I know. I'm tired of it, too.
It's an overused phrase, but considering the entirety of the year that was 2015, it is most certainly accurate and appropriate. It was a fantastic year for movies, music, television, and artists of all kinds. Conversely, I think we'd all be hard-pressed to recall a more dismal year in the annals of human treatment of one another. It's been a trying year for the world at large, and one in which the reprieve of the great creations of artists has rarely been more important.
On a personal note, this is the fifth year I've been doing these lists. I've very much enjoyed the deliberation and creation of them, as well as the random feedback I receive. It means a great deal. Thanks for reading, whoever you may be, and I hope you continue to check in every now and then. As usual, any significant spoilers included in these entries will have disclaimers.
Let's get to it.
Special Mention: Singular Experiences in 2015
The Gift
"...the bad things, they can be a gift. And that's the way I like to see things."
In terms of sheer cinematic experience, The Gift was unparalleled. On its face, its synopsis, you've most certainly seen some incarnation of The Gift half a dozen times before, maybe more. A couple is stalked by some person from one of their pasts, he or she starts to torment them, yadda yadda yadda. There are so many stalker movie tropes you're geared up for, and they, along with any expectations you may have, are completely subverted. The Gift is the epitome of a slow builder. It's never comfortable, and you know it's escalating toward something, but who knows what it will be. I damn sure didn't.
There is such a fantastic feeling in not having the slightest idea where you're being taken by a movie, and that's exactly what happened the first time I watched The Gift. It played me like a drum and I loved every bit of it. The Gift is one of those you-can-only-see-it-for-the-first-time-once sort of experiences, but Joel Edgerton's directorial debut is one hell of a doozy.
"Mortal Man" by Kendrick Lamar
As I'm sure is the case for thousands of other fans, listening to that for the first time will always be a singular moment in time I'll be able to recall forever. The ease with which such a conversation was orchestrated with such a long-gone legendary figure is as unsettling and impressive as anything that has ever been done in music. In the homestretch of the album, Kendrick recites a piece that "a good friend had wrote describing my world." The jazz instruments in the background are building to this near-deafening crescendo as he asks Tupac's perspective. But he's gone. He calls out, "Pac...? Pac...? Pac...?" and To Pimp a Butterfly drops out. My eyes were wide and my cheeks were tingling. Goosebumps popped up all over my arms, and I sat there reeling in silence for minutes. For a brief moment, Kendrick Lamar raised Tupac from the dead.
The Pretty Damn Goods of 2015
The opening credits of Season Two of The Leftovers
Much has been discussed about the creative advancements of the second season of The Leftovers compared to the first, so much so that after not having watched a single frame of it, I smashed both of them in a week over the Christmas holiday. Really, the only problem I had with the first season was the unsettling opening credits. They're awful. I watched them one time in full during the first episode and fast-forwarded through them every subsequent episode. Nearly everything about season two turns the series on its head in a completely jarring and refreshing way, and it's no more evident than in the brand new opening credits sequence. It conveys every theme, frustration and fear there is, not only in the series, but life itself. It's a complete 180 of season one's title sequence, and it is profoundly moving. Along with the unmistakable voice of Iris Dement and her bright guitar, there are images of humans interacting with one another pre-Departure. In every picture, there is an absence of a figure, replaced by a beautiful set of clouds or some celestial scene. It's sweet, funny, and haunting. "Let the Mystery Be" addresses all of the existential worries humans have and it reassures that, even though answers to the whys and whats of life will never all be answered, living a life content with the big mystery is a beauty all its own.
Bone Tomahawk
Few cinematic experiences are better than the unsuspecting, unassuming horror flick. Bone Tomahawk is exactly that. It is a simply made study of frontier characters that jumps genres at will and is exceptionally well-crafted. When it slows back down after a thoroughly unsettling opening, we know that the movie will inevitably ramp back up, but it's in the numerous moments of general interaction between the characters that sets Bone Tomahawk apart from any other indie or western. The language used by the characters is so richly written that it sounds like something from the world of the Coen brothers. The cast that delivers these lines and embodys these characters is flawless. Patrick Wilson is guaranteed quality every outing, as is Richard Jenkins. Matthew Fox has never been so good in a film, and Kurt Russell is great, as one might expect.
When Bone Tomahawk does ramp back up, though, it escalates into full-blown horror the likes of which I have never seen. Elements of the horror are reminiscent of The Descent, but the violence is something all its own. There is a murder scene in the latter third of the movie that is more gruesome and barbaric than anything single thing I have ever witnessed. I don't think I've ever paused a movie to go walk around and calm back down until Bone Tomahawk. It's rare to find a film with fresh characters, language and creative horror, and Bone Tomahawk has that illusive combination in spades.
The first season of Better Call Saul
Better Call Saul is sort of an anomaly, in that it may not have been as good as you wanted it to be, but it was definitely better than you expected it to be. The fact that this series now exists is a wonderful gift for any Breaking Bad fanatic because it's a thrill to spend time with a couple of characters that you grew to love over the course of the show. The thing about Better Call Saul is that it scratches an itch you never knew was there. You loved Saul's brief moments on the show, but you didn't necessarily ponder how he came to do what he did.
Better Call Saul is unquestionably good. However, it is not without its faults, to be sure.
The Kettlemans? Who cared about any of that?
Mike? You're going to make one of the most interesting characters from Breaking Bad a series regular and then stick him in a parking booth for more than half the season? Weak sauce.
Chuck's illness? Again, who cared?
To be fair, though, when Better Call Saul was good, it was great.
The end of the first episode? Come on. I've never yelled so happily at a TV set.
Mike's "origin" episode? Easily one of the best dramatic television performances of all time.
The confrontation in "Pimento"? As heartbreaking a moment in storytelling as anything in television or film.
Whether or not each episode was enthralling, just about all who watched Better Call Saul wanted to see Jimmy McGill succeed. We all know he'll be a success, just a different kind of success. That journey will surely be more gripping than this first outing, and it will certainly be a blast to watch.
Sicario
On an episode of Marc Maron's WTF podcast, he and writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson discuss shooting in the American Southwest.
"You're from New Mexico," Anderson says. "You know, you get out there and you look like you're making an epic and you look like you know what you're doing if you just have a camera in the right spot because it just looks gigantic."
While Sicario is not an epic in the traditional sense, it captures the vastness of the Southwest and Mexican border towns in a more modern, urban sense. The juxtaposition of where these packed-like-sardine Mexican border areas, like Juarez, are positioned in the vastness of the desert is fascinating.
What sticks out in my mind after watching Sicario twice is how much it feels like Se7en. There are many obvious dissimilarities, to be sure. Se7en takes places in a claustrophobic, rainy, unnamed city, and the world of Sicario is barren wasteland. However, both share the exact same senses of dread and imminent danger. Like Fincher, Denis Villeneuve creates an aesthetic in his films that is singularly noticeable, mostly one that exudes the feeling that not a single positive thing will happen to anyone. The cinematography of Roger Deakins, the haunting score of Johann Johannsson, and the brilliant eye of Denis Villeneuve are proving to be an artistic team that is peerless in modern cinema. Anchored by an intense, yet subtle performance from Benicio Del Toro, Sicario is a thoroughly unforgettable modern thriller.
Brooklyn
I'll be the first to admit that there are a dozen or more movies every fall that I am compelled to see specifically because they're buzzed about come awards season. I'm a sucker for them, and I suppose always will be. All I knew about Brooklyn going into it was Saoirse Ronan played an Irish immigrant in the 1950s and High Fidelity writer Nick Hornby adapted the screenplay. In a short time I left the theater completely blown away by what felt to me like an instant classic.
To call Brooklyn simple seems disparaging, but it's just not showy or extravagant in ways that period pieces can easily be. It tells one heartfelt story. It's elegant and straightforward, yet completely enthralling and entertaining. It also has the most moving scene I experienced all year, which fully encapsulated the theme of the movie. Shortly after Eilis (pronounced AY-lish) arrives in America early in the movie, she is helping serve Christmas dinners to down-and-out Irish workers, “the tunnel-diggers and road-builders,” as Father Flood (Jim Braodbent) calls them. In the middle of the dinner, Father Flood invites one of the workers to stand and sing an Irish folk song. Everyone in the room stops to listen, and it's one of the most poignant moments I've ever experienced. The room becomes full of people who aren't really there. With their gazes absent and eyes brimming, the souls of Eilis and the workers are transported back to their respective lands. That scene, as well as the film itself, are testaments to the power of whatever it is that we call home.
Favorites of 2015
10. The Jinx: The Life and Deaths of
Robert Durst
Andrew Jarecki is a monster. Now, if you watched The Jinx or just recently became aware of the existence of Robert Durst as I did, you might be thinking that if ever there was a monster, Durst is surely one. Robert Durst is a nut, and, after watching The Jinx, almost certainly a brilliant murderer. When he sits down for his first interview with Jarecki, he immediately recalls the sentiment of Dr. Loomis in Halloween when he recounts to Sheriff Brackett what he saw when he first met Michael Myers. "The blackest eyes... the devil's eyes." However, the fact remains that Andrew Jarecki is a monster.
By the time the last episode of The Jinx comes around, viewers are aware of the most damning piece of evidence to befall any of the bizarre missing persons or murder cases involving Robert Durst. The handwritten font of the anonymous and infamously misspelled "cadaver" note, which referred police to the executed corpse of Susan Berman in "Beverley" Hills on December 23, 2000, is found to be a spot-on match with another handwritten letter discovered among the old belongings of Susan Berman. That letter that was sent by Robert Durst. In the letter, addressed to Susan less than two months before she was killed, Beverly Hills is again misspelled "Beverley." Jarecki knows he has the most pivotal article in existence in regards to Robert Durst's potential involvement in any of his "deaths," so he and his film crew put the letter in a safety deposit box and sit on it until they can schedule another interview in which they confront him cold on the similarities between the letters. This takes months.
If The Jinx tries to show us anything, it's that Robert Durst is an unhinged, yet unnervingly calm person who is likely capable of taking a life at any whim, particularly his younger brother Douglas. It is unquestionably clear that Jarecki sat on this evidence until he could confront Durst about it for the sake of his documentary, rather than making the existence of the note known. This move raises some serious moral quandaries. Jarecki knew what he would have if he got Durst in front of a camera reacting to something he surely had forgotten existed. However, if he had just gone straight to the police with the note, who knows what would have happened? He could have been dismissed, or worse yet, the note could have been confiscated and then nothing could have happen. Does he do it for the sake of the piece, or for the sake of justice? What is certain, though, is that after The Jinx ended, Durst was on the run and caught. He certainly could have hurt more people, but thankfully he didn't. Jarecki's decision was a bold one, and though it may be morally divisive, it leads to what is arguably the greatest finale in the history of television.
9. "eps1.5_br4ve-trave1er.asf" -
Episode Six of Season One of Mr. Robot
(Minor spoilers)
"I was sent this script and it was entitled Mr. Robot, and I was like, 'Are we sure about this, gang?'"
He said the comment in jest, but that pretty much sums up how I looked at the show before I ever gave it the time of day. Rami Malek has stuck with me ever since the summer HBO's The Pacific first aired, in which he was the clear standout in that vast ensemble cast. As interesting as the concept of the show itself may have been, any potential success for Mr. Robot hinges entirely on the casting of Eliot, the lead character. Whether in narration or physical form, Eliot occupies nearly every frame of Mr. Robot. He has to be played by someone who will enthrall the viewer, and Rami Malek is that individual. Rami's performance feels immediately iconic. Eliot is the rare and strange combination of a character that is almost so unsettling that you want nothing to do with him, yet you're so intrigued by what secrets he's hiding behind those enormous eyes. And of course there's Christian Slater, who is as great in this as he's been in anything, well, maybe ever. It's nice to see his feet settled as being a crucial part of such an acclaimed project.
The "Brave Traveler" episode is the point in Mr. Robot where the series shifts from intriguing character study to a full-blown thriller with serious stakes. The homestretch of this episode is easily one of the most anxiety-inducing, heart-rending episodes of television in years. Up to this episode, viewers have generally assumed that the pseudo-philosophical drug dealer Fernando Vera is nothing more than a cliche who was in Eliot and Shayla's way, but by the end of "Brave Traveler," what once seemed silly becomes absolutely horrifying. The unbearable buildup to the reveal at the end is unlike anything I’ve experienced in a show, perhaps only since the train heist in Breaking Bad. Just like the end of the "Dead Freight" episode of Breaking Bad, "Brave Traveler" is the moment where things will never be as they were. It takes our expectations, puts them in a sack, and violently shakes them out to be scattered in the wind beyond all comprehension.
I find myself comparing Mr. Robot to Breaking Bad because it really is that good. Like Breaking Bad, it takes the average viewer a little time to decide if this is a world to be fully dived into. Vince Gilligan made sure the world of Breaking Bad had appropriate consequences, the worst of which first appeared in “Dead Freight.” That was in the final season. Sam Esmail made that decision six episodes into his show’s run. Evidently, in his world, no one is safe.
8. "Hardhome" -
Episode Eight of Season Five of Game of Thrones
(MAJOR SPOILERS)
Jaime in Dorne?
The High Sparrow and the Faith Militant in King's Landing?
Khaleesi and the sociopolitical snooze of Meereen?
No thanks.
But then there's "Hardhome."
"Hardhome" is not only the best episode of television I watched in 2015, but it is the single most gratifying episode in the entirety of Game of Thrones. It gives us absolutely everything we've been wanting to happen, even since the opening minutes of the series.
We finally see Tyrion and Daenerys have a conversation.
We see Cersei continuing to be demeaned and tormented in a disgusting confined cell.
Sansa finally finds out that her brothers are alive.
And, oh yeah, HOLY SHIT BATTLE OF THE UNDEAD!
It was known by the episode's title that we were going to see where the Wildlings lived, but who had any inclination of what would ensue? Jon, along with the aid of Tormund, finally convinces a significant portion of the Wildlings that their generations-long beef pales in comparison to what's coming from farther north of the Wall. As Jon and company are getting ready to leave, and it becomes apparent we're about to witness a wight attack, it is damned terrifying. It also ends up being better than most action sequences in full-length cinema. It's hard to think of a better "Oh shit!" moment than the look on the faces of Jon and the White Walker when Jon wields Longclaw triumphantly against the seemingly invincible weapons of the White Walkers. Of course, the "come at me, bro" raising-of-the-slain moment at the end will forever live in meme infamy, but Jon smashing Beardy into a million pieces is the television moment of the year.
7. The Revenant
(Minor spoilers)
The Revenant is by no means perfect. The grizzly roll on Leo is absolutely insane, Tom Hardy's accent is all over the place, and there are post-production dubbing moments that are some of the most poorly veiled I've ever seen. However, any issues it may have do not take away from the fact that The Revenant is one of the most entertaining adventure films in a very long time. Well before the movie came out, the shoot itself was already the stuff of legend well before it ever came out. It definitely shows. It's Jeremiah Johnson turned up to 11. There is definitely no question that Emmanuel Lubezki is the greatest living cinematographer. No one in the industry makes cinematic worlds as immersive as Chivo. And what a career shift for Alejandro González Iñárritu. From making three essentially identical dismal dramas in Amores Perros, 21 Grams and Babel, to the cinematic game changers of Birdman and The Revenant, Iñárritu has transformed himself from a repetitive storyteller into a legendary filmmaker.
Millions of people have admired Leo for the duration of his career, but only we of a certain age "grew up" with him. We've witnessed the interstellar trajectory of his career and have been interested every step of the way. On February 28th, there will be millions tuning into the Oscars, not just because of the controversy that has been created around them this year, but to specifically see the moment when Leonardo DiCaprio is inevitably and finally announced as an Academy Award winner. It will not only be a justified industry acknowledgement, but a cathartic experience for longtime fans, which proves that he is one of the most interesting actors who ever filled a silver screen.
6. The Hateful Eight Roadshow
For three hours in late December, I went back in time. I went to a movie theater and, upon issuing my ticket, received a Playbill-esque program that detailed the cinematic event I was about to see. As all the moviegoers entered the theater and took their seats, a managerial gentleman came to the front to briefly explain The Hateful Eight roadshow. As was the case for a precious few theaters around the country, special film projection equipment was shipped and arranged to show this unique version of the film by people specifically trained to use it. The movie would have no trailers, would begin with an overture, and would be split by a 10-minute intermission. The man left the theater, the lights went down, and a blood red mountain landscape came on the screen with the word "OVERTURE" in big block letters. Then, with Ennio Morricone's haunting score, began one of the most fun moviegoing experiences of my life.
The movie itself was a bit of a different animal. By sheer association with its creator, The Hateful Eight is unfortunately compared to Tarantino' previous works. Viewers are used to the size of his films, in terms of both running time and scope, but this is unquestionably his most claustrophobic work. Now, if you're of the opinion like I am that any Tarantino is good Tarantino, The Hateful Eight is never anything short of entertaining. It is unpredictable, shocking, and unwavering in its brutality. It is also at times tender, as well as thought-provoking and thoroughly satisfying. There was a palpable feeling after its completion that it may take some time to digest The Hateful Eight alongside, but there is no question that Quentin Tarantino makes the most distinguishable art in the world.
5. Leon Bridges - Coming Home
From the opening seconds of the title track to the closing notes of "River," Coming Home is a trip. It's a sonic treat that's such a rarity in popular music. It's brand new, yet it sounds like it could be fifty years old. It induces immediate nostalgia without being nostalgic itself. It feels as though Coming Home has been around long enough that grandparents of the present generation might've danced hand-in-hand in their heyday to "Better Man" and "Lisa Sawyer" while it played in their living rooms on home record players in the 1960s. Coming Home is of a particular time, yet it is timeless. The tight ten song playlist covers just about every emotion there is to convey in rhythm and blues, and it's an album that I will always have at the ready.
4. Kingsman: The Secret Service
(Minor spoilers)
This is a star-making performance for all time by Taron Egerton. The character of edgy-little-shit-turned-lovable-badass is by no means a new one, but he holds the movie down in every single scene he's in. Samuel L. is an effective antagonist, but that lisp is a mite unsettling. But Colin Firth... Good god... I've seen a lot of cinematic shenanigans in my day, but the church scene, as my grandmother would say, beats anything I ever saw. That scene is unquestionably the most beautifully brutal and relentless display of violence I have ever witnessed in any medium. The fact that Colin Firth was the individual who carried out such acts is, in all interpretations of the world, incredible. Seeing Colin Firth, who is no spring chicken, slide and and skate across a church while murdering scores of bigots as “Freebird” plays full-blast is the most fun anyone could ever have watching something so violent. That’s another thing; here I was thinking that we had long-since passed the point of no return on uses of “Freebird” in anything. Nothing else would have fit, and God almighty Jesus is it great. As it turns out, Kingsman is too.
3. Season Two of Fargo
Season two continues with the characteristics of season one, as well as the movie: white-knuckle tension, eye-widening gore and numerous moments of genius subtle hilarity. Straight up, this season is legitimately the most flawlessly cast show I've ever seen. There isn't one false note from any player, lead or supporting. Jesse Plemons continues his amazing post-Friday Night Lights career. Kirsten Dunst has never been better. Patrick Wilson is incredible. Nick Offerman steals every moment of screen time. Jeffrey Donovan makes an amazing turn as the overreaching, dim-witted Midwestern psycho. There are so many standouts in this amazing lineup, but the one that steals the whole thing is Bokeem Woodbine. Every moment that Mike Milligan is on screen, there's something about him that is so indescribably fascinating. I think it's the bolo tie.
The general nationwide aftereffect of Vietnam is present in this season in ways I don’t think we’ve seen portrayed. Of course there have been numerous movies and shows about veterans coming home and the like, but by and large, those projects are only about that. The war has no prominent role in season two of Fargo, but the attitudes of nearly every single individual in the show are shaped by the turmoil the United States was in and the personal tolls it took on those directly in it or by association. In a tertiary way, season two is a commentary on small town USA trying to get back on track or control after too many years of unrest. That generation was exceptional because many of those individuals saw unspeakable evil in Vietnam. It reminds one of war in general; we think by going elsewhere to fight evil that we will win, when in fact, the evil and brutality that we perpetrate on one another is worse. That generation and the present are children of war.
The marvel of season two of Fargo is, even though it's set in 1979, how much it has to say about the present. Watching this season of Fargo and seeing American headlines every day has made for a fascinating look into the history of the American mind. Again, I find myself coming back to No Country for Old Men. Sheriff Ed Tom Bell is having trouble existing and fighting against what he sees as an unstoppable force of evil, not only in his small part of Texas, but the world itself. The idea of what used to be, how good things once were, and how terrible things have become has made a good man throw in the towel. Watching the second season of Fargo, reckoning with what it had to say about us, and existing as an American in 2015, made me come to a realization. It's one that many people already have, and it's that not being able to comprehend the violence of the present will always exist. The Sheriff Bells have always stood back with their hands on their hips and shook their heads, lamenting of a era long gone, one of innocence. Like some characters of the Coens’ universe, we frequently fool ourselves into believing something that never really existed. The evil of today, the evil of “Sioux Falls, 1979,” and evil itself has been around so long as man has drawn breath. We just like to think that, once upon a time, it wasn’t that way
2. Mad Max: Fury Road
Fury Road is a feat of apocalyptic fancy and creativity. Dust and rust and hell on Earth never looked so gorgeous. The details of everything from the costumes and the vehicles to the sounds and the stunts are so unfathomably precise and subtle. That anyone could conceive of stunts of such groundbreaking magnitude is a feat unto itself, let alone carrying them out to perfection is one for all time. It is truly one of the most impressive feats of production in the history of action cinema.
The real star of Fury Road most certainly isn’t the titular hero — it’s the Road itself. Fury Road is the most breakneck movie I have ever witnessed, and is the all-time example of a reason to still go to the movies.
1. Tame Impala - Currents
I envy Kevin Parker. He is a sonic auteur. He is essentially the sole songwriter, producer and performer for all of Tame Impala's studio work. There is something so romantic about the idea of being barefoot, running from room to room in your home studio in a port city in Australia to play and mix each and every layer of music of which you are the sole composer. It is a feat of talent and ability unlike anything I can comprehend. It's clear from his method that what's most important to Kevin Parker is
not just the music, but the album. The finished product that was
engineered and molded into exactly what he wanted is all that matters.
If anyone who wasn’t familiar with the band queued up Tame Impala’s InnerSpeaker, Lonerism and Currents to play through chronologically, they’d be hard-pressed to mark the point where InnerSpeaker ends and Lonerism
begins. They’re both fantastic albums of experimental
production, but sonically, they sound
pretty similar. When Currents begins, the feeling of freshness hits immediately, because Currents is absolutely clean.
If I've listened to "Let It Happen" once, I've listened to it 200 times. It's been over eight months since I bought Currents, and it's as fresh as it sounded on that day. It is flawlessly and intriguingly constructed. Three of the albums thirteen songs come in under two minutes, and two songs last over six minutes. No track tarries longer than it needs to, and the lengthy tracks never overindulge. Currents is one of the best albums of my lifetime and it is unquestionably an all-time personal top ten album.
In the same way millions hearken back to the days of Pink Floyd, Tame Impala is a time-defying oxymoron, a bridge of modern nostalgia that immediately sounds new but connects us back to the time of peak psychedelia. It genuinely seems like Currents is music the people Earth will be listening to as long as there are ears to soak in the waves.
