Was this a good year for film? Let's look at it this way: Steven Spielberg made two (2) good films and neither is likely to be nominated for best picture. Imagine the following — ten years from now, you pass by side-by-side retro theaters. One is playing Spielberg's 2002 hits Minority Report and Catch Me If You Can, another is playing the two Steven Soderbergh films that were both nominated for Best Picture in 2000, Traffic and Erin Brockovich. You've got an afternoon to kill. Which theater do you go to? I don't think there's even much of a choice. Was 2002 a good year for film? Yes.
Over a month ago (December 16), the American Film Institute presented its ten best movies of 2002 list. This list blew for several reasons, the greatest of which was that eight of the films had not even come out yet. What kind of garbage is that? The following is not a stretch: the AFI nominations dictate the Golden Globe selections. The Golden Globe selections influence the Oscars. Hence, the security council of the AFI — the ten to twelve people who get advanced billing for the 2002 film scene — are essentially in charge of deciding who will win the most prestigious art awards of the year.
This is a practice that has to stop.
Anyway, if you're like me, you didn't get to everything this year and before January you certainly didn't get to The Hours, Chicago, Adaptation, About Schmidt, Antwone Fisher, or half a dozen other "great" films. However, as of now, I did get to most worth seeing this year so I present my own best and worst list of the 2002 offerings.
It's simply a matter of taste. The best are here, but there's little quality difference between #9 and #2.
It's reckless to discount blockbusters solely because their primary target audience is under 18.
Hard not to like Hugh Grant, even when he's playing a cad. Is there a quality role for Hugh in which he does not play, essentially, an overgrown adolescent? I'm guessing no.
Would have rated higher if I hadn't seen it again on DVD. This is a great philosophical study, especially in an era of suspicion and paranoia. Can a free society imprison a man before he's committed his crime? Even if it's a certainty, something beneath your American skin tells you that you have to wait for the crime to happen before you can punish. After all, what is the point of incarceration? Most of us feel it is to punish, not rehabilitate. But how can you punish for a crime that hasn't been committed? Ah.
And, it's damn entertaining.
Repeat viewing, however, leads me to the conclusion that even if you assume the absurd premise that crack babies of the future grow into clairvoyant pre-crime-fighting tools of an Orwellian society; this is still in the John Hughes realm of fabulously far-fetched tales. The logical holes distracted greatly from the enjoyment thereof.
A thoroughly enjoyable romp, and one I'm hoping will go away and never resurface.
Why? Because this is exactly the sort of conflict-less Little-Engine-That-Could tripe that Oscar voters pride themselves on nominating. Yes, it was good, but just like The Full Monty, every bi-product of this work will be completely negligible. Count on it.
Probably the best pure genre film of 2002 (yeah, Chicago, that includes you). Creepy, creepy, creepy. As unnerving as films like The Blair Witch Project and Carnival of Souls, which puts it in ideal nightmare company for eerie thrill-seekers. Great film, and there's no way I'm ever going to see it again.
It is about damn time that Spike Lee made a movie and not an agenda. This is his best work since Do the Right Thing. Edward Norton is great as are Barry Pepper, Rosario Dawson, Brian Cox and even Tony Siragusa (!). And once again, Philip Seymour Hoffman has discovered a role of mismatched sexual intrigue. (I like Hoffman, but is there no one else in Hollywood to take these roles? Is he just going to look awkward with whomever he chooses to solicit? Probably. At least his role in Punch-Drunk Love was a different take on the subject.)
Pales only in that it's neither quite as good, nor (obviously) as original as the first. Can't wait for the conclusion.
I'm certain to be the only one who watched, remembered, and loved this tribute to advanced teen mischief. For skeptics, I simply offer that in the opening scene, two boys (Kieran Culkin and Ryan Phillippe) poison their mother, played by Susan Sarandon. That should be worth the price of admission alone.
Michael Moore's attack on American gun culture — in convenient documentary form — is more scathing, heart-felt, amusing, thoughtful and entertaining than any two other 2002 films put together.
This may go down as the best film ever to receive zero (0) Academy Award nominations. The reasons for this are complex, but they boil down to two categories:
This film is better than Moore's outstanding documentary of 1989, Roger & Me. It's a more comprehensive and (believe it or not) less scapegoating look at the serious gun problems in this country. If nothing else, one has to give it up for a director and writer who can make an unscripted Marilyn Manson look like the voice of reason on gun violence in the USA. That, by itself, should tell Americans exactly how large a gun problem we have.
About an hour in, the self-destructive Virginia Woolf flees to a train station. When found and confronted, she threatens suicide while pointing out how the suburbs are suffocating her, in effect taking away her life. It's an honest moment, and one that turns this film from a pretentious chick-flick into something deeper; a "what is life?" statement for all of us. Every scene that follows it is better than every scene before it.
The Hours is a study of depression, dead-end relationships, and the suffocation inherent therein. So bring the kids, 'cuz it's fun for the whole family. Seriously, it's probably a good film for anybody who has ever considered suicide — in other words just about anybody who has ever attended high school in the United States. Ironically, there's no way you could get your average American teen anywhere near this thing.
Some notes:
M. Night Shyamalan has built quite a portfolio, no?
Check out Leo in the bachelor lifestyle orange digs.
It's true: the screenwriter is the most undervalued commodity in Hollywood. But following this fabricated and indulgent tale of Charlie Kaufman trying to adapt to film a novel about orchids is not necessarily the best way to go about announcing such. Didn't Barton Fink teach us all not to put writer's block front and center on the big screen?
By the way, if you didn't know, Donald Kaufman doesn't really exist. This is the producer's big joke on those of us who found the final ten minutes intolerable.
There's nothing wrong with The Pianist other than the fact that it was made better ten years ago and called Schindler's List. The first halves of each film (the deterioration of Warsaw in WWII) are almost identical retellings of the same history. Roman Polanski has chosen to follow one of the victims instead of the German businessman Schindler, but the story of survival in the insane world of Nazi Germany is very familiar. Schindler's List is the best version of this tale; the worst is probably Jakob the Liar, a Robin Williams vehicle of 1999.
In the next few weeks, you're going to hear a lot about Adrien Brody's performance as the piano player who successfully avoided the concentration camps. While this performance is compelling, it is derivative and pale compared to a similar performance of angst and self-survival by Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Now, Schindler's List is one of the greatest films of all time, and Hanks did get nominated for Cast Away, so The Pianist has clearly sidled up to the big table for movie heavyweights. But the derivative feel won't go away.
Would this have been a great film in, say, 1990 (before the others)? Almost certainly. But this isn't 1990, and how a film presents itself depends a great deal on what has come before it. The greatness of this film in its present state is owed to its influences. Don't give me that "great film on its own" crap, I was thinking about Schindler's List during every shot of this thing. Great films invite comparison, but don't make you think about anything but themselves (at least while you're watching).
Oh, and by the way: "pianist" has now officially become one of the clichéd professions of the movie world.
This and Columbine are probably the best message films of the year. Here's the problem: I was taught European History by a man who spent his youth in Nazi Germany. I found the man an enormous and invaluable wealth of information and poppycock. Buried within the cornucopial dungheap that went hand-in-hand with Nazi dogma, however, there lay the occasional kernel of truth. One such I remembered well was the following: "Americans have no sense of tragedy," Mr. Crome would say, citing "Death of a Salesman" as evidence. You see, Willy Loman's life is simply too mundane to be called a tragedy. Tragedies can only truly happen to people of importance. This is what I thought about while watching About Schmidt.
Jack Nicholson plays the ironically named Schmidt to such perfect mediocrity that two things happen: it becomes easy for the viewer to sympathize with Schmidt, who reflects the mediocrity in all of our lives, but at the same time it becomes nearly impossible to acknowledge the significance of the character.
About Schmidt is a cautionary tale to be sure, but it's an important story about an unimportant man, which doesn't work. Unimportant people don't become important until they actually do something of significance, like destroy the World Trade towers. Much of this film is enjoyable, but no amount of meandering thoughts to pen pal orphans or gratuitous Kathy Bates nudity is ever going to make this a Best Picture. The only thing Schmidt accomplishes in his very small adventures is self-realization, which puts him about 90 minutes behind the audience.
Fluff, fluff and more fluff. I may never see a film that screams "3 stars" any louder than this one. It's a shallow, indulgent tale of self-pity, murder, and beating the system. Oh, in case you didn't get the memo, it's also (primarily) intended to showcase theatrical talent.
Renee Zellweger, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Richard Gere, John C. Reilly and Queen Latifah sure did sing and dance and stuff. Yup, they sure did.
Wonder what's the last film to have two stars with "Z" names?
Are you deciding whether or not to see this film?
I've devised a little quiz:
If your answer is "yes" to any of these questions, then please go see and enjoy Gangs of New York. If, however…
Here's what I think happened: For over a year, Gangs has been over-hyped for subject matter and star power: Scorsese, New York, DiCaprio, Immigration, Diaz, Gang Warfare, Day-Lewis. Jim Broadbent's March Oscar couldn't have hurt, either. Late in 2002, this movie was introduced to the two most pro-Scorsese audiences in the world: Critics and New Yorkers. Film critics wouldn't throw Martin off the island even if he were sitting on his ass all the time, badmouthing everybody and eating the communal cheesy chips. And asking a New Yorker to pan this film is like asking a San Franciscan to pan a documentary on the Golden Gate Bridge. Finally, at Christmastime, it comes to the rest of us riding a roller coaster of positive endorsement, but without a single objective viewpoint thrown in there.
Then the rest of us saw it.
If this was a great film, I'm simply going to have to revise my idea of "great" to include films like Double Jeopardy; The Karate Kid, Part II; and Mr. Destiny. Don't get me wrong — it wasn't awful, but Gangs of New York had this odd habit of presenting minor story lines that were much more interesting than the major ones, the watered down version of Hamlet and the unconvincing love triangle. Unfortunately, the film was about the latter. Someday, in turn, a good film will be made about each of the slighted topics: the Boss Tweed government, NYC immigration during the civil war, the conscription act, racial tension between blacks and Irish in the 19th century, NYC's role in the Civil War, pre-20th century fire-fighting, etc. I would rather have seen a full-length feature film on any of these topics than what actually got put up on screen.
Then there's Daniel Day-Lewis. D-Day is a great actor. There's no question of that. But the power of his overrated performance as a bully warlord is highly influenced by use of props. Look, if Woody Allen skulked all over the screen constantly holding big knives, ranting seriously about social issues and stabbing every third thing he saw, you just might be a little intimidated by him as well. Lewis' performance was no more compelling than that of Wesley Snipes in New Jack City. Perhaps ill-informed obsequians confused "Bill the Butcher" with that lovable blue-collar card "Bob the Builder".
Willem Dafoe gets my vote for villain of the year.
As for the inevitable Gangs of New York nominations to follow: it's too bad the NFL isn't decided in this fashion, because a lot of people would like to see a Jets/Giants Superbowl.
Were Pedro Almodóvar an American, my guess is he would be no bigger than David Fincher.
Over fifty top critics panned this film, but it's clearly the best war film of 2002, which counts for something as we're in an era of great war films.
However, since the death of Gene Siskel, over 75% of Roger Ebert's thoughts should be ignored.
Robin Williams the creep beats wacky Robin Williams any day.
I'm simply not getting to enough foreign/art films… ever since Gosford Park: once bitten, twice shy.
You're telling me a Salma Hayek vehicle is Oscar worthy? Is Leelee Sobieski next? How about the Olsen twins?
I'm finding it difficult to believe that a good movie can have "Yo' Momma" in the title. Even Latin film enthusiasts must be a little embarrassed about that one.
A quality thought piece with major roles from Dennis Quaid and Dennis Haysbert? This can't be.
Sequels worth seeing: Red Dragon; Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets; Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones (well, sort of).
Wastes of Time: Die Another Day, The Tuxedo, Men in Black II, Hollywood Ending, Austin Powers: Goldmember.
Check this out — I can play the steady, but forgettable husband role 13 times in a year: John C. Reilly.
It was Ok, but should have been better: Road to Perdition.
Great moments in sci-fi animation: Yoda wielding a light saber; the Ents attack Isengard.
If they were different films, I couldn't tell you which was which: The Bourne Identity and The Truth About Charlie.
For you Harry Potter fans: The constant battle between Gryffindor and Slytherin houses, I believe, is a metaphor for the rivalry between Great Britain and the United States. (Am amassing evidence as we speak).
It was another great year for women's roles: that is, as long as you were willing to play a depressed or suicidal nomad.
Least memorable film: The Sum of All Fears. Ironically, given the subject matter, it should have been the most memorable.
Nice to see you back from wherever: Meryl Streep, Daniel Day-Lewis.
I don't know what this means, but I'm sure it means something: this is the second film in a row (Minority Report, Vanilla Sky) in which Tom Cruise has had several scenes with a distorted face. Add this to his masked look in Eyes Wide Shut and both Mission: Impossible movies and there's not just a pattern, but also a message. What that message is, I don't know.
I can't believe it wasn't awful: Undercover Brother and Jackass: The Movie. 'Course I wouldn't recommend the latter to anybody who doesn't have a Y chromosome. If you didn't see the aptly named Jackass, this is a group of idiot males doing deliberately dangerous, embarrassing and indescribably tasteless things ("indescribable" is the wrong word — they're certainly describable, just not in this forum). Three things strike me about these fellows —
A mob boss is being tortured. He's hanging upside-down, parallel to the ground, chained to the bottom of one of those huge metal hauling boxes used on ships. The fellows decide mob boss has had enough and decide to let him go. So the one non-shot-calling-guy is asked to lower the metal box and he accidentally lowers it too fast, squashing mob boss to death. Ho ho ho.
There are six or seven gratuitous murders in Formula 51 handled with the same "comic" approach. This is the best part of the film. I kid you not. Were the lead played by, say, Martin Lawrence instead of Samuel L. Jackson, this could have been the worst film of the year.
Where the Hell is Robert Carlyle's career going?
Another 48 Hours was so bad that it actually detracted from 48 Hours. Scooby-Doo was so bad it actually detracted from a cartoon. This would have been a better movie if they had just taken a regular episode and expanded it to feature film length time.
Suffice to say, Edward Norton is no longer among the untainted ranks.
Halfway through this eternity, Cameron Diaz and Christina Applegate decide to crash a wedding. Neither has a wedding-appropriate look, so they decide to storm this small, quirky boutique in the middle of what looks like Sonoma. The girls play dress up, trying on costumes reminiscent of women in better films than this one. Four or five costumes in, Christina dons a Julia Roberts Pretty Woman look, and then busts on the Roberts "necklace-case snapping" scene by laughing way too hard at a snapping necklace case. I mention this moment in detail because these three seconds were the only ones in the entire film that brought a smile. If my description brought no smile to your face, I suggest you go through life pretending this film never existed. It shouldn't be hard.
The Sweetest Thing billed itself as "a female There's Something About Mary", which, I suppose, would be fair if Mary had been written and directed by Joan Baez.
Yet another humorless Soderbergh work. Most of his films, however, can get by without it. Suffers from what I'm going to call "Gosford Park Syndrome" which is: it doesn't matter what your film has to say if you can't put a single thing on screen worth seeing or hearing. (Of course, I felt the messages of Gosford Park itself were pretentious contradictory Eurotrash, but that's another story.)
Let me ask you this: if you had a spouse who committed suicide and then came back to life, don't you think you would eventually have some reaction other than "how did that happen?"
The kind of film that makes you rethink your position on everybody in it.
Gee, maybe _________ (fill in the blank with any or all of the following: Ron Underwood, Eddie Murphy, Rosario Dawson, Joe Pantoliano, Jay Mohr, Luis Guzmán, Peter Boyle, John Cleese, Illeana Douglas) just isn't that talented after all. Now that Eddie Murphy has discovered a target audience (under ten), he has to stay there. There is no limit to the levels upon which this film fails: it fails as a comedy; it fails as an action film; it fails as romance; it fails as sci-fi; it fails as mystery; it fails as futuristic; it fails as a buddy film…
I have no problem believing Madonna made any "worst list" for any reason. I fully expect Modern Maternity to give her a "worst birth" award sometime this fall.
Title kind of says it all, huh?
The 25th Hour came out about a day too late.
The Sweetest Thing about this movie is leaving it.
The Sum of All Fears: Ben Affleck continues to make more films.
The Hours go on and on, but this film doesn't end. No wonder all these women are suicidal.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: The secret is out — J.K. Rowling has far too much control over these films.
The Tuxedo: All dressed up with no place to blow.
Life or Something Like It: One star or something like it.
Insomnia: Cure for.
Big Fat Liar/My Big Fat Greek Wedding: I leave the reader to make up his/her own review (hint: use words "Big" and "Fat" together for sake of humor just like these films did. See how funny that is?)
xXx: Ironically, this winning tic-tac-toe line gets a review of oOo.
I Spy … something that begins with the letter "S".
Jason X Like Mike: Starless.
Chicago, City of Wind.
Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron — Seen it: Overflowin' of the Boredom.
The Good Girl: The so-so film.
Windtalkers: Out-of-theater walkers.
Signs: all point to "two stars".
Ballistic: Ecks v. Sever/Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood: Both up there with Smilla's Sense of Snow and Benji: The Hunted among historically bad film titles.
Two Weeks Notice: One week in the theater.
Jackass: The Movie. Stay tuned for Jackass: The Review.
Gangs of New York: Get this, a Scorsese film about New York City. Next thing you know, Steven Seagal will make an action/vengeance film.
Solaris (sung to tune of "Volare"): So-lar-is whoa-o-o-o, no-star-s-whoa-o-o-o.
Punch-Drunk Love: My feeling for this film is one of Punch-Drank Apathy.
Well, that's it guys and gals. See you again next year. Peace out, or something like it.