[dropcap]T[/dropcap]hough Amazing Amy Pascal’s daily hacked emails have become somewhat of an endless Advent calendar, the trove of clean and rad and powerful gifts that keep on giving, being December once again, it’s time instead to get reflective, to look to another rich year in film that has passed, to reach back and hold-fast to the specific moments and certain releases worth remembering. With so much consistently good work being done, new go-to examples of masterful storytelling and innovative filmmaking, twelve months begins to feel like an arbitrary window, and ten choices a lousy ceiling, but to fix what’s in flux and achieve a limit, you’ll find below what the writers of tn2 have compiled and agreed to be the year’s best.
Before we move film-by-film and blow-by-blow to the selection arrived at after much heated debate and hair-pulling, we ought to look at the year in review, some of our eventual ten and some deserving films, relegated to our margins, still deserving of honourable mention. Beginning 2014 in earnest, the years-in-the-making Boyhood premiered at Sundance in January, becoming quickly a critical darling and remaining a talking point throughout the year, up to these year-end lists it has since come to dominate. The romantic, insightful and right-on Her was warm and devastating, in Inside Llewyn Davis we were reacquainted with classic cold-Coens, and with The Grand Budapest Hotel a wistful Wes Anderson bared his teeth. Frightful and unsettling, Under the Skin captured the gaze and mutual opacity between individuals alien and human, its disarming imagery Lacanian and original soundtrack so very Dublin Bus-appropriate, while the more buoyantly optimistic, joyous The LEGO Movie and its sheer sweetness-of-being delighted audiences old and young. The still-unreleased Snowpiercer surfaced and made waves online, the pulpiness of Gone Girl spiralled into an outrageous and bloody frenzy, Interstellar’s noble humanism squinted skywards and stirred hearts. Lauren Poitras’s provocative Snowden-doc Citizenfour was essential viewing, Ida crossed over and resonated with audiences in a big way, while Leviathan in its careful back-and-forth in portraiture, iconography and idolatry, rewrote some heady grand, mythic narratives. Irish film hit heights with Frank and Calvary, and the typically brilliant Mike Leigh led the stunningly-drawn and realised Mr. Turner. Marvel of whimsy, Guardians of the Galaxy was a late-summer highlight, Obvious Child gave us Jenny Slate, and Marion Cotillard was brittle and glass-blown in anchoring the powerful realism of the Dardenne brothers’ Two Days, One Night. TV stole away some auteur talent — Soderbergh lost to The Knick and Cholodenko, fleetingly, to Olive Kitteridge — but 2014 nonetheless featured some declarative debuts from promising first-time filmmakers; Gillian Robespierre’s Obvious Child, Dan Gilroy’s Nightcrawler and Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook, for example, all making our year-end list.
It is and isn’t too-soon to start entertaining a discussion on the legacy of any of these films, over time they will build and accrue a significance and appreciation, and in deciding a place and proportion for these films, we begin to realise things aren’t hierarchical, but horizontal and extending. To circle back to Boyhood, the steady stream of time will inevitably propel and push forward, the motion and momentum of history shaped, directed and decided by what comes before, these ten films carrying with them a sign of where film has come from and where it might be going — with the current continuing, we can look ahead already to some highly anticipated films, like Birdman, released as soon as January 1, Foxcatcher a week later, and Whiplash and Inherent Vice following. There’s always more to say, and more to see, our list is by no means exhaustive or definitive, but each pick, as our writers will henceforth prove, is certainly well worth your time:
Under the Skin
After a decade-long absence, Jonathan Glazer re-emerged this year with Under the Skin, an intense piece of science fiction that marries outer-space with inner space and rightfully garnering as much acclaim as it has alienation from viewers for its hauntingly cold exterior. However, despite criticism aimed at the emotional deficiency of the alien protagonist, performed with subtle grace and cruelty by Scarlett Johansson, her void is precisely what gives the film a streak of magnificence. Glazer and Johansson have confronted the viewer by portraying humankind as a piece of meat, a base animal, something that few writers are audacious enough to suggest. From the impartial viewpoint of an extra-terrestrial hunter, the activities at a nightclub or the tragedy of a drowning are simply seen as they are, without empathy, or feeling. It is an unsettling concept to say the least, but one that has reaped spectacular results, by Glazer’s reaching down into the darkest of depths to discover what it means to be a human being, or an outsider seeking to blend in, while remaining detached entirely. Told through heavily improvised and sparse dialogue, with a cast of non-actors, hidden-cameras and a policy of no aesthetic, Under the Skin is a visual, sonic and philosophical assault, constantly evolving with both appallingly bleak, or stunningly warm twists in the loose plot. Part grandiose surrealism, part gritty reality, it leaves the viewer with many questions. However, with each viewing, the multitude of layers contained within show that this is a work of equal style and substance, light-years beyond anything created by Glazer’s contemporaries this year. – Michael Lanigan
Her
“Your film of the year was about a man who fucks his computer?” … not exactly. For those who missed this gem, Spike Jonze’s Her is not just a story of man loves machine. It’s a pastel-coloured confection that takes on the full spectrum of human emotion. Lonely Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) is failing to recover from a messy divorce — at least until he meets clever, sassy, flirtatious Samantha (Scarlett Johansson). Who happens to be an AI system. The love story plays out in a fashion that feels anything but pre-programmed; it’s genuine and sweet. The script only occasionally veers into cringeworthy territory, and one never questions the “realness” of the relationship. Joaquin Phoenix’s performance as the engaging yet somehow frustrating Theodore manages to stay on the right side of over the top, and when lovestruck, he never seems schmaltzy. Worth watching just for its sumptuous cinematography and killer score by Arcade Fire, the film isn’t just for (literal) technophiles, but for anyone on a cold winter night. – Aine O’Connell
Her was also reviewed on February 12 by Eoin McCague for tn2
Boyhood
This year saw the long-awaited release of Richard Linklater’s filmic experiment Boyhood which in featuring the same actors, filmed over twelve years, creates a truly comprehensive coming-of-age film. Its uniqueness is staggering. Temporally, the three hour film doesn’t feel taxing on the viewer even though its careful, ever-advancing chronology of a young boy’s childhood and adolescence, and his family’s journey through the decade, leaves us with a distinct feeling of having witnessed a whole chunk out of a lifetime. In terms of concept and practice it is epic; a highly ambitious artistic undertaking with so many risks and variables it moons at the preciseness of modern filmmaking techniques, but narratively it manages to maintain an intimacy. It remains focused on the journey of the family members, flirting with, though not seduced by, the drastically changing world around them. Beautifully shot, Boyhood creates a breath-taking portrait of a young life. Whether the story or characters appeal to the viewer becomes somewhat irrelevant, the most prevalent reaction to the film is pure awe at how such an idea could possibly work so well, and yet it does. – Aisling Kelly
Obvious Child
Question: How often do you get to see honest, nuanced, and even FUNNY depictions of abortion on film? Answer: Never. A subject that’s been largely ignored, it’s either all doom and gloom, or is briefly touched on at least once in modern narratives of unplanned pregnancy for good measure (Juno, Knocked Up). Obvious Child, the directorial debut of writer-director Gillian Robespierre, offers not only a refreshing take on representations of abortion, but of women too. Although it’s been hailed as the “abortion comedy”, it is as much about a young woman’s growing maturity after being faced with a difficult decision. The plot is pretty simple: the film follows Donna (Jenny Slate), a stand-up comedian who engages in a hazy one night stand after breaking up with her boyfriend, gets pregnant, and finds herself needing an abortion. Jenny Slate (Marcel the Shell, Bob’s Burgers) is excellent, giving a performance that is brash and unapologetic, yet vulnerable and sincere at the same time. The character of Donna is an authentic look at young women in their twenties — she’s a hot mess (and not in that fake, endearing, cutesy way), using stand-up comedy to talk about everything from her day old underwear to fart jokes. The film honestly depicts abortion— it’s complex, it’s emotionally messy, it’s not something anybody ever wants to have to do, but it happens. Obvious Child treats the topic of abortion with a nuanced complexity, without ever judging its protagonist, and finds humour in an unlikely situation without undermining it. – Alexandra Black
Obvious Child was also reviewed by Meadhbh McGrath for tn2
The Grand Budapest Hotel
The Grand Budapest Hotel is a frothy, fantastical romp. Set in a fictional hotel in the mid- 20th century, and populated by Wes Anderson’s usual panoply of eccentrics, this film is delightful, if not surprising. Ralph Fiennes, who plays the main character, pulls off a charm and oiliness that drives the otherwise bizarrely-complex plot. A few moments of genuine connection that Anderson throws the audience’s way prevent this movie from “succumbing to the Prussian Grippe” of its particularly cute motifs; stacks of patisserie, rose-pink European piles and a very saccharine love story threatening to tip it over. Although there is an insufficient amount of Tilda Swinton screen time, some very solid dramatic performances and cinematography bring this movie up among Anderson’s better works. – Eleanor Rowe
The Grand Budapest Hotel was also reviewed by Peter Mahafferty for tn2
Leviathan
Kolya is a Russian mechanic who lives with his wife Lilya and his son Roma in their family-built home. Fundamentally a film about corruption bearing down on the ordinary people, Leviathan presents a captivating and politically daring image of contemporary Russian life. Roman Madyanov plays Vadim, a disturbing and funny portrait of a drunk, corrupt mayor, who has come to desire the idyllic location of Kolya’s home along the waterfront for his own and uses his power to place an eviction notice upon the lot. Kolya calls on his old army friend Dmitriy, now a lawyer, to dig up dirt on Vadim’s more insidious political activities, blackmailing him to allow the lot to remain with Kolia. As Dmitri’s attempts to threaten Vadim succeed, Kolya and Dmitriy’s camaraderie begins to crumble, and their political grasp upon Vadim weakens as their relationship spirals out of control. The final act of the film depicts a series of unfortunate events in Kolya’s life, in which the imagery and dialogue become increasingly biblical. It feels as if God is bearing down upon Kolya, but so is Vadim, who is conspicuous in his absence. Saturated with striking, low-key imagery, Leviathan, never failing to include some earthly humour, has been called operatic in its presentation and hailed as the newest Russian masterpiece. Director Andrey Zvyagintsev has said that he hopes that culture can help to restore peace in eastern Europe in years to come. – Bissett Cillian
Nightcrawler
Nightcrawler, both written and directed by Dan Gilroy, marked a dazzling debut for the American filmmaker. The film follows the gaunt and erratic Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) from a life of crime in the forbidding backstreets of Los Angeles to a life of crime in the city’s suffocating entertainment industry. In a moment of inspiration and desperation, Bloom decides to set up his own TV news business filming crimes and accidents. Bloom and his misfit “intern” Rick hurdle through the city streets playing cat and mouse with the various police codes being spat out of a radio scanner propped on the dashboard. Their drive is simple: the first person to get the footage and sell it to a news station makes the most money, which sets up some immediate tension between Bloom and his more established competitors. It’s a film that really gets its hands dirty when it comes to exploring a complex subject matter — the fascination with and subsequent monetisation of violence. Self-employment means Bloom, already frightfully unstable, has little to no guidelines to follow when it comes to the moral dimension of his work. If anything, Nightcrawler is worth seeing for Gyllenhaal’s performance alone — yet another reminder of the thanks we owe to Richard Kelly for first bringing him to our attention in Donnie Darko (2001). Shots of Gyllenhaal’s grinning face with screens reflected in his retinas will stay with you — a snarling monster in a freshly ironed suit. It’s not perfect, but a few flaws and a decidedly lukewarm ending are forgiven in a heartbeat. Let’s get excited about Dan Gilroy. – Caoilainn Scouler
Read Meadhbh McGrath’s review of Nightcrawler from earlier in the year here
Frank
Acclaimed Irish director and TCD alum Lenny Abrahamson followed up the award-winning What Richard Did (2012) with a complete tonal shift. The bizarre and brilliant comedy Frank stars Domhnall Gleeson as Jon, an aspiring musician who finds himself way out of his depth after joining the unpronounceable rock band Soronprfbs, led by the enigmatic Frank (Michael Fassbender), a creative genius whose head is concealed by a giant papier-mache mask. The first half of the film revels in jokey absurdism as we see Jon, the straight man, surrounded and ostracised by a gang of kooky eccentrics (including a scene-stealing, theremin-playing Maggie Gyllenhaal), but Abrahamson’s film deepens into something profoundly meaningful in the sombre final act, a meditation on the intersections of art, fame, and mental illness. That’s what makes Frank such an engaging and original work: it draws the audience in with broad laughs, but doesn’t allow them to write Frank off as a joke, ultimately delivering them to a very sincere, poignant place. On top of this, Fassbender provides arguably the best physical performance of the year; whether he’s leaping around in rehearsal or standing quite still, the audience can read Frank’s joy, excitement, vulnerability or anxiety — without him ever moving his face. – Meadhbh McGrath
Read Eoin McCague’s review of Frank from earlier this year here
Inside Llewyn Davis
Joel and Ethan Coen returned this year with bleak Künstlerroman Inside Llewyn Davis. Save for an ill-fated detour and odyssey out west, the film spans just a few days in 1961 Greenwich Village, New York, and crucially, this suspended time and pre-diluvian days just before the folk scene would take the city by storm. We follow Llewyn (a run-down, beat Oscar Isaac), a bit of a drip and a total schmuck, but a talented schmuck — and our titular schmuck — a vagabond who spends his days couch surfing and circling the music clubs, achieving little success. The Coens have never shied away from reworking mythology, and nothing here aligns for Llewyn, or his ginger tomcat, Ulysses, but when the quiet, the silence and the stasis become too forlorn we’re given a very welcome reprieve in a song. Like their previous O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) music producer T-Bone Burnett gives this melancholic, depressed film its soul, some tangible goods or insightful evidence to mark and chart Llewyn’s trajectory and reveal his character. Llewyn might find his contemporary, albeit sunnier, counterpart in Greta Gerwig’s wandering and compromised artist figure in Frances Ha (2013), but the Coens’ film is thornier and crueller — rewarding further viewings. We’re never quite sure what to make of the ambiguously-tortured artist, whether he’s undeserving of the pitch-black and brutal accosts of callous fellow musician Jean (an ace Carey Mulligan) or whether he’s that type of painful music bro, the wounded self-destructive pseudo-poet too easily bruised. – Ross McDonnell
Read Eva Short’s review of Inside Llewyn Davis here
The Babadook
Jennifer Kent’s feature debut could be criticised for being heavy-handed. Such criticism would be to miss the point. Rosemary’s Baby meets We Need To Talk About Kevin in this scream-inducing Australian horror story of a single mother’s effort to overcome the devastation of her husband’s death. The Babadook holds nothing back in its gripping and creepy portrayal of the all-consuming monster that is grief. When a film can terrify any seasoned horror fan to the point of wanting to leave the cinema, the director has indisputably succeeded in their goal. Kent’s literalisation of familial grief is at the same time horrifying and highly affecting. Images of the titular “Babadook” are unforgettable, as Kent grants us brief but unshakeable glimpses of a clawed, black and terrifying being. The Babadook flags Kent as one of this decade’s most exciting and innovative directors, and creator of one of cinema’s most horrid, insidious monsters yet. – IE
