Crazy Heart (2009)

Crazy Heart is a lumbering shambles of a film that moves from one cliché to another with such astonishing ease, I'm surprised it didn't come with a disclaimer. Jeff Bridges, in an Oscar-winning performance, plays Otis “Bad” Blake, a broken-down sot who is desperate to revive his sagging country-western career. One afternoon, before a gig (at a bowling alley, no less), Blake agrees to give an interview to a local newspaper reporter. Enter Maggie Gyllenhaal, one of the smartest actresses around, playing an even smarter character, Jean, who loves her job, but loves her little boy, Buddy, even more. Blake and Jean have an intimate discussion in the shadows of Blake's dingy motel room, and how Bridges and Gyllenhaal handle this scene proves why they're two of the best actors working; it's quite a moment.

L'Avventura (1960)

What exactly did happen to Anna?

That's the central question in Michelangelo Antonioni's haunting masterpiece, L'Avventura, a film uneasy with answers and so much more than a missing persons case.  Like Anonioni's later film, Blow Up, it builds suspense, not with the shock and action of a modern-day thriller, but what we--and the characters--think has happened, or might happen.

The plot is deceptively simple: A group of wealthy socialites on a leisurely yachting expedition decide to spend the afternoon exploring a remote island chain.  They dock near an islet that could be called desolate, if that weren't such an understatement: the place is a rock, covered in nothing more than sparse scrub; waves crash all around it violently.  Sitting atop it all, ancient and lonely, is a small stone building, long abandoned.

Coal Miner's Daughter (1980)

Sissy Spacek embodied Loretta Lynn in Michael Apted's biopic well enough to win an Oscar for best actress.  It's a strong performance in a modestly weak film, helped tremendously by the gifted Tommy Lee Jones, who plays Lynn's husband, Mooney.

The first half of the film is strong, as Spacek, all pluck and naivete, leaves the poor back country of Kentucky--with Mooney at her side--for the road to superstardom.  There she meets Patsy Cline (Beverly D'Angelo), already a success in the country-western world, who takes the young and talented hillbilly under her wing.  I admired the way Apted and screenwriter Thomas Rickman take the time to build the characters and the tumultuous relationship between Lynn and Mooney.

Wings of Desire (1987)

Regarded by some as an inscrutable poetic masterpiece, I can't help but think that Wings of Desire, despite all its beauty, falls into the category of pretentious arthouse cinema. The film follows two angels, Damiel and Cassiel, through a series of images and setpieces, as they regard the modern world around them--always observing, pondering, helping.  The angels have existed since the beginning of time ("it took a long time for the river to meet its bed") and watched the progression of God's creations with a mix of sympathy and wonder.

All That Jazz (1979)

Bob Fosse's bleakest film, All That Jazz also happens to be his most prophetic, as well as one of the best movie musicals ever made.  Considered semi-autobiographical, Jazz stars Roy Scheider--in a career-best performance--as Joe Gideon, a boozing, pill-popping, bed-hopping choreographer who walks the tightrope between life and death.  Gideon leaves in his wake a string of devastated women, including his ex-wife (Leland Palmer), who knows Gideon better than he knows himself, and a girlfriend (played with heartbreaking naivete by Fosse muse Ann Reinking) hell-bent on love despite being trounced on like an old rug.

A Chorus Line (1985)

Ok, fine.  So now you know my secret shame: I kinda like Richard Attenborough's A Chorus Line.  It's an exuberant movie, filled with largely schmaltzy music, a few stand-out numbers, and a capable cast led by Michael Douglas as the iron-fisted choreographer, who auditions sixteen dancers for a shot at the chorus in a major new Broadway production.

Keep an eye on Charles McGowan ("I Can Do That") and Yamil Borges ("Nothing"), who, respectively, deliver the most entertaining and heartbreaking solos in the film.  And Audrey Landers has a lot of fun singing the praises of plastic surgery with "Tits & Ass."  Attenborough, a director of considerable talent (he won an Oscar for directing Gandhi), balances well the nervous anticipation of the audition process with bright, buoyant musical interludes, as in the famous closing number, "One."

It's a fun, but not great, movie, the cast is very good, and you might even find yourself humming a few bars after you've seen it.  And I'll ask that you keep my little secret shame just between the two of us.

1985; starring Michael Douglas, Alyson Reed; directed by Richard Attenborough; 118 min; PG-13; in English.

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

[Note: Re-edited for brevity and sense.]

For the second time in a week, I have been profoundly moved by this great film.  One of the best I've ever seen.  Passion contains the most astonishing performance ever captured on celluloid, by Renee Falconetti as Joan of Arc during her heresy trial. Vastly ahead of its time, full of intricate camera work.  The Criterion DVD carries an alternate score, created for the film, that adds another layer of power to the narrative.  See it silent, as well, for an entirely different, more intimate, experience.

Powerful, a monumental achievement, and a defining moment for me.

(See also Carl Th. Dreyer's Vampyr (1932), an incredible silent horror film.)

1928; starring Renee Falconetti; directed by Carl Theodore Dreyer; 82 min; Not Rated; silent w/ French cue cards translated into English.

The Virgin Spring (1960)

"God...I don't understand you!"

So Max von Sydow, as an anguished father, cries out in the closing scene of Ingmar Bergman's great The Virgin Spring (1960).  The moment, when it comes, is inevitable: the end of a path paved by torment and loss of faith.

I've long suspected that Bergman (1918-2007) was the cinema's greatest director; after my second viewing of The Virgin Spring, I'm sure of it.  And if Bergman was the greatest director, then so too was Sven Nykvist (1922-2006), his long-time collaborator, the best of all cinematographers, a master lensman who understood better than anyone else the awesome power of light and shadow.

The Hurt Locker (2009)

The best film of 2009--and director Kathryn Bigelow's masterpiece.  Largely unknown Jeremy Renner gives a brave performance as an elite bomb disposal technician in Iraq, who goes about his job with reckless abandon, fueled by the adrenaline rush of danger; in short, he's addicted.  Anthony Mackie plays the by-the-book second in command, and Brian Geraghty is the specialist who cannot come to terms with the randomness of death.

The Night Porter (1974)

Highly stylized, depthless in its perversity, and shockingly pretentious, The Night Porter, like Onibaba and Last Year at Marienbad, will stick in my memory.  I'm unsure what to make of it.  Am I to be offended by the disturbing premise?  Aroused by the overt sexuality?  Left ambivalent by two characters who clearly deserve one another and little sympathy?  I'm all of those things right now, and think a second viewing of the film is in order--after I've taken a shower, of course.

The Son (Le Fils; 2002)

Raw, intense and powerful. Olivier Gourmet (who won Best Actor at Cannes) gives a masterful performance as a Belgian carpentry instructor who becomes obsessed with a new student (Morgan Marinne). The Son (2002) centers around these two characters, and I'll say no more except that what happens, and why it happens, transforms the way we look at film--and ourselves--by reaching profound levels of the human condition.  Yes, I'm being vague; but once you see the movie, you'll understand why.

Pickpocket (1959)

The last film I saw in 2009. Robert Bresson's classic about a professional pickpocket who becomes so good at his job, he fears he'll never be able to stop.  A powerful story of one man's compulsion, helped by the fact that Martin LaSalle has probably the most haunting eyes I've ever seen on screen; they define the movie. Extraordinary choreography and camera work as a group of thieves descend on a train station to steal every wallet, bauble and bangle that isn't nailed down. Presently unreliable ending.

1959; starring Martin LaSalle, Marika Green; directed by Robert Bresson; 75 min; Not Rated; in French w/ English subtitles; available on Criterion.