January 5, 2006
By Matt Savelloni
AND THE WINNER IS…
I’ve decided to take a different tact on this year’s awards because 2005 was a weak year for cinema. For the first time since DRIVING MISS DAISY somehow walked away with Best Picture, there is no 300-lb. gorilla leading the favorites. So I’ve decided to run down a Top 9 and then talk in detail about my #1 choice. So without further ado…
The PRINT TO SCREEN AWARDS of 2005!
#10: HARRY POTTER & THE GOBLET OF FIRE – Steven Kloves, adapting from the novel by J.K. Rowling.
Still too long by 30 minutes, at least the series is starting to grow in complexity and real human emotion. Kloves excises much but not enough of the novel and then rallies with an incredibly dark and violent conclusion that shepherds the franchise officially into young adult territory.
#9: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN – Larry McMurtry & Diana Ossana, adapting from the short story by Annie Proulx.
Not the masterpiece the critics would lead you to believe—there are some serious flaws to BROKEBACK (see diatribe below)—but it does triumph in the areas of cinematography and performances.
#8: HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE – Hayao Miyazaki, adapting from the novel by Diana Wynne Jones.
Another homerun for Japan’s animation maestro, HOWL’S has been unjustly overlooked by just about every major critic presumably because of memory loss for any film released prior to November. Manages to incorporate childhood wonder with some real risks and of course, sublime artistry.
#7: THE CONSTANT GARDENER – Jeffery Caine, adapting from the novel by John Le Carre.
Suffers from a lagging pace and the tired conceit of Greedy Corporate Guys as villains but nevertheless, a classy interpretation of a legendary thriller writer. Fernando Meirelles is going to be a filmmaker to talk about for years to come and Rachel Weisz deserves Best Actress consideration.
#6: ENRON: THE SMARTEST GUYS IN THE ROOM – Alex Gibney, adapting from the novel The Smartest Guys in the Room: The Amazing Rise and Scandalous Fall of Enron by Bethany McLean & Peter Elkind.
Not the best documentary of the year—those honors go to GRIZZLY MAN and THE TALENT GIVEN US—but a masterful depiction of corporate avarice and indeed, human evil. ENRON is a smart presentation of a complicated scandal that should be required cautionary viewing for all Wall Street newbies.
#5: BATMAN BEGINS – David S. Goyer and Christopher Nolan, adapting the characters of Bob Kane.
Were it not for the hyperactive editing for the idiotic MTV crowd, this would be higher up the list. Nevertheless, Hollywood finally did justice to this seminal character.
#4: THE BEAT THAT MY HEART SKIPPED – Jacques Audiard & Tonino Benacquista, adapting the previous screenplay by James Toback.
I’m not a fan of remakes…except when they’re exceptional. An improvement over the original, hopefully we’ll see more of the promising young actor Romain Duris in the future.
#3: WAR OF THE WORLDS – Josh Friedman & David Koepp, adapting from the novel by H.G. Wells.
Unfairly maligned, this was the most exciting, tense and suspenseful film of the year. Tom Cruise’s antics and an unfathomable backlash against Sir Steven (more on this later) overshadowed what is otherwise a relentless and refreshingly uncompromising popcorn flick.
#2: CAPOTE – Dan Futterman, adapting from the novel by Gerald Clarke.
A moody—albeit factually wishy-washy—riff on the legendary author. Amazingly restrained given the subject matter, Hoffman should make space for his Oscar now.
#1: MUNICH – Tony Kushner and Eric Roth, adapting from the novel Vengeance by George Jonas.
One day a brave soul might make a documentary about 2005 titled “The Crusade Against Steven Spielberg.” Reading the reviews of MUNICH and WAR OF THE WORLDS by critics who either shat all over them or—worse still—dismissed them part and parcel not only confirms that discerning movie tastes are disappearing but also that established critics are now leading the charge. The further we grow away from the heyday of 1965-1980, the more slack these critics allow in their criteria for judging great films. Who knows, maybe they are beaten down to the lowest common denominator by the tidal wave of crap they must view or skewed by corporate concerns. Or maybe they’ve just aged into stodginess. Whatever the reason, the lackluster response to MUNICH suggests, depressingly, that any movie that even hints at virtue is grossly over-praised: see CRASH, SYRIANA and BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. Notice I say “over-praised,” not necessarily poor. I like parts of those films but all suffer from momentous flaws in characterization, direction, dialogue, dramatic tension and pacing. Today’s films are drenched in excess (look no farther than KING KONG) and inexplicably the critics—allegedly the vanguards of cinematic excellence—are buying it.
MUNICH is the most pulsating film of the year and one of the few I would eagerly see again. It is complex, more layered than anyone is giving it credit for and comprehensive of its subject matter. Yes, overly comprehensive—it is too long by about 40 minutes but it’s not a death-dealing girth like KING KONG and at least Spielberg is erring on the side of full-blooded drama, not clownish sentiment. And I can already hear the cries of BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN fans. Here’s the problem with BROKEBACK, an otherwise good film with a commanding performance by Heath Ledger: it has no concept of consequences. It’s another Hollywood-trite, Our-Love-Means-More-Than-Anything movie that blithely ignores and excuses the destructive power of the Jack-Ennis relationship. It holds up—yet again—infidelity as pure love, as the perfect forbidden fruit and demands zero responsibility, sacrifice or nobility from its two protagonists. These men marry. They foster families and yet the movie has the gall to wrench sympathy from their subsequent neglect via Hallmark tropes, soft lighting, half-whispered confessionals, a tragedy as subtle as the Titanic and all the typical Tinseltown clichés. And the reason critics are pandering to these shortcomings is because of the gay angle and the tendency to overlook faults in any kind of socially nutritious cinema. But we have seen this movie before, ad nauseum in fact. At its core, BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN is no different thematically than other tearjerkers like RANDOM HEARTS, THE HORSE WHISPERER and THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY—all of which, I might add, were roundly excoriated by critics for similar superficiality.
Spielberg would have mined the consequences outside of Jack and Ennis. He would not have reduced BROKEBACK’s peripheral characters to sidelong gazes, shrill misunderstanding and weepy suffering. I cannot believe that the critics who clubbed WAR OF THE WORLDS for a succinct 320-frame happy ending are now beating up Spielberg over a more diffuse, tenuous and ambiguous finale. The guy just can’t win. MUNICH’s subtext can be interpreted a hundred ways from Sunday—no other movie this year invites as much dissection and open-ended debate. Every other critical darling of 2005 leads audiences inexorably to one conclusion, fashioned from a singular, undeniable viewpoint.
Furthermore, no one, and I mean no one, directs a movie like Steven Spielberg. Every time out, it’s a master class in composition, camera movement and absorbing character quirks. He seems to be the only director alive who understands that film is a visual medium! My God, each new film seems to be a pioneering exercise in torture by way of excessive chatter. And I’m not talking Preston Sturges’ dialogue-as-its-own-reward, either. I’m talking self-indulgent, universe-destroying exposition that has taken root in virtually every film and indeed, every Best Picture since UNFORGIVEN. Am I wordy? Yes. But I am writing a column, an entirely different vehicle of expression. Spielberg understands the difference and MUNICH is the most visually exhilarating movie since—oh, what a shocker—WAR OF THE WORLDS. (BATMAN BEGINS you say? Perhaps, if Christopher Nolan had decided not to edit the film with a wood chipper)
MUNICH is too long by at least 30 minutes. It also features a rather unfortunate sex scene (the sweaty hair flip is way over-the-top) and I wasn’t too keen on the faux-suspense of the “little girl moment.” But as a whole, MUNICH says more about not only the world in which we live but also the world of filmmaking. In other words, it has real, quantifiable ambition, something no other film of 2005 possesses in such earnest quantities. It is alive. Film lovers are routinely besieged by CGI puppet masters, MTV whores and pretentious bores. I think the ultimate irony is that Spielberg—misunderstood as middle-of-the-road—now seems to be an outcast, hewing films in a style long since forgotten, in ways that hark back to a more vibrant era. He is an expert craftsman from the last Golden Age and anyone who understands and appreciates full-blooded filmmaking in the least hangs onto his work like a lifeline.
Thanks for reading. I look forward to another incredible year at the Poop!
Peace,
Matt
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