60. Her (2013-Spike Jonze)
Sometimes it's tempting to trace a line between life and art. In the case of Spike Jonze's heartsick story of love and isolation, it's hard to put his split from Sofia Coppola aside, especially when his portrait of a recently divorced man searching for some sort of meaning is so nuanced and raw. Her is emotional dystopia, so warm and inviting on the surface that, by the time we see the calculated emptiness at work, it's far too late. And yet it's so big-hearted and honest, a shimmering beacon of light against a world that feels so lonely. It's about love in the most literal way, what we put into it, what we get out of it and how we're shaped and reshaped in the process. Jonze never takes the easy way out, never once playing it cool or hanging back emotionally. He sifts through the wreck of a future that struggles to communicate, charting a relationship that shouldn't make sense but does, hanging everything on the weary face of Joaquin Phoenix and the endlessly expressive voice of Scarlett Johansson.
A film about a man shagging his PC? Not even close. Her is a wonderfully told story about learning to love yourself in a world that's suddenly feels a lot less familiar
The High Point: Honestly? Any time Amy Adams is onscreen
59. House of Flying Daggers (2004- Zhang Yimou)
I think the trap that too many tepid actioners fall into is that they see the scraps and setpieces as a means to an end, an empty gesture that only exists to notch up cheap thrills. All the more reason to come back to Zhang Yimou's martial arts opus, then. If Crouching Tiger remixed wuxia's basic components for a new century, then House of Flying Daggers redefined them, carrying on from Yimou's own Hero to add to his repertoire of modern action gems. Every fight here is a work of art, from a breathless battle in a bamboo forest to a heart-stopping one-on-one on a snowy plain. The story is lean and the pacing is taut- all the better to ensure that every gorgeously rendered setpiece takes centre stage. Yimou's painter's eye has never had a better showcase, with every fight feeling like a carefully constructed composition. It also has something that too few action films seem to have now: a sense of genuine astonishment that builds with every stunt
The High Point: Stunning as the fights are, it's the Echo Game that blows my mind every time I watch it
58. The Wrestler (2008- Darren Aronofsky)
Before he took to adapting the good book with Noah and mother!, Darren Aronofksy was unparalleled in his deep dives into the minds of the obsessed. Top of the pile is The Wrestler, his soulful, wounded take on washed-up bruiser Randy "The Ram" Robinson. It's painfully existential, a portrait of a man unable to do the only thing he's good at, so crushingly inept at everything else (holding down a steady job, maintaing a healthy relationship, being a decent father), that he has no choice but to eye up an inevitable return to the ring, where certain destruction awaits. The Wrestler is a hard film to talk about, because it's so taut, tightly wrapped around one of the most uncomfortable human truths: our skills can betray us, leaving us totally useless. It's such a painful piece of work, a raw, raspy primal scream of a film. Mickey Rourke is perfection as The Ram, a lost man looking for some sort of solace. Throw in an ace Bruce Springsteen track over the credits and you've got a winner
The High Point: Mounting the ropes for the last time, Robinson ram jams his way off the mortal coil
57. Nebraska (2013- Alexander Payne)
A lot can change in 17 years. Alexander Payne burst onto the scene in the indie cinema boom of the mid 90s, and while it's easy to be cynical about the twee curiosities that have come out of Sundance in the two decades since, the truth is that Payne's bitingly funny deconstructions of masculinity didn't actually age all that badly, and Nebraska is pure Election-calibre magic. A push and pull between (chaotic) father and (neurotic) son, Nebraska is a cinematic beat-poem about the things we do for love. There's so much about small-town America in this film, how backwater towns dream together and scheme together, but Payne doesn't judge- money might not be able to buy happiness but it certainly doesn't hurt. But at its core, it is a father/son story: about getting older and holding onto your independence just as much as it's about the thin line between generosity and obligation. It's got the tenderness and honesty of a wise auteur with all the wit and energy of a young firebrand
Lost in Translation starts when it ends; that magical, playfully elusive whisper between two unlikely friends marks the beginning of the film's captivating spell. Much has been made of that moment, but I think it only works so well because the film before it is so uniquely, unexpectedly charming. It begins as a simple story of being a stranger in a strange land, but it's so much more- a film about what it's like to lose yourself in a world you thought you recognised. That extends into the narrative and out of the screen: an empathetic parable about realising that maybe you don't understand yourself as much as you thought. It's droll without being dry, cozy but never cuddly, poignant but absolutely not pretentious, a two-hander where a pair of lost souls connect by chance and see their lives changed forever. Scarlett Johansson is ace but the standout is Bill Murray giving the performance I'm sure will define him, wearily caught between the past and future and utterly unable to see what's happening in the present. For a relaxing time, make it Lost in Translation time
No good joke is ever "too soon". Four Lions sounds horrendously tone-deaf on paper- a comedy about a group of jihadis planning an attack? No thank you. And yet, like all good satire, it's a film that's so funny, so enduringly funny, because so much of it is true. Just because the film is silly doesn't mean it's not important, and in the years since its release, where the threat it's laughing at has become progressively more real, it's only become funnier, and ultimately, more crucial. After all, what better tool to strip a threat of its fear factor than unrelenting mockery? Speaking of, for all the weight behind it, Four Lions is undoubtedly one of the funniest films that's come out in the last twenty years, with joke after joke about exploding ravens and fun-runs-gone-wrong. Every gag feels like another nick at a group that so desperately wants you to cower before them. By the end, Morris has rendered them so utterly ridiculous, disarming them of their greatest weapon with the comedic equivalent of death by a thousand cuts
Three Billboards, depending on who you ask is either the pinnacle of Martin McDonagh's career or a totally misjudged misfire that botches it's weighty social comment. I've spoken about this film extensively enough for you to know I'm the former, and personally I think if it provokes you, then it's succeeded in what it sets out to do. McDonagh's film is an outsider's take on the failings of the American justice system, something that hasn't gotten any less relevant in the three short years since its release. It's angry, confrontational cinema, fueled by mournful fury and helmed by a trio of astonishing performances, but what really stuns is the deep vein of compassion that runs through it. McDonagh seems determined not to turn this into a film about hate, keeping the focus on rage and pain but crucially letting disarming flashes of love creep through as well. McDonagh is mourning for a world that let itself go to ruin, and watching it in 2020, it's more incendiary than ever
The tricky thing about lists like this is that they always have to contend with what's next. Most of this list has been spent tackling the wealth of great cinema that's come out in the last two decades, but Bacurau is the most recent film on this list, and I really struggled to place it. It's hard to know what's going to become a classic in the next 20 years, so by putting Bacurau in the number 53 slot, I'm conceding, refusing to speculate what's going to be remembered as great and just celebrating the most exciting piece of cinema that's come out so far in 2020. After all, what is Kleber Mendonça Filho's film if not a full-blooded remix of what came before it, a heady celebration of cinema's past and present that strives to leave something new for the future? It's a venomous takedown of Western entitlement, a chilling parable of becoming an outsider in your own community and a roaring tribute to genre cinema's most indelible icons. It's truly wonderful, so save your "too soons" and embrace the new flesh
Dog Soldiers was an indication that Neil Marshall was a Brit-horror icon to watch, and The Descent confirmed this, a no-frills pressure cooker of claustrophobic horror. If the greatest terror lies in the unknown, then The Descent is very great indeed, drip feeding dread without interrupting the plot for exposition or explanation. It's harrowing even before the creatures show up, with Marhsall wringing every modicum of fear out of a cave-exploration gone wrong. It's that taut, breathless atmosphere that makes The Descent so effective, a skull-shattering survival horror that's built on a foundation of steady tension and carefully escalating danger. It's genuinely terrifying, turning the horrors of grief and trauma into inescapable sound and vision, and whichever ending you get, one thing is certain: you will be losing sleep
If The Witch was quiet, controlled chaos that gradually grew into a roaring folk bonfire, then The Lighthouse is more overt in its madness. Here, insanity is gooey and all consuming, pooling around the viewer's feet before submerging them in it faster than they can say "Why'd ya spill yer beans?" Robert Eggers' second film is much more immediate than its slow-burning sister, but it's just as cryptic, reveling in the unruly horror of a mind in freefall, and taking every chance to throw in a meaning-laden symbol. It's an uneasy push-and-pull between two men who feed off each other just as much as they destroy each other: homoerotic longing clashing with violent insanity. It's one of the purest, most vicious horror films in recent memory, joyously brought to life by Robert Pattison and Willem Dafoe. It's funny and sad and deeply disturbing, a dark cinematic storm that urges you to keep coming back for another hit of black and white madness
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