nonsense. It's boastful, egotistical, lyrically unoriginal and borderline misogynistic. Harlem, Hollywood and Jackson, Mississippi have absolutely no business being mentioned together. It's also most unabashedly enjoyable song of 2014.
Seriously, what kind of glacial heart must you have not to enjoy the hell out of this song? You have to be trying really hard not to like it. It makes you feel a million bucks, a Samsonite suitcase full of crisp, freshly printed one-hundred dollar bills. The groove of this song is undeniable. It's also interesting to hear any random person with whom I've ever had a conversation about this song talk about "Bruno Mars' new song." Since he really is the star of the song, it's an easy mistake to make, attributing the song to him. Mark Ronson deserves all the credit one can possibly get, though. He's an excellent producer and arranger who has recorded some really fun versions of other artists' songs, like Amy Winehouse's rendition of "Valerie," for example. In the music video for "Uptown Funk," however, he does look pretty silly trying to keep up with the charm and attitude of Bruno Mars and his entourage of 1950's-Havana-esque dancers.
Admittedly, I have been a vocal naysayer of some of Bruno's other mushy vocal outings, like "The Lazy Song," "Just The Way You Are" and "Grenade," but "Uptown Funk" is in another realm. It's an endlessly fun song that I've listened to in excess of a hundred times. I'm not sick of it, and I don't see that point being reached anytime soon.
Seriously, what kind of glacial heart must you have not to enjoy the hell out of this song? You have to be trying really hard not to like it. It makes you feel a million bucks, a Samsonite suitcase full of crisp, freshly printed one-hundred dollar bills. The groove of this song is undeniable. It's also interesting to hear any random person with whom I've ever had a conversation about this song talk about "Bruno Mars' new song." Since he really is the star of the song, it's an easy mistake to make, attributing the song to him. Mark Ronson deserves all the credit one can possibly get, though. He's an excellent producer and arranger who has recorded some really fun versions of other artists' songs, like Amy Winehouse's rendition of "Valerie," for example. In the music video for "Uptown Funk," however, he does look pretty silly trying to keep up with the charm and attitude of Bruno Mars and his entourage of 1950's-Havana-esque dancers.
Admittedly, I have been a vocal naysayer of some of Bruno's other mushy vocal outings, like "The Lazy Song," "Just The Way You Are" and "Grenade," but "Uptown Funk" is in another realm. It's an endlessly fun song that I've listened to in excess of a hundred times. I'm not sick of it, and I don't see that point being reached anytime soon.
6. Boyhood
The worldwide reaction to Boyhood has become so rote that it seems hardly worth commenting on anymore. How many times over the past year has it been written that "Boyhood" is the movie that used the same cast over twelve years to film a story of a six-year-old's journey toward manhood? More than can possibly be calculated, I reckon. But it bears repeating, because it's worth it.
The most fascinating aspect of this movie's existence, to me, is that it seems to transcend any and all human ability to critique it. A creative fictional endeavor of such magnitude as this is beyond anything humanity has ever seen. The commitment to getting such a thing done is admirable beyond words, and the result is as moving and touching as I suppose anyone could have been expected of it. Richard Linklater has always been the type of filmmaker to break the mold, and he has done it for all time this go-around.
Sure, the story is based around Mason, but it's so easy to relate to multiple moments in Boyhood, whether you're a son, a daughter or a parent. the character of the mother (Patricia Arquette) is so compelling that she tends to steal your heart every scene she's in. While there isn't anything particularly groundbreaking about the story itself, there is a simplistic universality to it. An experience like that is a rare thing. Boyhood is the first of its kind, and I'm sure there will be many imitators to follow, but, like the Highlander, we know there can only be one.
The most fascinating aspect of this movie's existence, to me, is that it seems to transcend any and all human ability to critique it. A creative fictional endeavor of such magnitude as this is beyond anything humanity has ever seen. The commitment to getting such a thing done is admirable beyond words, and the result is as moving and touching as I suppose anyone could have been expected of it. Richard Linklater has always been the type of filmmaker to break the mold, and he has done it for all time this go-around.
Sure, the story is based around Mason, but it's so easy to relate to multiple moments in Boyhood, whether you're a son, a daughter or a parent. the character of the mother (Patricia Arquette) is so compelling that she tends to steal your heart every scene she's in. While there isn't anything particularly groundbreaking about the story itself, there is a simplistic universality to it. An experience like that is a rare thing. Boyhood is the first of its kind, and I'm sure there will be many imitators to follow, but, like the Highlander, we know there can only be one.
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5. True Detective
True Detective ruined my life.
When we were on the cusp of the premiere of an HBO series starring two of the best actors in the world, it was easy to assume we would be in for a fascinating ride, but no one expected the relentless vortex of depravity and existentialism that True Detective sent us down for eight weeks last January.
Has there ever been a better yin and yang duo than Rust Cohle and Marty Hart? They couldn't be any further apart in personality. Rust is a self-proclaimed pessimist and, as a former undercover officer, had thought he had seen all that people were capable of. He's a clearly disturbed man. He cares about the victims and about serving justice, but his personality is self-destructive. Marty, on the other hand, only seems to care about himself. He has a loving family that he, in his self-centered actions and motivations, gradually poisons with what he realizes all to late was his greatest crime: inattention. Somehow, this pair works magnificently as a unit as they try to solve a bizarre murder case in the rural bayou country of southern Louisiana.
"To realize that all your life, and all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. The same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream that you had about being a person."
The concept of time being a flat circle, that everything that you've ever done you'll do again, and again, and again, flattened me (no pun intended). I thought about my own existence, about my very thought process, my actions, the course of my life, and the lives of my family members. Maybe it's the present position in my own life, but there are so many of Rust Cohle's ideas and notions that I have yet to be able to shake. Present-day Rust talking about the perception of the meaning of life from the perspective of those being killed, those who were on the verge of the light going out, what they saw, left me reeling. Just as affecting were present-day Marty's realizations that he wasted valuable years away from his family. The line where he talks of the feeling of the future somehow always being behind you was an idea I'd pondered in my own life, but was never able to articulate. The narration of the lie in the fourth episode was unlike anything I ever knew storytelling to be capable of. Clearly, these unsettling ideas are the product of the writer of the entire series, the disturbingly gifted Nic Pizzolatto.
In terms of the directorial aspect, a series as dark in theme has never looked so beautiful. The stark Louisiana landscape is almost a character in itself. There is so much of that area that seems inaccessible, uninhabitable, and the quest to find someone who has gone missing can seem like finding a contact lens on a New York City sidewalk. Cary Fukunaga's direction is impeccable. Of course, there's the now infamous six-minute tracking shot of Rust's escape from the projects, but there are many more subtle shots and arrangements that are so gorgeous, you wish you could pause the screen, capture it and hang on your wall.
Season two of True Detective is just around the corner, and we can only hope that it holds a candle to the brilliance of it's inaugural season. Although, I would almost rather it be something completely different; I don't know how much more existential depression my mind can handle.
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4. Guardians of the Galaxy
A human, a green alien, a thick-headed warrior, a root, and a raccoon. To me, that didn't exactly sound like a rousing lineup of action movie characters. I knew nothing of the Guardians of the Galaxy comic, and I've grown not to expect much quality from Marvel movies in general, but when Chris Pratt was cast as the lead, my ears perked up.
Pratt's Peter Quill is the most fun and appropriately cast action star since Brendan Fraser's Rick O'Connell in the 1999 version of The Mummy. He's hilarious, charismatic and agile. For the part of Gamora, there clearly was no other choice than Zoe Saldana. Former WWE wrestler Dave Bautista steals just about every single scene as the literal, but powerful buffoon Drax, and it will be fun watching him in more action roles for years to come. The virtually silent character of Groot is immensely likeable, but simultaneously as dangerous as any being in the galaxy. And then there's Rocket, the genetic experiment raccoon. As fantastic an actor as Bradley Cooper clearly is, I never would have pegged him to be a voice actor, let alone in a Marvel movie. He nails the part. Lee Pace's Ronan is a most effective villain, his figure towering and voice booming as deep and terrifying as the Dark Aster itself.
The above screenshot is from my absolute favorite moment in cinema this year. It epitomizes every single thing about action movies. Early on, the gang is imprisoned and comes up with a plan to escape. After Groot jumps the gun, they scramble to make it out alive. Rocket, the weapon-loving creature that he is, finds himself on Groot's shoulders empty-handed and unable to defend them or attack the robotic guards. Drax disarms one of the guards and chucks a machine gun to Rocket. It flies through the air in slow-motion and lands in Rocket's eager arms. He cocks the gun, and with a smile on his face, immediately begins spraying fire over any and every thing in his path. He and Groot gleefully yell at their fullest capacities while they take down every robotic guard in the room. It's a rousing moment that makes me smile every single time.
For its entire duration, (well, maybe excluding the first 90 seconds) Guardians is the most enjoyable sit of 2014. It doesn't take itself so seriously that it forgets to have a good time. It eclipses all the verbal cliches and predictable plot points of its cinematic comic predecessors and sets itself apart as the most fun action movie of the decade thus far.
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3. Nightcrawler
"What if my problem wasn't that I don't understand people, but that I don't like them?"
We're dropped right into the story. We know absolutely nothing about Lou Bloom. His sheer presence is unsettling, his eyes that rarely blink are sunk back in his head. His tone is blunt, direct and matter-of-fact. We learn right away that he's a scavenger, a feral human in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, California. He's trying not only to survive, but to succeed. It's a familiar pursuit, but rarely if ever has someone ever gone to the darkest depths of human capability to succeed than Bloom does in Nightcrawler.
Bloom drives past a fiery wreck on the interstate and is captured by the moment. Out of nowhere, a van pulls up and two men jump out to film the police's dramatic rescue of the driver inside. The cameramen don't seem to care what the end result is, just that they capture good footage. Bloom is captivated by this idea, and is overcome with a desire to learn this craft. After pawning stolen goods for a camcorder and a police scanner, he begins driving around Los Angeles imitating what he sees of other nightcrawlers, freelance video journalists who sell their footage to the highest bidder. They're scavengers, like Bloom, and he knows that this is a trade in which he can find his success. But then he goes a step further. He begins to manipulate and orchestrate stories of his own.
Jake Gyllenhaal's performance is the most disturbing and captivating of the year, bar none. So seemingly selective with his roles, he goes deeper into his characters than most of his peers. His career choices are endlessly fascinating, and the fact that many of Bloom's traits were Gyllenhaal's own ideas makes him one of the most interesting actors in the world. Nightcrawler is a most disturbing film, one you won't soon forget. It's a movie that will make you look inward and ask yourself, "How far am I really willing to go to succeed?"
We're dropped right into the story. We know absolutely nothing about Lou Bloom. His sheer presence is unsettling, his eyes that rarely blink are sunk back in his head. His tone is blunt, direct and matter-of-fact. We learn right away that he's a scavenger, a feral human in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, California. He's trying not only to survive, but to succeed. It's a familiar pursuit, but rarely if ever has someone ever gone to the darkest depths of human capability to succeed than Bloom does in Nightcrawler.
Bloom drives past a fiery wreck on the interstate and is captured by the moment. Out of nowhere, a van pulls up and two men jump out to film the police's dramatic rescue of the driver inside. The cameramen don't seem to care what the end result is, just that they capture good footage. Bloom is captivated by this idea, and is overcome with a desire to learn this craft. After pawning stolen goods for a camcorder and a police scanner, he begins driving around Los Angeles imitating what he sees of other nightcrawlers, freelance video journalists who sell their footage to the highest bidder. They're scavengers, like Bloom, and he knows that this is a trade in which he can find his success. But then he goes a step further. He begins to manipulate and orchestrate stories of his own.
Jake Gyllenhaal's performance is the most disturbing and captivating of the year, bar none. So seemingly selective with his roles, he goes deeper into his characters than most of his peers. His career choices are endlessly fascinating, and the fact that many of Bloom's traits were Gyllenhaal's own ideas makes him one of the most interesting actors in the world. Nightcrawler is a most disturbing film, one you won't soon forget. It's a movie that will make you look inward and ask yourself, "How far am I really willing to go to succeed?"
2. Fargo
"You're going to adapt one of the greatest movies of the 1990s, let alone the history of the medium, into a television show? Wait, you're not going to retell the story? You're going to take the identity and aura of the universe that the Coen brothers so magnificently and precisely created and make up another story? Yeah, sure, good luck with that." That would've been my response if I was pitched the idea for the Fargo TV show. How terribly wrong I would have been.
With the 1996 cinematic masterpiece Fargo, the Coens created a story so dark and twisted, but set it in an area where the inhabitants of the surroundings were simpletons. They weren't necessarily dumb, just simple. The result was one of the funniest movies of the 1990s. The comparisons of the show's characters and those from the movie are easy to make, but the stories couldn't be further apart.
When Billy Bob Thorton's insidious Lorne Malvo rolls into Bemidji, Minnesota, it's seemingly just to get stitched up from a late-night wreck. He soon realizes he can take as much advantage of its citizens as he wants. When he meets Lester in the emergency room, we realize he can corrupt and manipulate them, too. For most of the show, Lorne Malvo moves seamlessly from target to target, executing every piece of his plan to perfection that it almost seems like he's a phantom, a ghost. He was the most relentlessly evil character to grace our screens in 2014.
With the 1996 cinematic masterpiece Fargo, the Coens created a story so dark and twisted, but set it in an area where the inhabitants of the surroundings were simpletons. They weren't necessarily dumb, just simple. The result was one of the funniest movies of the 1990s. The comparisons of the show's characters and those from the movie are easy to make, but the stories couldn't be further apart.
When Billy Bob Thorton's insidious Lorne Malvo rolls into Bemidji, Minnesota, it's seemingly just to get stitched up from a late-night wreck. He soon realizes he can take as much advantage of its citizens as he wants. When he meets Lester in the emergency room, we realize he can corrupt and manipulate them, too. For most of the show, Lorne Malvo moves seamlessly from target to target, executing every piece of his plan to perfection that it almost seems like he's a phantom, a ghost. He was the most relentlessly evil character to grace our screens in 2014.
Martin Freeman is Lester Nygaard, 2014's Walter White. It feels strange to say that, comparing a character who is so timid and wimpy to the single greatest anti-hero television has ever seen, especially when the clear antagonist of Fargo is Malvo. At the outset of the show, though, we sympathize with Lester. His wife says cruel and demeaning things to him, and his family doesn't think anything of him. He really is a pathetic character. That is, until he meets Lorne. Then he takes control of his life and finds out that he is capable of many more things, both brilliant and disquieting.
First-time actress Allison Tolman nails the part of Deputy Solverson, the clear equivalent to the Coens' Marge Gunderson. She's smarter than everyone on the force, but can't get through to anyone. Colin Hanks, who I thought was egregiously miscast in season six of Dexter, could not have been a more perfect choice as the timid (one might say cowardly), but well-meaning Gus Grimly. The supporting ensemble over the course of the ten episode series is fantastic
"I used to have positive opinions about the world, you know, about people. Used to think the best. Now I'm looking over my shoulder... I never wanted to be the type to think big thoughts about the nature of things."
First-time actress Allison Tolman nails the part of Deputy Solverson, the clear equivalent to the Coens' Marge Gunderson. She's smarter than everyone on the force, but can't get through to anyone. Colin Hanks, who I thought was egregiously miscast in season six of Dexter, could not have been a more perfect choice as the timid (one might say cowardly), but well-meaning Gus Grimly. The supporting ensemble over the course of the ten episode series is fantastic
"I used to have positive opinions about the world, you know, about people. Used to think the best. Now I'm looking over my shoulder... I never wanted to be the type to think big thoughts about the nature of things."
The key to the entire series, to me, lies in Bob Odenkirk's character, Sheriff Bill, especially in his monologue in the final episode. Throughout the season, he dismisses and demeans every single idea and allegation that Solverson brings to his attention. He doesn't want to put suspects out or embarrass Lester. In the last episode, when he realizes that he's mucked up a year-old investigation, you can see in his eyes how not only is he disappointed in himself, but he laments a long gone era of life. It's a common thought, people mourning the passage of the "simpler" time for one in which cruelty seems blase. It reminds me of Tommy Lee Jones' character in No Country for Old Men. In that movie we had a man who once protected his domain, but he gradually finds himself overwhelmed and outmatched by the vile things that humans have become capable of carrying out. Sheriff Bill's mistake over the course of the show was assuming the best in human beings, and that may very well be the most dangerous thing anyone can ever do.
Over ten weeks, it was an indescribable treat to watch Fargo unfold. It would shift from endearing, to shocking and then back to tear-inducing hilarity. Noah Hawley clearly knew what a blasphemous risk it would be to adapt a classic, but he had a vision for it could really be capable of. Did he succeed? You betcha.
1. Birdman or
(The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
(The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
What is your
biggest adversary? Is it a relationship? Your boss? Your position in life? A memory? Your third-grade teacher or a bully that demeaned you? An
abusive, absent or careless parent? When you sit back and seriously ponder the question,
there’s really only one answer: yourself.
While a question like that lends itself to a heavy response, Birdman is a most meaningful, yet wildly fun answer to such an existential question. The story of a washed-up so-and-so trying to make a last-ditch attempt at a meaningful contribution to the world is by no means fresh, but this movie is unlike anything any moviegoer has ever seen.
"You're doing this because you're scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don't matter."
Birdman is the tale of Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) and his attempt to adapt and an obscure Raymond Carver short story for the stage by gathering an eclectic, to say the least, cast of characters. In his mind, it's his last all-out opportunity to create a project that "means something." At its core, though, Birdman is really about one thing: the voice inside your head.
The ensemble is perfection. Michael Keaton was an ideal casting decision, and his performance is absolutely flawless. He has control of every single facet of his being, perfectly exemplified in the beginning rehearsal scene when he's seething with hatred at the actor whose sharing a scene with he and Naomi Watts' character. His eyes slowly and seamlessly look toward the ceiling as he envisions a stage light dropping on the actor's head. As the smarmy, egotistical method actor Mike Shiner, Edward Norton absolutely burns the house down. His character is wholly unlikeable, but steals just about every scene with gut-clutching hilarity. I love that Zach Galifianakis, who is easily now a household name and recognizable presence, continues to prove he's a multi-faceted and passionate performer. Emma Stone has never been better. It's mind-boggling to see that the likeable romantic target of Jonah Hill in 2007's Superbad has now become a Hollywood A-lister.
Birdman is even more impressive from the filmmaking point of view. It blows my mind that Alejandro González Iñárritu, whose previous films consist of basically three rehashes of the same idea (Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel), has delivered a movie that, in terms of both style and script, couldn't be any further from his body of work. Those three films are extremely heavy-handed and, frankly, pretty miserable sits. That a movie so enjoyable came from the vision of a filmmaker like him is astonishing. The elements of magic realism, fantastical things that have no business happening in a seemingly real story, make the movie even more fascinating. Riggan seems to be telepathic, but there are plenty of moments that make you think he's absolutely insane. Is he or isn't he? That's part of the fun of the movie, figuring out the answer to that question for yourself.
"That's what you always do — you confuse love for admiration."
Where Birdman really hits home, especially in this moment in time, is by exploring the notion that admiration and being beloved are the most important things in life, that they will fulfill one's existence. Of course, not everyone feels that way, but there are millions of people who, every day, think that becoming known, famous or relevant is the only way to be and feel like a success. Birdman doesn't accomplish anything in the way of alleviating any of that existential pain one might experience, nor does it affirm one's life, as so many movies are put on a pedestal to do. It does accomplish the next best thing; it let's you know that, if you feel any of the multitude of feelings that Riggan feels within him, you're definitely not alone. It makes you aware, if only for the time you watch this movie and consider it later, that you're not the only one who is never satisfied. While achieving fame and a well-known status might be exactly what some people are fulfilled by, Birdman makes a concrete statement on that idea: it's bullshit.
While a question like that lends itself to a heavy response, Birdman is a most meaningful, yet wildly fun answer to such an existential question. The story of a washed-up so-and-so trying to make a last-ditch attempt at a meaningful contribution to the world is by no means fresh, but this movie is unlike anything any moviegoer has ever seen.
"You're doing this because you're scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don't matter."
Birdman is the tale of Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) and his attempt to adapt and an obscure Raymond Carver short story for the stage by gathering an eclectic, to say the least, cast of characters. In his mind, it's his last all-out opportunity to create a project that "means something." At its core, though, Birdman is really about one thing: the voice inside your head.
The ensemble is perfection. Michael Keaton was an ideal casting decision, and his performance is absolutely flawless. He has control of every single facet of his being, perfectly exemplified in the beginning rehearsal scene when he's seething with hatred at the actor whose sharing a scene with he and Naomi Watts' character. His eyes slowly and seamlessly look toward the ceiling as he envisions a stage light dropping on the actor's head. As the smarmy, egotistical method actor Mike Shiner, Edward Norton absolutely burns the house down. His character is wholly unlikeable, but steals just about every scene with gut-clutching hilarity. I love that Zach Galifianakis, who is easily now a household name and recognizable presence, continues to prove he's a multi-faceted and passionate performer. Emma Stone has never been better. It's mind-boggling to see that the likeable romantic target of Jonah Hill in 2007's Superbad has now become a Hollywood A-lister.
Birdman is even more impressive from the filmmaking point of view. It blows my mind that Alejandro González Iñárritu, whose previous films consist of basically three rehashes of the same idea (Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel), has delivered a movie that, in terms of both style and script, couldn't be any further from his body of work. Those three films are extremely heavy-handed and, frankly, pretty miserable sits. That a movie so enjoyable came from the vision of a filmmaker like him is astonishing. The elements of magic realism, fantastical things that have no business happening in a seemingly real story, make the movie even more fascinating. Riggan seems to be telepathic, but there are plenty of moments that make you think he's absolutely insane. Is he or isn't he? That's part of the fun of the movie, figuring out the answer to that question for yourself.
"That's what you always do — you confuse love for admiration."
Where Birdman really hits home, especially in this moment in time, is by exploring the notion that admiration and being beloved are the most important things in life, that they will fulfill one's existence. Of course, not everyone feels that way, but there are millions of people who, every day, think that becoming known, famous or relevant is the only way to be and feel like a success. Birdman doesn't accomplish anything in the way of alleviating any of that existential pain one might experience, nor does it affirm one's life, as so many movies are put on a pedestal to do. It does accomplish the next best thing; it let's you know that, if you feel any of the multitude of feelings that Riggan feels within him, you're definitely not alone. It makes you aware, if only for the time you watch this movie and consider it later, that you're not the only one who is never satisfied. While achieving fame and a well-known status might be exactly what some people are fulfilled by, Birdman makes a concrete statement on that idea: it's bullshit.
