Pop Culture Favorites of 2015

"What a time to be alive."

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

I remember the morning I woke up to find out that Kendrick dropped To Pimp a Butterfly on Spotify sometime in the night, a full week before its scheduled release. I had that day off from work, so I nestled up on the couch with a fat cup of joe, slapped on my headphones, and listened to the album in its entirety. It is undoubtedly a peerless piece of art from one of the world's greatest living artists, but I haven't had the desire to listen to the album at any given moment with the same desire as good kid, m.A.A.d city. However, I can't think of a more jarring closer in all of recorded music. Over the course of his album's 70-plus minute running time, Kendrick peppers throughout the album added lines to a cryptic phrase that begins with, "I remember you was conflicted, misusin' your influence." It sounds as if he's drawing out a long piece of poetry or something, and by the middle of the album's final track, "Mortal Man," you realize he's talking to Tupac.

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

"They called him Slippin' Jimmy, and everybody wanted to be his friend."

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)

During an appearance on Andy Greenwald's old Grantland podcast, Rami Malek was asked about the genesis of his involvement with Mr. Robot.

"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)

Any honest fan of Game of Thrones will tell you that season five was far from the series' best material. The acclaim it's received from various awards organizations is surely misplaced.
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 success of The Revenant, be it financial or acclaimed, hinges on one thing: the casting of Leonardo DiCaprio. The character of Hugh Glass must be played by someone that moviegoers are comfortable seeing nature kick the shit out of for two-and-a-half hours, someone whose body of work is generally out of that particular element. It has to be someone who is admired and adored by the public at large, someone who can hold the collective attention of planet Earth, and Leonardo DiCaprio is absolutely that person. In The Revenant, Leo proves that he is one of the world's most compelling performers, carrying a movie with a virtually silent performance and looking like, well, a grizzled fur trapper, when his career and place in modern culture is based almost entirely on his looks.

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

If there is a certainty in this world, it's that Quentin Tarantino is the best friend film ever had.

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

To the cynic, everything about Leon Bridges is contrived. Looking at the cover of Coming Home , or at any of his live appearances, it might seem that Leon Bridges is a methodically packaged product. He's a Sam Cooke-looking wannabe who's trying to ride the coattails of icons of bygone eras and genres that have seen very little cultural prominence in the last three decades. Even if that were true, and it certainly isn't, what's wrong with that? Answer: not a damn thing. No one else seems to be putting music like this out there on such a level, and it's absolutely wonderful. Leon Bridges is the real deal.

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)

From start to finish, Kingsman is the perfect blend of everything the spy movies of yore wish they could be. Kingsman expertly walks the fine line between honoring spy movies of the past and succumbing to many of their campy tropes. The level of violence in Kingsman is so refreshingly shocking and brutal, but the dapper values of Kingsman itself balances out like a Latife '45 with a Big Mac. We should all be thankful there wasn’t a studio decision to turn Kingsman into a PG-13 outing, because it would have been absolutely terrible. With material and a cast like this, you either go hard or go home, and Kingsman went absolutely balls-to-the-wall.

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

It's almost impossible for me to come up with the words, let alone arrange them in sentences, to describe the achievement that is the second season of Fargo. Last year, I was completely blown away that Noah Hawley and company created one season of a show that honored an American film classic by being the most compelling show on television. I'll be damned if they didn't go on and make a better one.

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

Within seconds of the start of Mad Max: Fury Road, it's already the best of the series. Why? Because it quickly establishes the one thing that was missing from all the other Max movies: he's actually crazy! Finally, Mad Max is finally more than just a clever alliterative name of a brooding wasteland warrior. Who knows why it took the fourth outing for George Miller and company to make Max into a grunting, frantic madman, but it’s the personality the iconic character deserves, and the series as a whole is better because of it.

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.

Pop Culture Favorites of 2014

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

 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.

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?"

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.

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."

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)

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.