Amid all the list making and best-of roundups, there are
films bound to be forgotten. Among these are great films, some heralded in
their time and some less so, but all of which deserve to be remembered and
shared as the years and decades go on. Last Cinema Standing will, of course, be
compiling our Best of the Decade lists and sharing them in this space. We will
talk about the best moments in film, the best performances, and the best films,
but I wanted to start off this project with the films that might not end up in
these other places.
I initially planned to have here a list of movies that
should be revisited so as not to be forgotten, but as with so many things, the
idea morphed and transformed in the process. What we have instead are the
movies that for whatever reason, I could not stop thinking about as the years
have passed. Some are big blockbusters while others are little-seen indies, but
none has left my mind. So, here are 20 movies – two for each year of the 2010s
– that I will be thinking about in 2020 and beyond and that I hope you will
give another watch to in the decade to come.
Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010)
Remember when Banksy was nominated for an Oscar? That was no
joke, except perhaps on the Academy for buying into the veracity of the
notoriously prank-happy street artist’s supposed documentary. But “fact or
fiction?” is not really the point in Exit Through the Gift Shop. If you
accept it as a documentary, then it is a documentary. If you view it as a
satirical jab at the world of high art, then that is what it is.
The characters are verifiably real – or as verifiable as
anyone in this world gets – with Mr. Brainwash, Space Invader, Shepard Fairey,
and Banksy himself all making appearances. The film captures the guerilla
nature of their work but also the craftsmanship inherent in the planning,
preparation, and execution of their schemes. It then goes beyond that into the
commodification of all that work, questioning the very nature of art as a
business.
It is undeniable that Exit Through the Gift Shop is
an elaborate practical joke, but on whom will change based on your perspective.
Is it on the high-art world, which is shown to be shallow and corruptible? Is
it on the street artists, who allow themselves to be taken in by Mr. Brainwash?
Is it on us for getting dragged into any of this? Or maybe the joke is
ultimately on Banksy, for thinking any of us would get what he was doing in the
first place.
See also: 127 Hours, Danny Boyle’s stirring
tribute to the human spirit, which gives us James Franco’s finest performance,
a wonderful A.R. Rahman score, and one of the most beautiful and uplifting
finales of the decade.
Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011)
The revitalization of the Planet of the Apes series
is one of the most pleasantly surprising developments of the past decade.
Though many of the films are enjoyable, the original series essentially peaked
with the twist at the end of the first film. Charlton Heston damns us all to
hell, and it is basically downhill from there, give or take an Escape from
the Planet of the Apes. Tim Burton’s widely loathed 2001 Planet of the
Apes left neither hope nor much desire for a revival.
So, imagine the delight of sitting down for another reboot
in a decade of full of them and instead getting a startlingly original vision
that refuses to trade on the nostalgia of its predecessors and forges a new
path forward. Director Ruper Wyatt strikes gold with the story of a chimpanzee
accidentally granted sentience and a society that has no idea how to handle
that development. As ever, though, this tale about the rise of another species
is truly about the fatal flaw in humanity that precipitates our own downfall.
Of course, Andy Serkis is great as Caesar, the central chimp,
and we will talk more about him in another installment of this series. The
visual effects work, to this point, was unmatched. How Joe Letteri and team
lost the Oscar will be puzzled over. But Wyatt does not rely solely on
performance and effects, and in the end, he stages one of the great battle
scenes of the decade on the Golden Gate Bridge. He imbues the sequence with the
weight it deserves, portraying humanity’s last stand for the futile gesture it
is and, perhaps, always was.
See also: Drive, a tangerine dream of a
film that made a lot of people (yours truly included) think they could be cool
just by throwing on a scorpion jacket and remaining stoic. Perhaps no one will
ever be as cool as director Nicolas Winding Refn makes Ryan Gosling look in
this movie.
Prometheus (2012)
In 2012, I called director Ridley Scott’s Alien
prequel the best film of the year. It was not a well-liked film, and its esteem
has not grown in the intervening years. At the time, I thought it was an
estimable science-fiction masterpiece. Masterpiece was probably too strong –
the film is silly in places and has surface-level flaws I missed while admiring
its depths. I still admire its depths. In the wake of Alien: Covenant, I
find still more to like in Prometheus.
It is fascinating the four original Alien films were
handled by four distinct directors, each putting his spin on the material. Of
them, only Scott returned to the franchise. Perhaps, this is because he was the
only one who had something left to say on the matter. Taken together, Prometheus
and Alien: Covenant reach for a grand statement on humanity’s origins
and our never-ending quest to find meaning beyond ourselves.
The android David (Michael Fassbender) is one of the great
characters of the decade. He represents both human ingenuity and human vanity.
He is the best of our intentions and the worst of our actions. He is both the
pride and the fall. He is the film’s final verdict on what we are. Maybe Prometheus
does not achieve all its goals, but for setting its aims so high, it is to be
applauded.
See also: Chronicle, which like so much
else in recent times has been stained by problematic men behind the scenes but
which remains the second-best superhero film of a decade dominated by
superheroes. Dane DeHaan is marvelous, and as a latecomer to The Wire
who never watched Friday Night Lights, this was my introduction to the
one, the only Michael B. Jordan.
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
This is an already well-regarded film by two of the
preeminent filmmakers of the era, which is to say Joel and Ethan Coen’s Inside
Llewyn Davis is not exactly at risk of being forgotten. On the contrary, it
will be at or near the top of many best-of-the-decade lists, I suspect. And
while it will not be on my list, Inside Llewyn Davis is a film that has
not left my mind since I saw it. It sticks with you and demands attention, not
unlike the cat Oscar Isaac’s Llewyn picks up as a traveling companion.
Adam Driver gave an interview to the New Yorker a couple
months back in which he stated he no longer watches his own performances,
citing his performance in this film as a reason why. In particular, he
mentioned the famous “Please, Mr. Kennedy” sequence, which is the most
out-and-out funny moment in a movie that is otherwise blackly comic at the best
of times. I bring this up because at Driver’s mere mention of the scene, my mind
spiraled in a dozen different directions, analyzing the film’s structure, its
humor, and its performances, all of which remain richly nuanced on every
viewing.
The story is not so much a straight line of incidents but a densely
interwoven tapestry of accidents and ironies – all meticulously planned by the
Coens, of course. Though I do not have this on my list of the best films of the
decade, it tops the list of films I have thought about most in the past 10
years. It is impossible not to think of Llewyn and his brushes with greatness,
his travels parallel to the road that leads to success and fame, a road he will
never walk.
See also: Stories We Tell, Sarah Polley’s
poignant and pointed work of autobiography, functioning both as a deeply felt
exploration of the relationship between parents and their children and a larger
investigation of the nature of truth and truth-telling.
Inherent Vice (2014)
In a decade that saw Paul Thomas Anderson produce two universally
acclaimed masterworks (The Master and Phantom Thread), it is the
film that came between those two that stands out the most in my mind as a
hidden gem. It is truly PTA’s middle child of the decade – forgotten,
underappreciated, and a little bitter. Where The Master and Phantom
Thread trade on their mannered stateliness, Inherent Vice is an
irreverent freakout, content in its strangeness and unbothered by its
messiness.
Adapted from a seemingly unfilmable Thomas Pynchon novel, Inherent
Vice is less about its twisty, private-eye mystery plot than it is about a
mood. With an all-time Joaquin Phoenix performance at its center, the film
tangles you up in knots, daring you to pull at any thread and see what happens.
Sometimes, it feels as though the film itself is unsure what will happen if you
look too closely, though of course, Anderson is always in control, no matter
how out of control his creation seems to be.
The hippie dream has never been portrayed as foggier or more
distant than here, where characters walk around seemingly aware that any change
they longed for has eluded them and any peace they sought has curdled into
boredom and discontentment. Anderson knows this, and his film is unafraid to
show us how all that bitterness builds up in those who had so much hope dashed
so unceremoniously. And, suddenly, all the fun stops, and we are left with only
emptiness, and we can hardly picture what once may have filled the void.
See also: Mr. Turner, about what happens
when a world we thought we knew passes us by and we are left to reflect on what
remains. Mike Leigh delivers a gorgeously shot tribute to the life and work of
a singular artist that serves as a reminder of what makes all artists special
and just a little crazy.
The Kindergarten Teacher (2015)
I have not seen Sara Colangelo’s 2018 remake of this film. I
hear Maggie Gyllenhaal is exceptional in the title role. Considering I can
think of no bad Gyllenhaal performances, I am sure that she is. But we already
have Sarit Larry’s sublime performance in Nadav Lapid’s original, and to ask
for more would seemingly be greedy.
Beyond Larry’s stellar work, there is also Lapid’s
constantly seeking camera, following characters around at ground level,
spotting the nuances and flavors of everyday lives that have seemingly been
sapped of both. It is a film about art that is as cynical as Exit Through
the Gift Shop but drained of satire. The Kindergarten Teacher is
deadly serious.
When the film came out, Lapid called the titular teacher a
“terrorist for art,” and she certainly proves willing to blow up her life,
metaphorically, for the cause. As we slide further into a culture that ignores
beauty for the banal, Lapid was already here on the front line before we knew
there was a war, calling it a battle before the first shot was fired. It all
seems so clear now, but The Kindergarten Teacher knew then.
See also: 99 Homes, when Andrew Garfield
finally got to step away from the Spider-man mask that was always ill-fitted
and show us once again the thespian underneath. Few films understood and
conveyed the economic realities of the decade better than this vital Ramin
Bahrani work.
Moana (2016)
Moana made $690 million worldwide. It was a critical
hit. It featured a popular soundtrack spearheaded by the brilliant Lin-Manuel
Miranda. And in its time across various streaming services, it has proved to be
endlessly rewatchable. Despite all of this, it feels as though the film is
destined to animated also-ran status for the 2010s.
The Frozen franchise was the biggest animated hit of
a decade bookended by a pair of Toy Story sequels (Toy Story 3 in
2010 and Toy Story 4 in 2019), part of Pixar’s continued dominance in
the animation realm. Hayao Miyazaki made his supposed swan song (The Wind
Rises in 2013, though he may have further features yet to come). Spiderman:
Into the Spider-Verse changed how we look at animation and animated heroes.
This all went on, and still, I keep coming back to Moana.
I can’t think of a better animated story to save for future
generations than that of a young Polynesian girl who takes control of her
destiny, saves her people, and defeats a “villain” not with violence but
empathy. It is classic Disney, presented in a way that is anything but classic.
There is no princess. There is no prince. There is just a fearless warrior, who
instead of urging us to let it go, asks us to wonder how far we’ll go.
See also: 20th Century Women, Mike Mills’
loving portrait of the women who raised him, which stands among the most
empathetic films of a time in which empathy seems in short supply. Annette
Bening, Greta Gerwig, and Elle Fanning are remarkable at the head of an
ensemble of lives that feel truly lived.
In the Fade (2017)
Each of us is dealing in some way with forgiveness and
reconciliation, be it on a small scale within ourselves or our families or on a
grander scale with a society that continues to oppress and marginalize the most
vulnerable among us. There is no easy answer, there is no quick fix, and no
peace appears to be on the horizon. So, what are we left with? Fear. Anger.
Resentment. Hatred. And a lack of avenues to explore and work through these
feelings. In that spirit, director Fatih Akin’s In the Fade sure seems
like the movie of the moment.
Despite winning the Golden Globe for best foreign language
film and despite starring Diane Kruger, one of Germany’s most famous actresses
internationally, who won best actress at the Cannes Film Festival for this
performance, In the Fade was criminally underseen. Perhaps it was too
raw for American audiences. Tell me if this sounds familiar: A person of color
is killed, and the system spends its time investigating the deceased for
reasons it is his fault he is dead. Throw in the true antagonists, a band of Neo
Nazis, and though set in Germany, this begins to resemble the America a lot of
us know today.
Kruger plays the wife of the Turkish man who is killed along
with their son in a terrorist bombing, and when the system fails to achieve
justice, she is left to face a world that would rather protect Nazis than
avenge an immigrant. So, we return to forgiveness and reconciliation. The
Christian bible says Jesus wants us to forgive 77 times – or maybe 70 times 7. In
the Fade asks what of that next time and whether practicing forgiveness and
reconciliation simply comforts evil-doers. What of and at what cost
accountability? Akin’s answer comes not from the bible but another worldly
scribe: Don’t let the sun go down on your grievances.
See also: The Florida Project, about mostly
good people mostly trying to do good in a world that has little time or
patience for small kindnesses. Writer-director Sean Baker’s film is equal parts
damning and triumphant, portraying the American Dream as a flickering candle, a
beacon of hope that at any moment could be extinguished.
Black Panther (2018)
Ryan Coogler dominated the decade. I say that as a plain
fact. I am on the record all over this website calling Coogler the best
director in the game today, and I have not seen a compelling argument for
anyone else. He burst on to the scene in 2013 with Fruitvale Station, an
underseen masterwork. From there, he took over one of the most storied
franchises in American film and made it relevant again with Creed in
2015. Finally, to close out the decade, he gifted the world Black Panther.
For 2018, Black Panther simply was the culture. Think
about how remarkable this is: A black man directs a script from two black
writers (Coogler and Joe Robert Cole), starring a mostly black cast, and the
film becomes the highest-grossing domestic box-office hit (until Avengers:
Endgame took back the title) in a series that is otherwise painfully white.
But leave aside for a moment everything the film means to the industry and the
world at large, and what you are left with is a tremendous work of art and, for
my money, the finest superhero film ever made.
Black Panther is great because as thrilling as its
set pieces are, as cool as its technology is, as fun as its heroes are, it is a
film equally concerned with ideas. Though it ends with a big fight sequence –
as required by Marvel formula – the battle is about more than brawn. It is
about ideas, about ideology. Coogler engages the audience intellectually in a
way that even few non-superhero films have the courage to do. That he does so
while entertaining so thoroughly makes Black Panther like watching a
magic trick – and Coogler, right now, is the world’s greatest magician.
See also: The Other Side of the Wind, the
final Orson Welles film, about which we do not talk enough, perhaps because we
take for granted a masterpiece from one of the greatest directors ever to step
behind a camera. It is the perfect coda to a sadly imperfect career, marred by
a system that could not understand or appreciate the genius in its midst.
The Nightingale (2019)
Writer-director Jennifer Kent seemed to spring forth fully
formed with her astonishing horror debut The Babadook in 2014. Her
second feature, the equally horrific but decidedly less supernatural The
Nightingale, proves that first film was no fluke and that Kent will be a
filmmaker to be reckoned with in the coming decade.
A revenge thriller where the antagonist is nothing less than
European colonialism, The Nightingale takes place 200 years ago and
could not feel more of the moment. Our heroes are a white convict woman
(Aisling Franciosi) and an aboriginal tracker (Baykali Ganambarr), who each
have reasons to be angry with the hand life has dealt them, or more
specifically, the hand their white male overseers have dealt them.
As they trek through the Tasmanian wilderness, doggedly
pursuing those who have wronged them, we are confronted with the kinds of
banal, everyday violence that make up life in a world destroyed by its
conquerors. The film is brutal, bloody, and assaultive, all of which I mean as
compliments, as Kent never shies from her duty to portray the truth of this
place and these people. This is not about the nobility in the fight – there is
no nobility or grace to be found here – but rather the necessity of struggle.
No one wanted things to be this way, but they are, and we do what we must.
See also: Aquarela, which is the most
beguiling and entrancing documentary to come along in quite some time,
demonstrating the power of the natural world and, thereby, humanity’s inherent
powerlessness. We are guests here, and not permanent ones at that.
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