Life, uh, finds a way II: Electric Boogaloo

Remember when that pregnant man went on Oprah? And then he got pregnant again? Except, he's sexually a woman, so it wasn't really that shocking? But it was too late, and a shark retaliated by making a baby out of her own DNA, no man required? Well the battle for which species mastered life is over. The victor? A 5 mm-long jellyfish.

WHAT?!

This jellyfish species literally rejuvenates from sex? Life is so cruel!

Friends know that I have long been an out-and-proud immortality-seeker. Where everyone else takes the pansy route of "I wouldn't want to see everyone I love die," I console myself with thoughts of exploring the entire universe along with my robot lover Paolo. He's Brazilian; it's complicated.

Now we have a species that, essentially, is immortal! Scientists are still uncertain of the facts (i.e. how many times they can rejuvenate), but the path ahead is pretty clear to me. First, we must prepare to defend ourselves against these jellyfish overlords--for they just rose to the top of the food chain as unkillable enemies, like the ghosts in Pirates of the Caribbean or cylons before Galactica blew up the hub. Our preparations should involve as much environmental damage as we can muster. Oh good, we're ahead of the curve.

Second, we must isolate the genes that allow for cell transdifferentiation, the mechanism by which these jellyscum rejuvenate. I volunteer to be a test recipient of these genes. What's the worst that could happen? I could grow tentacles covered in cnidoblasts, voluntarily fluoresce, and look really sweet when I swim? Uh, yes please.

The goal is clear: we must find a way for man to achieve immortality. Dr. Frankenstein was close, but he failed because he had emotional attachments to, like, everyone in Germany. At least, that's what I got out of it.

Not everyone will have to be immortal, of course, and I imagine this will prompt as many religious suicide pacts as willing immortals, thus balancing the effects. But it must be an option for those of us seeking that fountain of youth. Let me put it in terms we can all get behind: figure out how to make humans immortal (tentacles or no), and slap a hefty price tag on the operation. We'll be out of this recession in no time.

After the first wave of the revolution takes place, society will have to ask itself if we want a fallible man-terrorist like Barack Obama as our president, or do we want an invincible jellygod like me? That's what I thought.

When I'm president of the known universe, my first order will be to appoint Sarah Palin my jester. I'm pretty sure Tina Fey and I will become bffs, and we'll probably take off in our spaceship to tour the solar system, leaving the running of Earth to mortals like you. I will be a benevolent but assertive god, a cross between Dr. Manhattan and Ozymandias, so no worries: Watchmen ends happily.

So, you see, we have to take immortality from these jellyfish. It's our manifest destiny. We've spread across as much space as we have on this planet, and soon we'll spread further. It's time to spread through time.

I feel like Prometheus trying to steal fire from the gods. How'd that story end?

I'm neither religious nor superstitious, and Greek boogieman tales are not remotely threatening. I ain't afraid of no ghosts. On the other hand, I loves me some science. So get on that for me, scientists. The revolution awaits.

For our closing prayer, please join me in a song on your way out:

"Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while,
Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies,
Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst,
Are you going to drop the bomb or not?

"Let us die young or let us live forever,
We don't have the power but we never say never,
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip,
Music's for the sad man.

"Can you imagine when this race is run,
Turning up our faces into the sun,
Praising our leaders getting in tune
Music's played by the mad man.

"Forever young, I want to be forever young...."

SAG Awards

Tonight's SAG Awards proved that the most boring awards season can still be fun, and even a little surprising.

In television comedy, 30 Rock won the trifecta, earning stars Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin that much more momentum. Unless The Office is significantly better than 30 Rock this year, and I'm talking major critical buzz because simply being good isn't good enough, then there's no stopping the 30 Rock train at least until next year's Emmys. Which is fine by me. Now that they've won so much, and Fey has to bring multiple speeches to each ceremony, supporting players like Tracy Morgan at the Golden Globes and Jane Krakowski here get some spotlight. Morgan especially killed, as he did on the red carpet at the SAG Awards, claiming feverishly that James Earl Jones is his biological father.

Over in drama, Mad Men somehow lost Best Actor and Best Actress, which is manifestly ludicrous. I enjoy Sally Field on Brothers and Sisters and Hugh Laurie on House (though this is by far House's most annoying season), but they are simply not in the same class as Jon Hamm and Elisabeth Moss. This has a lot to do with directing, editing, and writing of course--it's not Field's fault that she's on a soap, nor Laurie's that he's on a procedural--and both actors are tremendously charismatic, but Hamm and Moss (and January Jones and Christina Hendricks, etc.) regularly display a depth unseen elsewhere on the small screen. This is largely why Mad Men received the Best Ensemble award, the most well-deserved of the night, but it would have been nice to see professional actors rewarding Hamm and Moss individually for their unparalleled authenticity.

John Adams swept the miniseries awards, scoring an Actor (the SAG trophy) each for leads Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney. While well-deserved, it's my opinion that Laura Dern needs more trophies.

Halfway through, James Earl Jones received the Lifetime Achievement Award, delivering a lovely speech in that trademark basso capped by a little tribute to Paul Newman. "Somebody down here likes you." Talk about class.

Kate Winslet won the first film award of the evening, apparently stunned when her name was announced as the Best Supporting Actress. This ought to be a tremendous boon to her Oscar chances, although there she will face SAG's Best Actress of the year, Meryl Streep for Doubt. Apart from the hilarious scene between John Krasinski and Amy Poehler, presenting a TV Drama award, Streep's acceptance speech was the best moment of the night. First she rails that awards mean nothing, to oddly thunderous applause at an awards ceremony. Then she laughs that she didn't even buy a dress for the occasion, revealing her slacks instead. She follows up with a stream of consciousness on the great year for actresses and the communal victory for women and the misnomer Best Actress. Finally she calms down and individually praises her cast members and writer-director John Patrick Shanley with precise gratitude, compliments both natural and deeply felt. No wonder she's the Queen of Hollywood. That's when she debunks the myth of the "best actress" and her own oft-declared title, "greatest living actress." Lovely as Winslet is, and though I prefer Hathaway's performance, I am now rooting for Streep to win the Oscar.

Meanwhile, Heath Ledger won Best Supporting Actor, continuing his streak as the biggest lock of the year. Gary Oldman accepted with a brief but touching speech, and Ledger received a solemn but congratulatory standing ovation. Then, following Streep's rapturous acceptance, Sean Penn wins Best Actor and much less gracefully attempts righteousness. He assails the Best Actor notion, calls out Oscar prognosticators, and says that the Best Actor nominees know something we don't, which is that awards don't matter and they all learn from each other. I'm phrasing it poorly, but it wasn't all that coherent to begin with. Besides, he's holding Rourke's trophy, and if not Rourke, Jenkins or Langella. The low point of the night followed the high.

And finally, somewhat unexpectedly, Slumdog Millionaire won Best Ensemble. During the presentation of clips, it sounded like there was most applause for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and then during the nominee announcement, Milk seemed to be ahead. But no, the SAG deemed the mostly unknown cast of Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire the best ensemble of the year. The cast who accepted were genuinely grateful, and in a display of further class, Freida Pinto listed the names of the child actors who could not be there.

On the heels of last night's PGA Awards victory, Slumdog Millionaire is untouchable going into the Oscars. I can't say I'm thrilled about this, but like the Queen said, awards don't mean anything anyway.

My Movie Milestones

Enough harping on movies that don't deserve so much attention. So the Oscar nominations proved lamentably usual. What's new? It's the Age of Obama! I'm legally mandated to convey only hope and inspiration. So let's talk about the movies that enraptured us heart and soul, the movies that enveloped us in their universes, the movies that--dare I say it? Yes, because irony is now dead--changed us.

No place to start like the beginning, eh?

My first landmark was a Disney film--nay, not a Disney film, but the Disney film: The Lion King. Perhaps my gay 9 year-old self telepathically connected with Elton John's music (or more likely, JTT in lion form, which still makes me feel weird), but for some reason, I took to this animal kingdom story much stronger than I had to previous Disney movies. In 1994, the animals were the primary draw: lions and a hornbill and a meerkat and, best of all, a baboon! In 2009, I understand more clearly why the movie works so well. First, the plot is lifted from Hamlet, the cliched but uncontested title for the greatest work in the English language (I am both underqualified and unwilling to challenge this assertion, but welcome other viewpoints). Setting aside its arty philosophical ponderings, the Hamlet story is one of royal court intrigue, murder and betrayal and ghosts. How could you not love all that? Getting back to The Lion King, this was a shockingly well-directed work. I've pointed many times to the expert opening sequence, one of the best in all cinema (that I've seen, of course). Look at what we're shown and when, and how the momentum of the entire jungle builds into Simba, propelling him through the rest of the story. Not to mention the bravura wildebeest stampede, the tender "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" montage, or the emotional centerpiece of the work, Mufasa's ghost. Besides, the movie's funny, beautiful, and sing-along. You could do much worse than The Lion King, especially if you stick to Best Picture winners, but then I said I was going to stop talking about the Oscars.

The rest of that decade would be spent the same as most young movie-watchers, a steady drip of Spielberg, Hitchcock, and selected other mainstream, mostly middlebrow hits. But not until The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring had I been as possessed by a film as I was by The Lion King. We walked into the theater based solely on the trailers, my parents and I, having no idea what to expect. Three hours later, I was more than a convert--I was ordained. No movie had so completely surrounded and involved me before. Tolkien and Jackson establish a complicated universe built on a history of civilizations that envelops you, propelling you on a tour of Middle-Earth. A week or so later, I received the books for Christmas, devouring them shortly thereafter. The next two years are a drunken haze; nothing shined quite so bright as the Lord of the Rings trilogy. With a few years distance, I still haven't found a better film from 2002 or 2003 than The Two Towers and The Return of the King, respectively. But the one that enraptured me most faces heavy competition--2001 was a rich year for film.

My freshman year of college, bisected by the arrival of the once and future King of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, introduced me to an expected medley of contemporary auteurs, from Christopher Guest to Darren Aronofsky. My horizons were expanding, but like many teenagers, I was still unaware of how much I didn't know. The following Fall, Mulholland Dr. floated around campus like a meme--I can chart the word-of-mouth trail that led it to me. Watching it alone, late at night, and on my computer may have been the perfect inaugural encounter with David Lynch. Less so for my roommate, whom I must have woken up with my repeated gasps of fright (I still can't handle the creature by the dumpster, although that has a lot to do with the easy, manipulative soundtrack roar). But never had I been so delighted to be so terrified, so haunted, and most of all, so thoroughly perplexed by what I had experienced. For this was no mere movie, but a riddle, a game that demands participation. And for some reason, I offered myself entirely to it. The next night, I watched it again, this time with friends who turned out to be more frustrated by Lynch's disorienting riddle than I. Silly me, I even boasted that I understood it mostly--which I remembered was a complete lie I convinced myself of. We all agreed by the time we entered Club Silencio that understanding it on first viewing would be a titanic feat. I have since become enamored of Lynch's filmography as a whole, but especially with his most recent venture Inland Empire, which, despite my incomprehension, I take to be his magnum opus. But Mulholland Dr.--with its gripping noir mood, hazy sense of mystery, bizarre side-stories, and a laundry list of clues that amount to an even larger realization of our limitations--changed me. In a way, I've been chasing that feeling ever since, desperately searching for my next fix of mental masochism. I had grown as a movie-watcher--not to say that Lynch-loathers aren't as progressed, but that I had discovered something about myself--and I have since thrown myself into film, traditional narrative or not.

Of course, Mulholland Dr. was merely Part 1 of my Sophomore Year of Life-Changing Movies. Part 2 came the next semester. By this time, I was unabashedly using college as an excuse to watch as many movies as I could, printing out and checking off best-of lists with glee. One night, I programmed a lovely marathon for myself: Rashomon, Duck Soup, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Looking back, what a phenomenal night. The final title is the key here, but let's take a moment to acknowledge the journey. My first encounter with Kurosawa is still my favorite, a gorgeous philosophical melodrama, followed by my first encounter with the Marx brothers. At bat: a nearly three-hour western starring one of my then-least favorite stars (which had less to do with his performances than his direction of the overrated Million Dollar Baby). And I was harboring an anti-western prejudice for some still unknown reason. Needless to say, the odds were stacked against Leone.

By the time Tuco stopped in freeze-frame, post-shootout, with a New Wave-esque title calling him "The Ugly," I was sold. As with Fellowship, here was an entire universe that swept me up and took me on an adventure. The picaresque story allowed me to experience several, infinitely fascinating western locations, from a bombed out town to a small pueblo to a Spanish mission to the out-of-the-way gun shop Tuco robs. I had so much fun experiencing Leone's world, an Old West not bound by historical accuracy so much as coolness, that I was disappointed when the movie ended after two hours and forty minutes. I had found a spiritual brother, someone who seemed to share my imagination. My unbounded love for The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, which is now my comfort movie, opened me to westerns, although only recently did I realize that my infatuation had more to do with the cool, mythical West of spaghetti westerns than the western genre as a whole. Unfortunately, Leone only made five, although I am working my way through Corbucci's filmography as well.

My next two years were spent filling in gaps. I embarked on a summer-long Criterion binge, dove into Orson Welles and Ingmar Bergman, tried out Woody Allen and Jean-Luc Godard and Jules Dassin and Carl Theodor Dreyer. During this time, I first saw several of my all-time favorites, including Persona and every movie Orson Welles cut. While these were exceptional films, none of them struck me in the same way as Mulholland Dr. or The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, perhaps because I watched so many masterpieces so close together. The peaks didn't stand out as much.

Then came Last Year at Marienbad, almost exactly a year ago, a controlled journey through branches of the timeline that may have never come to be. I had just completed my primary Bergman marathon (supplemented sporadically since), and read a brief snippet on Ebert's website about the Resnais classic, possibly for a Great Movies essay or a re-posted review for a revival in Chicago (how fitting that I can't quite recall). It sounded like it was up my alley, but I was unprepared for just how much I would adore Marienbad. The floating camera, geometric compositions, baroque architecture, haunting fugue, and hypothetical, self-reflexive narrative preyed on the part of my mind that Lynch massages, absorbing me in a film unlike any other, including Mulholland Dr. and Altman's similarly dreamy 3 Women. No, Resnais' dreamscape enchanted me for weeks. The architectural refrain that opens the film (describing the empty corridors and such) stuck with me, haunting me along with the pounding organ. I was astonished by the artful transition from the dark lounge to the girl's bright room. I admired the film's blatant dismissal of reliable elements like time and space, its refusal to adhere to the rules. Tarantino and Lost have nothing on Marienbad, the most appropriate depiction of memory and dream I've seen.

That was around the time I saw a flood of greats like Sunrise, The Rules of the Game, and Andrei Rublev. But despite these classics, my next (and most recent) game-changer would be El Topo a month after Marienbad. Alejandro Jodorowsky's western works perfectly for me. First, like spaghetti westerns, it ignores historical accuracy in favor of coolness, so instead of ranchers and saloon girls, Jodorowsky's world is inhabited by gunslingers and bandits. But unlike those spaghetti westerns, Jodorowsky imbues El Topo with a range of allegorical elements, lending it a post-Christian mythical weight that may not have anything meaningful to say apart from its status as a post-Christian myth. Actually, I think El Topo has plenty to say, false dichotomies be damned. And while the second tale cannot possibly achieve the transcendence of the first, lengthier quest for knowledge and glory, the work as a whole is a stunning meditation that distracts you with its inspired, lo-fi camerawork and gunplay that actually leads to violent deaths, as opposed to Leone's clinical, one-shot-and-you're-dead approach.

Sure I've seen other masterworks--Raiders of the Lost Ark, Chimes at Midnight, George Washington, Inland Empire, and Werckmeister Harmonies are a few favorites--but no movies have inspired me like these. The Lion King; The Fellowship of the Ring; Mulholland Dr.; The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly; Last Year at Marienbad; and El Topo--these films own property in my brain. These are the movies that made me ask, "How have I not seen this until now?" (which is the film equivalent of "Where have you been all my life?"). Two of them created universes I want to visit, two of them are intense riddles that expanded my concept of what film can do, one's an animated children's movie, and one's a college course unto itself. These are not my six favorite movies, but for certain reasons, some of which are outside of the movies themselves, they each, in their ways, woke me up. I guess you could say the shared factor is that they each evoke wonder and awe, but I imagine other films have provoked similar responses without enchanting me like these.

What are the movies that enraptured you? More importantly, what about those films enchanted you so? I can describe why a movie works and what I love about these films, but I'm having trouble conveying the shared traits of these movies that changed me, apart from the effects themselves.

Battlestar Galactica: "A Disquiet Follows My Soul"

Spoilers for tonight's episode (Season 4, Episode 12) after the jump.

Building on last week's momentous philosophical ponderings--in the absence of an external threat, a people will fracture, finding enemies in each other; faced with the a bleak future after years of depending on a fantasy, some will pick themselves up again, and others will turn to nihilism--"A Disquiet Follows My Soul" patiently prepares us for the inevitable insurrection.

Just because most of the principals hit a brick wall last week doesn't mean life came to a halt in the fleet. So we open with one of those day-in-the-life, morning routine montages, which is actually a beautiful setup for our later discovery of Bill's medicine (more on that below).

But while Bill's trying to reassert the status quo--a little too late, judging by the rest of the episode--everyone else is reassessing their priorities (i.e. inciting riot). For Gaeta, this means fomenting anti-cylon violence. Relatedly, even if he had two good legs, Starbuck would destroy Gaeta. ("In case you're wondering, I will definitely hit a cripple." I look forward to that scene.) This is a woman who has been haunted by her mother, her daughter (sorta) and now herself. I don't think little old Gaeta's going to intimidate her.

Zarek's taken his rebellion public too, only his was more legitimate, at least in the beginning. By turning the cylon alliance into a states rights issue, he won public support for his democratic rebellion. Of course, this demonstrates the need for an oversight court--something to check the legislature. But in absence of such an entity, Adama violated democracy once again "for the greater good." Bluff-blackmailing Zarek gave Adama an interesting and appropriately dirty way out of the scenario without quelling the rebellion entirely.

Next week apparently sees the Gaeta-led mutiny, attempted cylon purge, and bullets in CIC. Accordingly, "A Disquiet Follows My Soul" was more of a bridge between the post-Earth fallout and the mutiny proper, so it came off a bit less focused than usual. With writing and performances this good, just checking in on all the characters provides a solid episode--it just wasn't a standout. Then again, it would be impossible to continue the string of one-ups the show has been on.

So let's check in on the characters:

Saul is somehow the most well-adjusted Final Fiver. Which stands to reason, given the man's history of survival and determination, but is all the more astonishing having seen his coping strategies last year of alternately abusing and sleeping with his cylon prisoner. It'd be weird to see ravishing, youthful Number Six doting on old, grizzled Saul if Tricia Helfer weren't so believable. As much as I'm blown away by Michael Hogan, Helfer has been a revelation since the miniseries.

No sign of Tory today, or Anders (apart from the frightening converse of "Collaborators" glimpsed in the previews for next week), but Tyrol sure got a nice spotlight. Finding out he was't Nicky's father was the big surprise of the night. I had my money on Baltar--simply because, who hasn't he banged, though also because she got pregnant on New Caprica while he was a man in power--but Hot Dog was a better choice. If for no other reason than the only thing I remember about his character is that he had an STD a while back. Sure hope that Cylon blood keeps Tyrol clean (and I sure hope that whiny Cally had some constant itching down below), but that reminds me: Tyrol and Hot Dog are going to raise Nicky together? Between this and the Gaeta-Hoshi smooch in the webisodes (sidenote: Hoshi can do better), Ronald D. Moore is sticking by his promise that homosexuality is alive and well in Battlestar.

The other big news with Tyrol came in his first lines of the episode, representing the Base Star. In his podcast, Moore mentioned that they had intended Tyrol to go live on the Base Star following the Earth debacle, but held off on it. Apparently, they're not holding off too long. Moore also confirmed that last week's "Sometimes a Great Notion" was Lucy Lawless' final episode. I'm disappointed that such a significant character seemingly wrote herself out of the grand design (by choosing to live out her days on Earth), but at least we got a few more episodes with Three since her boxing.

Baltar's cult is stronger and more gender-balanced than ever! Hearing his slow, methodical, almost hypnotic (and isn't that the point?) preaching on the radio or intercom always enhances an episode. He's also leading a mutiny, only his is against God. I wonder what Head Six would have to say about this blatant defiance of God's will. Still, I think I like short-haired Gaius better than long-haired Gaius, perhaps because his narcissistic Jesus thing is less overt.

Which brings us to the aforementioned stalled leaders. As much as I enjoyed them last week, their post-jog conversation here was my favorite scene of theirs this year. Edward James Olmos rocked the "We need you" speech, sweetly appealing to her sense of responsibility, and in case you haven't noticed, I rarely compliment Olmos' performance to the degree most do. And then Mary McDonnell countered with a terribly moving, "Maybe, just maybe, I've earned the right to live a little before I die. Haven't I?" These two always make me sympathize with poor decisions. I still think they're clearly neglecting their responsibilities in the biggest crisis the fleet has seen since the Caprica apocalypse, but you can't not feel for them in moments like this.

I would mention their final romantic dalliance, except there's nothing really to say. I'm glad it's happening, but really, people, you've got a society to run. More importantly, Bill is on medicine, and he's not spilling to Roslin or Tigh. The latter even mentions that Bill "looks like hell." Is he the dying leader? And can't the dying leader simply be dying, and not dead, for the prophecy to be true (if it even has to be--there's no reason the show can't go against the prophecy, especially in light of Earth's fate)?

(UPDATE: Mo Ryan's interview with Ronald D. Moore about "A Disquiet Follows My Soul," Moore's directorial debut, confirms that Adama takes pain pills, but "it's not a sign of something deeper." So Adama is not the dying leader, if there is to be one.)

Next week: the revolution begins. I hope for Gaeta's sake he has an escape pod stashed away.

Oscar Alternatives

Instead of whining about the Oscar snubs--or whining about them in another form anyway--I have compiled a list of alternative Oscar nominations made up entirely of snubbed candidates. Several searing performances were rightly honored by Oscar this morning, but I have set those aside in favor of spreading the love. Long-time fans (aka my three friends) should expect my annual Brandon Movie Awards soon--they're undergoing renovations still. For now, feast on my 2009 Oscar alternatives.

Unfortunately, I still have yet to see I've Loved You So Long; The Reader; Synecdoche, New York; and Waltz with Bashir. Also, for extra entertainment, I've starred the winners of my alternative Oscar categories.

Best Supporting Actress:

Catherine Deneuve - A Christmas Tale
Laura Dern - Recount
*Rosemarie DeWitt - Rachel Getting Married
Isamar Gonzales - Chop Shop
Ann Savage - My Winnipeg

Savage was an obvious pick for me, essentially the only star in my favorite film of the year. As long as we're giving out posthumous awards, I think Savage, whose specter haunts the entire Oedipal story, deserves consideration. Of course--BMA spoiler alert--Rosemarie DeWitt gave my favorite film performance of the year, but again, I'm a Mad Men fanboy like no other, so take that with a grain of salt. (My favorite performance, film or otherwise? January Jones.) Dern's Katherine Harris has not been given its due either, and I'm at a loss as to why. It's a political impression--which should be an awards magnet--that is authentic while hilariously entertaining. Dern's Harris is both batshit crazy and a believable woman caught up in an event she clearly doesn't comprehend beyond its implications for herself. Rounding out the category, Gonzales' scenes in Chop Shop feel like a documentary, and Catherine Deneuve's ill matriarch braces herself for her fate despite an onslaught of resurgent familial trials.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, scoring 13 nominations, ties for the second-most Oscar nominations in history. This means nothing, of course, but doesn't that just seem off? Tying this Academy-beloved film into this post, Tilda Swinton deserves consideration for her performance in Button.

Best Supporting Actor:

Mathieu Amalric - A Christmas Tale
Ralph Fiennes - In Bruges
James Franco - Pineapple Express
Bill Irwin - Rachel Getting Married
*Eddie Marsan - Happy-Go-Lucky
Jean-Paul Roussillon - A Christmas Tale

Marsan leads the pack as Eddie the thoroughly Leigh-esque driving instructor, and ought to be Ledger's prime competition. Ralph Fiennes scored some buzz for The Duchess and The Reader, but his turn as a foul-mouthed criminal in In Bruges wins. I couldn't pick between the two nominations for A Christmas Tale, so I expanded the category to six slots. Amalric is so fun to watch, particularly as the crazy uncle, Desplechin's mainstay, and Roussillon as the patriarch is the glue that holds the film and family together. You believe he's grandpa to the kids sitting on his lap, husband to the woman who calmly reveals her disease, father to the kids who show up after midnight. Bill Irwin plays another father deserving of awards attention, this one less composed but trying his damnedest. His character gets a broad range of scenes, but the most searing is when he silently grapples with past trauma, sitting on the couch physically unable to speak. Finally, I couldn't cut the Golden Globe-nominated James Franco, with a performance sweeter than Sally Hawkins' Poppy.

Best Lead Actress:

Rebecca Hall - Vicky Cristina Barcelona
*Sally Hawkins - Happy-Go-Lucky
Maria Onetto - The Headless Woman
Michelle Williams - Wendy and Lucy
Kate Winslet - Revolutionary Road

Again, ignoring the best lead female performance of the year is one of the day's biggest Oscar flubs. Hawkins adeptly pulled off a challenging role by making it look easy, and thanks to her, Poppy is not only endlessly watchable but fascinating. Maria Onetto also gave a performance of the year as a vaguely troubled (though ultimately contentedly resigned) rich wife, but The Headless Woman still lacks American distribution, and we all know the Oscars' Foreign-Language Film category is in serious need of reform. Michelle Williams is almost the only character in Wendy and Lucy, captivating us not with show-stopping Acting! but with helpless stuck-edness. I'm not sure Rebecca Hall qualifies as a lead--I'm not sure there is a lead character in Vicky Cristina Barcelona--but she undergoes the biggest arc, and is our primary guide. And Winslet is almost always deserving, but I haven't seen The Reader, so I picked her performance as a dreaming homemaker stricken with '50s ennui.

Best Lead Actor:

*Colin Farrell - In Bruges
Brendan Gleeson - In Bruges
Alejandro Polanco - Chop Shop
Michael Shannon - Shotgun Stories
Michael Sheen - Frost/Nixon
Artur Steranko - Four Nights with Anna

Rather than pick between the best duo of the year, the In Bruges boys, I'd cut Michael Sheen. But in the interests of this fake awards show, I'm recognizing Sheen for his subtle, necessarily overshadowed work as David Frost. Sheen realizes a character that is written as a rookie hero archetype instead of a human being. But Farrell and Gleeson dominate the category for me, Gleeson with his older, more curious tourist and Farrell with his anxious, impatient need to distract himself from his guilt. Farrell's Globes win was one of the highlights--how strange for the year's Globes to outshine the Oscars (though I suppose I should wait on that proclamation until after the ceremony)--and I wish he at least had a shot at the biggie. Alejandro Polanco will break your heart as a street urchin preparing to realize his dream to get out of the slums. Shannon scored a Supporting nomination for Revolutionary Road, but Shotgun saw his more complicated performance, that of the leader of a clan of brothers squaring off with rival half-brothers in the wake of their father's death. And Artur Steranko, like Michelle Williams in Wendy and Lucy, is usually the only character on screen, mesmerizing us with his silent, hypnotic work as a lonely, victimized unrequited lover.

I could go on, but I'll save something for the official BMAs. What about you? What were your biggest Oscar snubs?

Academy Award Nominations

Forest Whitaker and Sid Ganis presented the Oscar nominations this morning. Shall we?

Best Supporting Actress:

Amy Adams - Doubt
Penelope Cruz - Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Viola Davis - Doubt
Taraji P. Henson - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Marisa Tomei - The Wrestler

Forgetting Rosemarie DeWitt (Rachel Getting Married) is the biggest Oscar crime of the day. Oh, and Kate Winslet's absence was shocking--at first (foreshadowing). Amy Adams getting through proves the Academy loved Doubt. I suppose I'm rooting for Penelope Cruz. I wonder who the frontrunner is at this point.

Best Supporting Actor:

Josh Brolin - Milk
Robert Downey, Jr. - Tropic Thunder
Philip Seymour Hoffman - Doubt
Heath Ledger - The Dark Knight
Michael Shannon - Revolutionary Road

Michael Shannon has to be the surprise of the year. He was pretty outstanding in Revolutionary Road, but obviously he stands no chance against Heath Ledger. And Robert Downey, Jr. got a nomination, which makes up for many Oscar crimes.

Best Lead Actress:

Anne Hathaway - Rachel Getting Married
Angelina Jolie - Changeling
Melissa Leo - Frozen River
Meryl Streep - Doubt
Kate Winslet - The Reader

Apparently Oscar voters ignored Winslet's campaign for Supporting Actress for The Reader and Lead for Revolutionary Road. I wonder how close it was. Also, Sally Hawkins' snub is unbelievable. That was one of the best lead performances of the year. I hope Anne Hathaway wins to spice things up--and also to piss off all the Rachel haters. Then again, I wouldn't hold a win against Winslet, who is probably my favorite contemporary actress.

Best Lead Actor:

Richard Jenkins - The Visitor
Frank Langella - Frost/Nixon
Sean Penn - Milk
Brad Pitt - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Mickey Rourke - The Wrestler

Nothing all that surprising here. I hope Rourke wins.

Best Director:

Danny Boyle - Slumdog Millionaire
Stephen Daldry - The Reader
David Fincher - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Ron Howard - Frost/Nixon
Gus Van Sant - Milk

No Christopher Nolan--that was a bit of a shock for me. Instead, the Academy picked The Reader, time and again, for that fifth slot. On the bright side--Gran Torino was justly passed over for Best Actor, Director, and Picture. Oops, spoiler alert.

Best Picture:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon
Milk
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire

Like I said, they chose The Reader over The Dark Knight when it came down to it. The rest are the usual suspects. Again, a middling, decent list of movies but nothing outstanding or original.

Best Original Screenplay:

Frozen River - Courtney Hunt
Happy-Go-Lucky - Mike Leigh
In Bruges - Martin McDonagh
Milk - Dustin Lance Black
WALL-E - Andrew Stanton, Jim Reardon & Pete Docter

Frozen River must have some passionate support. I wouldn't pick it over scripts like Vicky Cristina Barcelona or Rachel Getting Married, but at least they nominated In Bruges, which is the nomination I'm pinning my Oscar happiness on. That and Hathaway for Best Actress. Also the nomination for WALL-E surprised me, although it obviously has colossal support.

Best Adapted Screenplay:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - Eric Roth and Robin Swicord
Doubt - John Patrick Shanley
Frost/Nixon - Peter Morgan
The Reader - David Hare
Slumdog Millionaire - Simon Beaufoy

I'm bored. And these scripts are overrated.

Best Cinematography:

Changeling - Tom Stern
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - Claudio Miranda
The Dark Knight - Wally Pfister
The Reader - Roger Deakins & Chris Menges
Slumdog Millionaire - Anthony Dod Mantle

I'm surprised Changeling got through, but better that than Gran Torino, I suppose.

Click here for the complete list of nominations. Trust me, there's nothing exciting in there, apart from a couple of nominations for Wanted. Encounters at the End of the World got through for Best Documentary, but it faces the solid but lesser Man on Wire. So am I alone here, or are these nominations mostly underwhelming? Which nominations did you love or hate?

Television in the Bush Era

As we close a chapter of American history, hopefully (there's that word again) to start fresh on January 20, we will undoubtedly see a change (there's that word again) in our cultural works. It's too soon to speculate how, with pilot season still months away, but something we can do is look back over the past 8 years and analyze the important television of the W. Bush administration.

By "important television," I don't mean to be elitist. I'm simply referring to artful works, shows that espouse a nuanced worldview, series that reflect our culture. It would be meaningless to examine television series that don't have anything to say. In other words, sorry Private Practice fans.

The politics of the past eight to ten years have forged a culture of distrust in our authority figures and institutions. We could go back further, to Watergate or Hoover or the "Compromise" of 1876 or the slavery era, but the past decade has been a tragicomic litany of political sins that has directly caused American deaths and falling confidence in the fairy tale of the American Dream. Lewinskygate turned the White House into a reality show, the election of 2000 assaulted republican principles, and the poorly-planned Iraq occupation continues to lose lives. The early days of Iraq were a reality show, too: we nicknamed Iraq's government officials Chemical Ali and Baghdad Bob, for crying out loud. That's hardly indicative of a serious examination.

Those are just the big three, but anyone even remotely engaged with the world could make a top-1o list of reasons why we don't, and shouldn't, trust our elected officials based on the past decade. Not surprisingly, modern television reflects this disillusionment.

The War in Iraq: A Very Special Episode

I'm not here to rant, but rather to assert that the Iraq War is the most direct influence on American television in recent years. I'll limit my analysis to more artful works, but it may benefit us to list even the less coherent shows that have addressed the War:

In Season 6, Scrubs hired Zach Braff's friend Michael Weston to do an arc as Private Dancer (not his Flashdance superhero name, nor his porn name), a wounded Iraq veteran. His first episode, "His Story IV," was told from Dr. Kelso's viewpoint. The hospital staff reacted to the veteran by breaking into strict political camps. The best part? Elliott getting aroused by Keith being a Republican. The worst? The resolution saw the staff uniting in their hatred of Kelso. Make of that what you will--I think the idea is that a group of people needs an Other to unite despite internal differences--but I found the story wanting. Relatedly, Grey's Anatomy recently hired Kevin McKidd to play a military doctor who just returned from Iraq.

Lost features one of the most diverse casts on television, and possibly the only Iraqi. An Iraqi hero, no less--Sayid may be my favorite protagonist these days. A significant source of conflict in the first season was Sawyer's xenophobia toward Sayid, but any political interests of the Lost writers have given way to more philosophical pursuits by now.

Weeds sent Uncle Andy off to boot camp, and while characters have occasionally railed against Bush or the political issue of the day, the series is more focused on domestic problems. Brothers and Sisters also contributed to our armed forces, sending youngest child and screw-up Justin off to war. He returned in a wheelchair, but the distress was mostly psychological and still manifests two years later. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip had prominent arcs featuring a soldier from Afghanistan. Even The Real World cast a veteran one year.

Note: I don't watch The West Wing, Brotherhood, South Park, The Simpsons, Boston Legal, Commander-in-Chief, or Rome, but I am under the impression these shows (and many others) have also addressed Bush-era politics.

Clearly, the War in Iraq has influenced countless series that would otherwise stay out of politics (Scrubs, Lost), or series that regularly address political issues albeit with a heavy hand (Weeds, Brothers and Sisters). I hesitate to group Friday Night Lights here because, especially in its first season, it was artistically strong, a powerful portrait of community. But FNL, too, tangentially addresses the War in Iraq, with Matt Saracen's father an American soldier currently serving abroad. Of course, being FNL, his return was a subplot focused not on politics but family.

The Ends Justify the Means: Prosecuting the War on Terror

"Mackey's not a cop; he's Al Capone with a badge."

Perhaps the show most synonymous with the Bush Administration, despite not being particularly interested in commenting on the world, is 24, which premiered in November 2001, during the aftermath of the anthrax scare and the beginning of the War in Afghanistan. Notably, 24 was created by Joel Surnow, who also created Fox News' response to The Daily Show, the aborted (poor phrasing?) Half Hour New Hour. Of course, 24 is not an ideological soapbox--like I said, it's more interested in plot than commentary. Surnow likes to defend 24's political neutrality with David Palmer, a black regular who became the show's morally straight Democratic president.

But our present political disillusionment is not bound by party lines either. Palmer's campaign was mired in corruption, and his successors have sullied the office to varying degrees, most notably President Charles Logan in Season 5. Still, 24's headlines come from its liberal use of torture, as Jack Bauer's determination knows few bounds. Call me (and Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison, etc.) crazy, but habeas corpus is an inalienable right derived from our inherent liberty. Tell that to Jack Bauer, and expect broken bones.

Despite sharper allegorical series (Battlestar Galactica), 24 is the most direct reflection of the tactics of the Bush Administration on television. CIA black sites, tales of Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib, and even the Valerie Plame scandal regularly remind the American people that things they'd rather not think about are happening in the name of security. Is it okay to let Jack Bauer (and others like him) defend us?

Vic Mackey, renegade LA cop on The Shield, is a spiritual brother to Jack Bauer, but The Shield confronts us in ways 24 never would, perhaps attributable to its home on cable. Where Jack Bauer is glorified, Vic Mackey is dehumanized, regularly portrayed as an animal, much like Tony Soprano. It follows that Mackey doesn't even have the scruples of Bauer. This is Machiavelli incarnate, and anything goes in the name of justice. The only problem is that justice sought in an extralegal manner violates the very idea of justice. Not that that's prevented any extralegal prosecutions at Guantanamo.

The Shield doesn't just ask questions. Vic Mackey, however redeemable--and redemption is a subject for you to decide--is a criminal. The true heroes of the series for me have always been Dutch and Claudette, whom I believe the writers created to establish a dichotomy with Vic and the Strike Team. Dutch and Claudette uphold democratic and moral standards, and they'd rather let ten guilty people go free than lock up one innocent person, even if that person is guilty of several other crimes.

Have we ever had television renegades entrusted to protect us as compelling as Jack Bauer and Vic Mackey? These guys have so captured the cultural consciousness that Kiefer Sutherland and Michael Chiklis have each won the Emmy for Best Actor. It's no surprise we're suddenly interested in operating outside the law. 24 and The Shield, which premiered in March 2002, are two of the earliest series demonstrably influenced by the War on Terror.

The Godfather: Tony Soprano and the Culture of Cynicism

"Let's join up, go kill some fucking terrorists."
"It's more noble than watching these jack-off fantasies on TV of how we're kicking their ass."

The Sopranos predates the Bush Administration, but it is directly responsible for the golden age of television drama, as most critics refer to the modern era, as contemporary dramas mimic the series' violence, serialization, and thematic depth and darkness. Season 3 began shortly after Bush took office, and over half of the series aired during the War on Terror. In fact, the title sequence changed for Season 4, removing a shot of the World Trade Center. These latter seasons are the most politically engaged.

For the first four years of the Bush Administration, the Emmy for Best Drama went to The West Wing, about an impossible, intellectual superman as president. The West Wing was Aaron Sorkin's fantasy White House (although Sorkin left the series shortly after the War in Iraq began), with highly educated people in charge who look at every issue from every angle, and they always do the right thing. Also, they speak like ads for Merriam-Webster's. But that fifth year, the Emmy was stolen by The Sopranos. Emmy turned cynical, and it hasn't looked back: Lost, 24, The Sopranos again, and Mad Men, each varying degrees of twisted, dark, iconoclastic, and pessimistic toward human nature, took the Emmy in the years since 2004.

The Sopranos made the world safe for darkness. At its core, the series was an existential examination of family, whether the biological or professional Sopranos. Along the way, creator David Chase exposed the fraud of the American Dream. As in Mario Puzo's The Godfather, the world of The Sopranos sees people in power as corrupt. What almighty force corrupts? Money. Chase is fond of bragging that his show is the first to assert that America is run on money and greed. I recall a lottery season of Roseanne, but when it comes to depth, Chase is right on the money, as they say.

Greed, of course, is one of the seven deadly sins, an eternal corrupting force not specifically limited to the past ten years of American disillusionment. Concordantly, the past ten years have seen their fair share of greed in politics: a spoils system of Iraqi contracts, most prominently with Halliburton, the rise and fall of Enron, and of course the present financial crisis, generated by each of the various actors thinking they could get something for nothing.

The Sopranos directly comments on the War on Terror in its final season, with AJ overcome by feelings of anxiety stemming from terrorism (much like Americans in the '50s who were unable to cope with the threat of sudden nuclear attack). The finale puts terrorism in the spotlight as Tony grows paranoid about some Arab associates of Christopher who may or may not be terrorists, and Agent Harris gradually contributes to rising fears of some eventual cataclysm. Of course, no cataclysm occurs--discounting a smash cut to black--which is Chase's way of addressing the xenophobic paranoia rampant in post-2001 America. The other obvious point is one addressed by The Wire and The Shield, there regarding neglect of the inner cities. In what way is the Sopranos' business not terrorism?

In connecting the two, Chase suggests that domestic corruption may be just as dangerous and pressing as foreign terrorism, if not more so. It's important to note that these parallels came about only during the final seasons, with the series firmly set during the Bush administration. During this time, The Sopranos' worldview, which captivated popular masses and critical elites, places blame on those contributing to corruption in institutions of authority, including politicians so blindly focused on an external threat that they ignore the real internal danger.

It's not TV, it's the Bush Administration

"All those mopes in bracelets, and not one of them named Osama."

In recent years, HBO made a name for itself as a haven for quality entertainment, scoring the most Emmy nominations each year of the Bush administration. Signature series followed the leads of The Sopranos and Oz, the network's first original drama, incorporating serialization, broad casts, taboo subjects, and elite production values. Beginning in June 2001, Six Feet Under regularly conveyed liberal viewpoints ("Support our troops? What a bunch of bullshit. Why don't you try driving something that doesn't require so much gas, for starters, if you're so fucking concerned."), but is politically inconsequential compared with other HBO fare.

From its profane start in March 2004, Deadwood has been a series deeply interested in exploring American politics. The premise sees hardline lawman Sheriff Seth Bullock set out for lawless Indian territory of Deadwood, beyond the reach of American legal limitations. As the series progresses, the town's social leaders conspire to keep the Dakotas independent, and accordingly more beneficial for shadier practices, and later fight in favor of annexation, but only in ways where they retain their status as business elites. The emphasis here is on the formation of government, exposing a deep-rooted oligarchy that institutes democracy to maintain a rigidly classist society. They even have a puppet mayor in spineless EB Farnum, exhibiting obvious parallels to the Bush administration and its love of the spoils system. (Speaking of which, how is Harriet Miers these days?)

Deadwood examines further the vulgar, hypocritical faces of American politics, but I'm more fresh on The Wire, which premiered in June of 2002. The first episode introduces a running subplot that the FBI has consolidated its resources to battle terrorism and corruption, leaving the lowly Baltimore PD to mediate the drug war, regardless of the fact that drugs kill more Americans than terrorists. The series as a whole is a provocative argument against "the system," or the entrenched institutionalization of American politics, business, and education, that confronts its audience with how little power they have to enact reform. Change is necessary, but impossible on the scale required; the best one can do is get out safely.

The Wire responds to the Bush Administration with iconoclasm, regularly assaulting the sacred cows of unfettered capitalism and the War on Terror. Capitalism is indeed a primary target of the series (as one of several institutions perhaps in need of reform), which chronicles the lives ruined by adhering more to our economic policy (including the black markets forced by prohibition of drugs) than compassionate social policy. The Wire approaches the War on Terror more obliquely. One episode, in which a series of superficial arrests becomes a photo op, is called "Mission Accomplished." The final season concerns a serial killer who preys on the homeless, only the story is fabricated by a cop. The higher up the ladder the truth goes, the bigger the cover-up becomes until everyone in a leadership position is promoted because of a lie. Here Simon is criticizing several aspects of the Bush Administration--not just the Iraq War which apparently had no true, public raison d'etre--and their dogged flouting of transparency.

A bastion of Emmy-winning movies and miniseries, HBO has not limited its political commentary to its dramas. Most recently, Simon and Burns produced Generation Kill, based on Rolling Stone reporter Evan Wright's time embedded with a misused battalion of elite marines. Despite the radical title, the series encapsulates the institutional failures of the Bush administration with a mostly even hand. A picaresque road movie, chapter after chapter demonstrates that those in the best position to assess the climate in Iraq are not those responsible for the decisions, and attempts to correct this are viewed as disloyal threats and met with bureaucratic resentment. During the War in Afghanistan, HBO premiered Band of Brothers, which celebrates the courage of soldiers, but reminds us of the inherent savagery of war. And during the 2004 presidential campaigns, when national attention turned to the issue of gay marriage, Angels in America proved a compassionate response to the negative Rove machine that ultimately won reelection for the incumbent Bush.

The John Adams miniseries, in exploring the founding father's life, exposes both his Enlightenment democratic philosophy, a depth of thinking scarcely seen among today's politicians, and his presidential mistakes, not least of which were the Alien and Sedition Acts. Adams' passive-aggressive attack on his dissenters was an affront to democracy, revealing an extreme mistrust of foreigners and antipathy for truly free speech, particularly resonant in light of the Bush era's ultranationalistic politics. Meanwhile, the television movie Recount sharply exposes the structural nuances that permitted a president to be decided rather than elected, ultimately enticing the audience, with the hindsight of two presidential administrations, to consider the necessity of direct election.

Comedy Night Done Left

"Just because I think gay dudes should be allowed to adopt kids and we should all have hybrid cars doesn't mean I don't love America."

Political comedy has been around since before Swift, before Dante, and before Aristophanes. In television, just when the traditional sitcom grew stale--though outliers certainly existed--the single-camera comedy grew in popularity (critically, anyway), and innovation in format lended itself to a resurgent creativity. In other words, while it's difficult to name many multi-camera sitcoms with effective social commentary, single-camera shows regularly engage in some of the sharpest satire on television.

Critical favorite Arrested Development--incidentally, my own pick for the best television series--is among the foremost television satires of modern times. Its premise targets the idle upper class, the pilot establishing a series aimed at Enron-type scandals, but in practice the series shifts its focus to the Bush Administration, taking on issues from gun control to displays of the 10 Commandments on public grounds. The photo of Rumsfeld shaking hands with Saddam Hussein in the '80s appears in a cutaway, the Bluths regularly bring out their Mission Accomplished banner (once with GOB even mimicking the president's landing in front of it), and even effigies of Bush crop up eventually. The War in Iraq becomes a prime subplot, actually, with Lucille bullied into signing Buster up for the army, and then Buster being forced to go despite several disabilities. Gob's Wife participates in the Abu Ghraib scandal. Protests are confined to free speech zones. The Patriot Act is used as an omnipotent source of power for the government. Saddam's body-doubles, fake WMD, and a subplot that visually mirrors the capture of Saddam all figure into the grand scheme. On top of this, the series ridicules the religious right, particularly in Season 2 when the Veals gain prominence (not coincidentally in the same year the religious right significantly affected the election), and Season 3 features a Church and State Fair wherein one character, chased by cops, takes the popemobile instead of a hummer because the popemobile is bulletproof. Of course, Arrested Development laughs at useless liberal causes as well (memorably in Hands Off Our Penises, Lindsay's anti-circumcision movement), but it's never as vicious as when it's mocking the follies of the Bush Administration.

30 Rock has taken up Arrested Development's mantle, and however kooky its plots grow, it always has time for some commentary. My favorite might be the passing of a bill to legalize recreational whale torture submitted by Trent Lott and Arlen Specter. In the highly acclaimed second season, Liz reports a suspicious neighbor only to discover, after he's already been tortured by federal agents, that he's just preparing to be a contestant on The Amazing Race. Later, Jack tries to help a poor Little League team, but when his guidance doesn't help, he blames it on Tracy and replaces him in one of the strangest Iraq War allegories I've seen. They even pull down a statue (of Jefferson Davis, their ballpark's namesake) in reference to the notorious Saddam statue in Baghdad. In the season finale, Jack is promoted (out of the blue, might I add) to the Bush Administration as the Department of Homeland Security Director for Crisis and Weather Management, and learns how dire the situation in Washington is. Everything is mismanaged, everybody pretends that all's well, and getting out is nearly impossible--Jack's escape plan is to revive the Pentagon's prototype gay-bomb, which he says will be "offensive to both the red states and the gayer blue states." These are just a few references to the Bush Administration, but 30 Rock has made a sport of hazing them.

Interestingly, The Office, one of the Bush Administration's principal comedies, in both critical and popular approval, has had little to no political or social commentary. Instead, it balances its wacky hijinks with human drama. The only times the series remotely gets into social issues are when Michael is faced with situations he has no clue how to deal with, such as an employee's homosexuality or the second episode's diversity workshop.

However, cable darlings It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and The Sarah Silverman Program (I'm using "darling" loosely) pick up the slack. I'm not particularly fresh on either show, but I have seen all their episodes. Sunny devotes one to Charlie's hyperpatriotism, another to the gang's corrupt campaign for public office, and another to the gang's jihad against a new local Israeli business-owner. While these episodes are not explicit responses to Bush, their existence seems unlikely without the ultranationalism of his administration (well the campaign episode could have happened with or without Bush). Silverman is, in my opinion, funniest when it's political--I can take the vulgarity as long as its dressing sharp satire--and occasionally battles social issues. Recently, an episode concerned Sarah's quest to kill Osama bin Laden, which leads to a series of false alarms--bearded Arab men she runs over. The second season finale saw Sarah marry her dog in a perverse stand for gay rights. These two filthy cable comedies are as spotty with their political focus as they are with their jokes, but they are clearly part of the television political conversation.

Of course, the most notable comedy shows of the day are The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and spinoff The Colbert Report. I've limited my survey to narrative fiction, but The Daily Show is a pioneer of biting political comedy on television, and many of its correspondents have appeared on Arrested Development and The Office.

Brave New World: Cable Dramas

"We cannot sacrifice our democracy just because the president makes a bad decision."

Perhaps the biggest change in television-watching habits of the past 8 years is increased time-shifting thanks to technologies like DVR and TiVo. Accordingly, network ratings are on a downward trend. Event television is mostly extinct, with a few exceptions like the Super Bowl. Cable has picked up some of the viewers abandoning the broadcast networks, and as cable series gain recognition--critical acclaim for cable series has been around for a while, but Emmy finally honored non-HBO cable drama in 2008, recognizing Mad Men, Breaking Bad, and Damages--more cable networks are exploring their own narrative fiction series in a re-branding craze.

Mad Men is widely recognized as the heir to The Sopranos, though beyond creator Matthew Weiner's relationship with the HBO titan (and Mad Men's status as a philosophically engaged drama), similarities are mostly irrelevant. But Mad Men does represent a voice in the cultural political conversation, although its commentary is rarely overt. One of the series arcs follows the failure of the old, traditional ad men to understand the increasing emphasis on youth culture. In Season 1, this storyline peaks during the election of 1960, with our protagonists supporting Nixon, underestimating the American people's attraction to young liberalism. Throughout, the series' throwbacks to casual misogyny, racism, homophobia, and antisemitism present a deft satire of those attitudes asserting themselves in the political arena today. But the premise--"We're selling the American Dream"--is the most direct political reference. The American Dream is a fairy tale, packaged and sold on Mad Men, but a fantasy to those of us in 2009 with little faith in the integrity of our leadership, institutions, and values.

The Shield's younger brother Rescue Me established FX as a cable outlet with a commitment to gritty, provocative fare that is now echoed in Damages, The Riches, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Rescue Me opens in the wake of the September 11th terrorist attacks--protagonist Tommy Gavin was one of the firefighters at Ground Zero, and his cousin Jimmy Keefe died there, though his ghost occasionally appears to Tommy. The sight of New York's skyline absent the twin towers also serves to unite the house at the end of Season 3, when several characters consider leaving. Rescue Me is deeply political--a memorable episode of Season 2 features a calm listing of racial slurs and Tommy Gavin's rant against political correctness, a tribute to Archie Bunker no doubt--but its thematic focus is masculinity. Without getting into the pop psychology of President Bush as seen in W and Rolling Stone, the concept of masculinity is changing. As Rescue Me explores metrosexuality, the diminishing importance of men, and the strong, silent archetype, President Bush habitually engages in traditionally manly activities, attempting to evoke a cowboy archetype through his Texan folksiness, manual labor, and--a characteristic that affects political decision-making--stubborn determination.

The series that best represents the Bush era, however, is Battlestar Galactica, not only in reflecting and responding to the War on Terror, but constantly evoking America under the Bush Administration. The premiere features a nation surprised by an attack, and the series follows their struggle for survival, balancing liberty with security. Laura Roslin suddenly becomes the president, rising from Secretary of Education--a reference to Bush's 2000 platform--to lead humanity. Season 1 features as a prime source of conflict the struggle between military and civilian leadership, culminating in a coup that overthrows democracy in the name of security.

Such parallels only increase scope as the series continues. Abortion is outlawed, labor unions are nearly disbanded, and secret military missions occur with no civilian oversight because the president desperately avoids transparency. Hostages are tortured--with a sci-fi version of waterboarding, in one of the series' darkest hours--and summarily executed; prisoners on Galactica (and Guantanamo) have no rights. And religion controls the political sphere, President Roslin devout in her faith, risking lives on her visions. At the end of Season 2, when Roslin runs for reelection against her current Vice President, Gaius Baltar, she is handily ahead until Baltar transforms the election by focusing on a wedge issue, mirroring the 2004 election narrative. The people elect Baltar--after an attempt to steal the election is uncovered--only to receive their biggest setback to date: occupation by the cylons who attacked them in the first place. The series, tracking under 50,000 people--all that remains of humanity--uses all these issues to challenge the central idea of sacrificing freedom for the greater good. While the series offers few answers to its political questions, Battlestar argues that it's better to die in a liberal democracy than live under a restricted one; every sacrifice of freedom in the name of security leads not to greater security but further limits to freedom. This is the essence of Season 3's climatic monologue, delivered by Lee Adama on the witness stand, demanding a supposed civilization to live up to its values of freedom and forgiveness. Justice, very nearly overthrown by a decidedly illiberal trial, is barely upheld.

For all its action and intrigue, Battlestar Galactica remains the most politically important series on television, a constant artful commentary on Bush's America that has taken us from the War in Iraq to the inauguration of a new president. If Roslin is Bush's analogue, Lee Adama is Obama's, entering the political sphere out of nowhere, serving a single term in the Senate, and rising to the rank of interim president. The future, no doubt, lies with his legitimate election. Remember, it's Lee's political career-beginning courtroom monologue that ended the reign of pragmatic military-enforced government in favor of true, liberal democracy. Surprisingly, though, Battlestar refuses to condemn President Bush or Roslin; the opposite is more often true, forcing us to sympathize with positions we would otherwise detest. Remarkable is the drama that can argue effectively in favor of banning abortion in the 21st century.

Final Thoughts

Looking back further, television during Clinton also leaned left, though Will and Grace, The Practice, and Friends challenged conservatism in society more than its entrenchment in political institutions. The West Wing demonstrated a liberal's fantasy White House, but was remarkably adept at exploring both sides of an issue. Under Clinton, television series engaged less in political commentary. Whereas a significant portion of shows under Bush referenced the Iraq War, the election of 2000, or at least a cynical view of American mythology, few fictional narrative series under Clinton incorporated Lewinskygate, Whitewater or his impeachment.

The above is merely a broad summary of the responses of politically engaged series to the Bush Administration, along with very shallow analysis. I intend to follow up with a more comparative post in the future (topic 1: television's political campaigns), but simply finishing this before Jan. 20 was a feat worthy of Hercules. So at least another installment will follow, but maybe not for some time. By then, we may have a decent idea of what Obama television looks like. My guess? More reality shows.

Battlestar Galactica: "Sometimes a Great Notion"

What a great day for television. Matthew Weiner is going to be running Mad Men for at least two more seasons, and Battlestar Galactica returns! Spoilers for the (mid) season premiere of Battlestar after the jump.

Let's start with the obvious: Ellen Tigh is the final cylon!

I'm thrilled with this decision for a few reasons: 1) Ellen Tigh has always been one of my favorite characters in an ensemble of many favorites. 2) Kate Vernon is not only going to be back, but presumably fairly central to the story for the rest of the season. 3) She was one of the earliest prime suspects back in Season 1, and Baltar saw her report and kept silent! And mostly, 4) Saul and Ellen have this mythic/tragic relationship unrivaled on the televisions (if they can do interwebs, I can do this); even Bill and Laura don't touch the grandness of the Tighs' arc.

But what killed me was when she said they would be reborn together. There's another Ellen out there! And Saul's going to find her! (I assume. I have killed people for even mentioning this season to me for fear of spoilers.) Of course, it could be that by the time he killed the reborn Ellen on New Caprica, the mechanism for rebirthing the Final Fivers had been rendered useless, but I'll assume Ronald D. Moore and company have a more interesting storyline for the recovery of Ellen.

Now that that's out of the way, I feel obligated to mention that Moore was wrong. Many of us have suspected Ellen as the final cylon. It's like when JK Rowling said nobody had come close to guessing the events of the final Harry Potter book, when in reality, almost every story beat had been extrapolated by fans.

(UPDATE sidenote: Reading Mo Ryan's interview with Ronald D. Moore on why Ellen was the final cylon, he mentions the nature of their relationship incorporating "guilt and blame and memory and responsibility." All of a sudden, like Tyrol flashing to his past life, I remembered Alain Resnais' Hiroshima mon amour, also about the site of a nuclear holocaust, a beautifully tragic exploration of those very themes. If you haven't seen it, definitely check it out.)

In other news, this series continues to astound me with its brilliance. Throughout the episode, we heard "What does it mean?" and "What's the point?" These are the ultimate questions of any art. It asks us to examine the meaning of a smaller work in the hopes of learning something about the world at large. (Synecdoche-ish, no?)

For the first quarter of the episode, characters were still reacting to the discovery that ended "Revelations." Mostly silent, they just wandered around trying to cope, trying to determine the meaning of Earth. Kara's story encapsulates their confusion: confronted with another Kara in another raptor, long-dead, she has no clue what's going on. Even Leoben flees from her side. And now she's left with a series of questions, as they all are. What does it all mean?

Battlestar remains an impressive commentary on the world. First, a lovely parting shot to our dear, departing president: When Apollo's not sure how to spin the tragic truth of Earth, Dee tells him to be honest with his constituents and tell them the reality of the situation. How refreshing for a president to treat a citizenry with candor.

But more importantly, this is the story of humanity. As soon as the people have no purpose, they collapse in depression. Fights break out, officers are strewn about the hallways, others go looking for answers only to find dead ends, and saddest of all, Dee rids herself of existential angst once and for all. Weirdly--perhaps due to many months distance from the characters--I had no problem with the rekindling between Dee and Apollo, and the post-date glow actually had me rooting for them. Just like how "The Ties That Bind" made me sympathize with Cally, here I felt for Dee.

Following the thread of human history, notice how society resorts to internal violence now that the external threat is gone. In essence, humanity has lost two motivations--finding Earth and defeating the cylons--so I completely understand the ensuing implosion. Next week promises further internal rebellion, fomented by Tom Zarek, whom I'm excited to see.

Lee's speech is also packed with brilliance. He's right: they're no longer slaves to Pythia. Think about the role predestination has had in their lives. Now that the fantasy of Earth is gone, they have hope for independent thought and freedom of choice. Or do they? I wouldn't be surprised to see that this is all part of the plan. Freud had a theory that history is cyclical because we're all programmed (by history, by our elders, by society) to follow the same grooves, to react similarly to the same stimuli. Lee says they're free to be who they want to be. I want to believe him, but there's more evidence that they're still living the grand scheme.

Now for the favorites: Just go ahead and give Mary McDonnell the Nobel Prize for her work in, let's say, Economics. James Callis and Michael Hogan can have one too. Actually, my favorite scenes and performances here came from the supporting players. Apart from the Tigh/Ellen scene, and the startlingly powerful inaugural flashback of Tyrol on Earth, my favorite scene was Tigh's discussion with D'Anna. I hope she changes her mind about Earth or we follow her story there, because Lucy Lawless owns her scenes, especially since she returned in "The Hub."

It struck me how important the history of the series is for this final season. All the characters have been through to bring them here can be felt in their performances. Every conversation is loaded with history. Not coincidentally, the series as a whole is a charting of history, and this episode specifically, in its archaeological investigations, explores the history of Earth.

As you may have inferred, I loved the episode, despite my continual complaints about minor things like strange (read: melodramatic) dialogue choices and the excessive (though perfectly appropriate for this particular story) self-pity on display here.

We're left with so many questions. What happened with Kara's raptor in the maelstrom? Could she have died, like the Final Five in the Earth Holocaust, only to be reborn with the same memories? Similarly, could Baltar have died in the Caprica Holocaust, only to be reborn with the same memories? Is there a thirteenth cylon a la the thirteenth colony (I just realized how similar those words are)? If there's a new Ellen, where is she? Who's the dying leader? Will things end happily for anyone on this show?

Now I have some questions for you. Where do we go from here? And what does it all mean?

Signs of the Apocalypse: A New Series

Partially in an attempt to increase my output, partially to feel like a real blogger, and partially as a service to my community, I've developed a few series ideas for this blog. First up, Signs of the Apocalypse, focusing on the trend of apocalypticism in pop culture. This one's actually been stirring in the ole noggin for a few months now, and the bulk of this introductory article was written in July. So if you're ready, I'll hand over the floor to July 'o8 Brandon:

It all started with Y2K.

I was but a pimply freshman, breezily enjoying my womblike existence in the suburbs. The End Times was not yet a proper noun in my world. Apocalypse was the greatest of all X-Men villains to a child of the '90s (a fact I still maintain; any challengers?). And Armageddon was an obnoxiously fun movie that actually made my neighbor cry (Yes, she was one of the tweens who saw Titanic at least six times in theaters).

It was Christmas night, so I was already bored with Christmas. We were packing to go to Disney World to ring in the fake new millennium, and a local news report interrupted us.

Apparently, people bought out some local stores' supplies of bottled water and duct tape. Even though the Y2K bug had been fixed already, and even though Y2K is computer-related only and was in no way connected to prophecies of natural disaster, and even though the Mayans predicted apocalypse in 12 more years, the crazies were fulfilling their end of the social contract.

Even as a lowly post-tween--not a girl, not yet a woman--I understood the difference between conspiracy nuts and the rest of us. But a part of me wished something would happen, if only for some excitement. (My 2009 self apologizes for wishing the world's destruction.) I remember feeling oddly disappointed when I learned that my computer had been made after the Y2K bug was fixed. And as we huddled around the World Showcase Lagoon and the sky lit up like 'Nam--that's no hyperbole; ask one of the trillion of us that were there--I kept wondering if the fireworks show was supposed to be that brilliant or if we were chowing on churros, gawking like idiots at Armageddon.

I woke up the next morning. I imagine you did too. Kind of disappointing, I know. But to this day, Disney World on New Year's Eve of 1999 is the closest experience I've had to the apocalypse, if only for the hellish blockades of strollers.

In the years since, I've become increasingly aware of the trend of apocalypticism. My grandmother is both a Christian and a self-proclaimed conspiracy nut, so she often gushed about the Left Behind series. Television also delved into the End Times, with 24 focusing on a different potential doomsday each season and Battlestar Galactica seeing a human civilization fleeing their home planet in the wake of nuclear Armageddon, not to mention Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly, John from Cincinnati, Heroes, Jericho and many more. Decidedly non-sci-fi Mad Men ended its most recent season with an episode called "Meditations in an Emergency," set in the midst of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Of course, apocalyptic movies aren't new, but such an abundance might be: Encounters at the End of the World, Children of Men, I am Legend, Cloverfield, Southland Tales, Hellboy II, Sunshine, The Golden Compass, Wall-E, etc. Meanwhile, in the world of comics, writer Brian K. Vaughan crafted acclaimed series Y: The Last Man about a mysterious event that instantly kills every creature on Earth with a Y-chromosome, except the main character and his pet monkey (not a euphemism).

Of course we're not content simply to enjoy pop culture's harbingers of doom; we have to tempt fate by honoring them. The past two Best Picture-winners are violent dramas with high body counts, and No Country for Old Men particularly taps into apocalypticism with its ghostlike killer and prophetic dreams. The Pulitzer Prize, meanwhile, went to a different Cormac McCarthy work, The Road, a lyrical, postapocalyptic tale itself. And the Nobel Prize was awarded to Al Gore for An Inconvenient Truth, a book-cum-movie about a very real end-of-the-world scenario.

It's no surprise that apocalyptic works are often responses to sociopolitical events. Threats of mutually assured destruction during the Cold War influenced Dr. Strangelove in the '60s and Watchmen in the '80s. The Terminator series was a reaction to the personal computer. V for Vendetta, a comic book from the '80s (apparently during Alan Moore's apocalyptic phase), was adapted into a popular film in reaction to terrorism. And of course, the mass suicide of the Heaven's Gate cult was a response to the arrival of the spaceship conveniently hidden behind Hale-Bop that the rest of us couldn't see because we didn't believe hard enough and were going to Hell anyway.

Today I received an offer from my favorite magazine National Geographic for a free portable generator with the purchase of a book. That book? The Complete Survival Manual, adorned with shots of natural destruction.

Something's in the water. We are more fascinated by the apocalypse than ever, it seems (with the possible exception of the early days of the Church, when everyone and their weird molesty stepuncle had apocalyptic dreams), whether it come from a plague (The Andromeda Strain), terrorism (The Dark Knight) or really pissed off trees (The Happening). But I'm convinced it's a fad. Last week, we were all into crocs; this week, the end of civilization. (Next? A thing for colored onesies and a comeback vehicle for Reginald VelJohnson.)

So I decided to mount a new project. My goal is to create a running document of apocalypticism in pop culture. Since my egotism prevents me from buying into any theory that results in the world dying before I become rich and famous surrounded by homoerotic gold statues of myself defeating Greek monsters (move along, Freudians), I don't expect to find anything very serious. But at least it gives me a forum to explain why lolcats are the downfall of humanity.

On a related sidenote--this series is nothing if not indulgent in my digression--I toyed with calling this series "Harbingers" because it sounded like a quaint shoppe in your folksy village where you might run into an eccentric old loon rattling on about the latest sign of the apocalypse. Also, the word has been pigeon-holed, so I don't have to add "of doom" at the end. I regret that I'm perpetuating the social more that nobody can be a harbinger of rainbows or a harbinger of chewy Chips Ahoy, but this train can't be stopped. To make up for it, I'll start deprecating people other than myself, and soon, people will learn to be someone else-deprecating.

The only problem with running with an idea I had last July is Obama. If his hope crusade stands in the way of society's apocalypse fetish, heads are gonna roll, starting with Obama Girl. Lucky for me, financial and climatic Henny Pennys are everywhere these days.

Scientifically speaking, we are inevitably headed for apocalypse by way of increasing entropy. According to the doomsday clock, we're only five minutes from nuclear chaos. And for a few years now, snooty historians have taken great joy in comparing the United States today to Rome just before its fall--although our goths aren't much of a threat. So if it's going to happen, we might as well know who's to blame. That way, when our consciousnesses are floating through the rubble of our planet, we'll still be able to unite in our species' greatest pastime: judging people.

The Last Throes

"To all our men and women in uniform listening tonight, there has been no higher honor than serving as your commander-in-chief." Listening to President Bush's Farewell Address--which reminds me, among other things, of the determination of blind ideology, not that anyone will take this speech seriously--I was reminded of an issue I meant to bring up.

Why are veterans so praised for their service?

I posed the question to my mom upon seeing a slew of Support Our Troops ribbons on a pickup, and she replied that they are no more praised than, say, teachers or policemen. Teachers as publicly appreciated as veterans? I laugh at your myopia. But I let the issue go because I'm exhausted trying to teach our parents that they are wrong. I hope Obama can pick up where I left off, at least with my own elders. (Sidenote: Is it too soon to refer to my parents as my ancestors? I mean, my Dad just turned 50, which is, like, neolithic.)

I need you to meet me on a rational playing field. We need to go into this discussion accepting the premise, which is that veterans receive a disproportionate amount of praise compared to other occupations. Maybe I'm wrong, and I grew up in the South where brainless hillbillies and thoughtful civilians alike are more prone to publicly thanking veterans for their service or calling into talk radio shows or honking upon seeing military bumper stickers or shouting "Ooh-ra" and "Semper Fi" at strangers, but that's the impression I get. Compare the significance of Veterans Day and Teachers Day. One is a federal holiday, like Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. The other is more like National Talk Like a Pirate Day.

So are we all agreed veterans are more publicly appreciated than other workers?

Why do you suppose that is? My gut tells me it's because they put their lives on the line. Which is certainly noble, but not limited to soldiers. Policeman, firefighters, rescue divers and others risk their own lives to save others. And why exactly are soldiers risking their lives? Well, they're not in Iraq and Afghanistan to keep you and me safe, nor to defend our liberties. They're there to help Iraqis, I suppose, with a splash of face-saving, but as we all know now, they never should have entered Iraq. Not that I blame them for being there--it's not their discretion to choose when and where to install--but it's difficult to look at Iraq and call the job noble.

But, Brandon, they are simply following orders, and you can't deny they're risking their lives.

You're right. I appreciate the sacrifice. But let's look closer, shall we? First of all, they are risking their lives in return for college or money or whatever. They're not simply volunteering. Nevertheless, the sacrifice would be appreciated were America under attack and in need of defense. And I'll go further and say I appreciate the risk in goodwill efforts too.

In reality, I'm not certain I support having a military. I understand the utility, and that 100% of the world (rounding to a whole number) aren't as progressive as I am in this respect, so ending violence is improbable, to say the least. But I'm trying to be consistent here, and if I am committed to individual liberty, then nobody can have the right to take the life of another. People choose to join militaries. Obviously, many don't have much choice after high school, and righteousness is a privilege for the higher classes, so while I don't support a military, I don't actively work against them either.

(UPDATE: I phrased that poorly, and am slightly less pinko than I paint myself. I do support a military. I suppose what I meant was that I don't support the use of a military in cases that are not defensive, which I have the commander-in-chief to blame for, not the military itself. In other words, I do believe in individual liberty, but self-defense is not a violation of that. You forfeit your liberty when you try to violate that of another. I value the harm principle.)

What about doctors, working tirelessly to keep us healthy? Or lawyers, keeping our society healthy? Richer professions aren't as likely to receive their due credit, but right now, lawyers are doing more to protect me than soldiers. Then there's the idea that we all have our roles. Artists, for me, are essential. Entertainers keep us occupied. Lawn guys--let's be honest, lawn Mexicans--do work we don't want to. We all have a part to play, and we're all required in order to maintain some semblance of harmonious society.

You may have guessed that teachers are my occupation-to-publicly-support of choice. You'd be wrong. There are as many irrelevant teachers as there are poor soldiers. On the whole, I would suggest teachers ought to receive a greater proportion of public admiration and, if I had my druthers, higher salaries than many occupations, but many of them haven't earned my respect either.

Blind, blanket praise of the Support-Our-Troops variety is representative of the great American error of the past 8 years. It's time to say, I support Dr. Brooks and Mrs. Simons, though many of their colleagues are cogs in a flawed institution. I support my cousin in so much as I want him to come home safely, but I don't support his decision to put on a uniform and kill enemies. I am intelligent enough to reserve my respect for those that have earned it, rather than proudly proclaiming my adoration of a whole sector. The era of bully patriotism is over.

President Bush, your time is up. Mission accomplished.

Writing off 2008

In previous posts, I have all but dismissed most of the awardsy movies this year, calling them different degrees of "trite," "overconventional," "cartoonish," and "empty-headed." Reading my assessments, I feel I have accurately conveyed my reactions to the year's mainstream fare. In short, I'm bored with them.

But that's no reason to dismiss them entirely, especially since a few were pretty effective. So, if you'd like to talk about them--and here I'm asking mostly for your own opinions, but I will try to refine my thoughts as well--I wanted to offer up a place.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button:

Visually stylish (though not the most stylish of these, which certainly lies with Slumdog Millionaire), but uninvolving. In other words, try as they might, Benjamin and Daisy's romance failed to connect with me. As I've said elsewhere, I found Taraji P. Henson and Tilda Swinton captivating, but the thematic necessities--in a word, loss--forced their early removals.

But then I listened to this podcast, linked from the House Next Door, of a roundtable discussion on David Fincher's work in general, and Zodiac and Button in particular. The adulatory responses--which, without an opposing view, were perhaps more free-flowing than otherwise--made me wonder if I simply missed it. If perhaps I'm in an art-snob phase, and I wrote off the studio movies before I even saw them. Do you think Button is an effective look at loneliness or loss? If not, is it about something else entirely? I love hearing provocative theories--like Cloverfield as a representative of Generation Y's inability to cope--so please let me know.

At Not Coming to a Theater Near You, I read a snippet about the use of water, which is used in nearly every major moment. This also intrigued me. I recently watched the director's cut of Zodiac on DVD, and David Fincher is clearly capable of powerful work. Zodiac's a particularly good example because the running time rivals Button's, yet Zodiac flies by while Button just sits there commiserating. Right now, I view Button the movie like I view Daisy: very pretty, but very shallow. But I'd love to entertain your thoughts.

The Dark Knight:

This is a problematic film, no question. The first time I saw it, I was absorbed, perfectly willing to go along for the ride. But now I see that Nolan manipulates us into accepting these logical inconsistencies by pacing it like one long sprint. Everything happens so fast you can't criticize it unless you stop and take a breath.

There is much to love. Whether the Joker is a fully realized character with a thematic cohesion or not, Ledger's performance is mesmerizing. It's simply fun to watch. I loathe the idea of "turning off your brain" to watch a movie, but with Ledger's rabid performance, I'm awestruck. (I'm also very open to the idea that it may not have been the best supporting male performance of the year: other contenders?)

I also mentioned before that several of the year's most striking images came from The Dark Knight, which is significant. Joker in the cop car, Joker clapping for Gordon's promotion, the pile of cash burning, the fake Batman hanging, the three dogs in the opening, and especially Joker upside down (or right side up, I suppose). Nolan's got an eye for visual composition. But it's not consistent either, and his poor ability to convey geography of action scenes is one of the prominent criticisms. The first time, I had no clue which truck was where during the pre-climactic car chase, but by the time they got out in the open I understood. Now I understand basically what's going on, but that doesn't erase the flaw.

As for the idea of sacrificing liberty for security, it may not have been deeply explored, but it was interestingly developed. Sure, certain plot points don't completely make sense and the dialogue can be corny, but in broad strokes, the movie is certainly provocative, which is more than I can say for most of these and why I'm generally rooting for Dark Knight. I know, "broad strokes." But it's better than nothing, and most of these movies come off very dull under serious scrutiny.

But my overall reaction is that I enjoyed several other movies more. If you liked the movie more than I did, which is a safe bet, why? In a way, this is 2008's 3:10 to Yuma--great performances, pseudo-depth, pieced together by action--and I love that one (and happen to find it brilliant, but that's another story).

Frost/Nixon:

I'm not sure there are any staunch defenders of this one. But if you found the movie somehow not simplistic (which was my main complaint back in December), what did you like about it? Sheen and Langella were towering, and it's disappointing that Langella's reaping all the awards glory*.

*Related discussion: As you may know, I despise many biopics for two reasons: reliance on convention and mimicry as Great Acting. Milk satisifed both of these elements, but was also engaging and well-acted. Frost/Nixon went a bit different, aiming to convey the essences of Frost and Nixon. In sum, Philip Seymour Hoffman's Truman Capote is less than Heath Ledger's Ennis Del Mar.

Milk:

I believe I just reiterated my problems with this one. The cast were terrific though, particularly Josh Brolin. But was this anything special? I think that's the most prominent reason I'm so down on all these films. I enjoyed each to varying degrees, but none of them are particularly special. My Winnipeg is special, Happy-Go-Lucky is special, A Christmas Tale is special. Milk is not special.

Revolutionary Road:

If our goals in life are to be happy--which mine is--then what do we allow to limit that goal? Marriage is an obvious sacrifice to the freedom of independence, that freedom usually corresponding to happiness, particularly in the liberty-drunk West. But children can present an even greater drain--not that they don't provide their own joys or that Frank and April didn't love their kids, but they are necessarily less free to do whatever they want with their lives.

Revolutionary Road was not some other suburbs or American Dream movie. It's about satisfaction (or ennui) in modern life. This is what I loved about it. Kate Winslet owns the movie, but Leonardo DiCaprio, Kathy Bates, and Michael Shannon aren't far behind. However, I did find the social interactions a little too comfortable to be period-accurate, and admittedly this may be due to overexposure to Mad Men. But if Mad Men's a more effective look at marital drama, the American Dream, and suburban ennui, doesn't that defang Revolutionary Road? Does this movie have worth?

Yes, because the movie got me thinking. But it didn't entirely connect for a few reasons. Do you think the movie judges adultery? From one perspective, adultery is an avenue for achieving happiness, and keeping it secret is a way to keep your spouse happy (note: I am not (necessarily) advocating adultery, but I'm also willing to look at it through the thematic filter of the movie). But it seemed to me the very idea of adultery was shameful and punishable according to the movie. I reacted similarly to other events, but first I'm more interested in your reactions.

Slumdog Millionaire:

Stylish--really, the prime draw here is the dazzling direction across India--but ultimately empty. Here's another one that I enjoyed as a popcorn drama (why isn't that phrase thrown around more?), but it wasn't particularly special to me. I don't want to bash the movie; it just doesn't have much to say. So why is it the awards frontrunner? What did you love about it?

Off the top of my head, those are the 6 awards biggies, but I'm also open to responses to my rather harsh assessments of Doubt and Gran Torino, and anything else. WALL-E perhaps? What say you regarding the gender identities of the robots? Okay, I'll await you (or not, if you simply don't care) in the comments.

2008: Top 10 Movies

This happened to me in 2006. Inland Empire, which in my memory scored ecstatic reviews, eluded me in theaters with absolutely no regard for my excitement, the sheer need I had to see it. I knew from my shrine to Mulholland Dr. (which currently consists of a framed Gilda poster cemented to my favorite diner's dumpster, beside which sits the ever cheerful vagrant I've nicknamed Satan) that I would love Lynch's latest, but I had to wait for DVD. So, probably around mid-June of 2007, I compiled my Best of 2006 list with Children of Men smugly situated at the top.

Finally my patience was rewarded, and Inland Empire forced its way into my head, remodeled, and won't leave. Also it throws unruly parties on occasion, or perhaps violent crimes. I never can tell.

Now I'm done waiting for Synecdoche, New York. I'm not as certain of my enthusiasm for Kaufman as I was for Lynch, but the fact remains: I enjoy riddles.

We'll just have to celebrate 2008 without it, though. A critical cabal meets weekly, and they have decided that this year has been unacceptable for movies, the most egregious crime against cinephiles since the mangling of The Magnificent Ambersons. I generally think that at the end of every year--and then the gems catch my eye, and I realize my assessment was hasty. This year is no different, and perusing my Top 10s from other years this decade, I realize 2008 is certainly no worse than usual. (At the moment, my least favorite year for movies of the decade is 2002: discuss.)

Toward the end of last year, the critical cabal declared 2007 the Best Year Ever EVER! for film. No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, I'm Not There, Zodiac, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Into the Wild, Superbad, Once, Atonement, and Eastern Promises were just a few of the English-language highlights. Together they feel like products of the same male imagination, stories of teenagers chasing skirts and fantasies of heading out west. Violence is an occasional necessity, a challenge to our masculinity (of those listed, only Once appeals to the lover-not-a-fighter metrosexual in us). World cinema matched these intellectually curious adventures in acclaim, but from a more feminine or gender-balanced perspective: Perspepolis; Lust, Caution; The Edge of Heaven; In the City of Sylvia; Syndromes and a Century; The Duchess of Langeais; 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days.

2008 has struck me--with the caveat that any distillation of a year's cinema into a single theme is reductive--as especially feminist. I suppose to see my point, you'd need to set aside the year's less influential fare, which for me consists of the expected filler as well as most of the awards hopefuls. Because when searching for connective threads among a year's offerings, why gum up the works with movies (like Slumdog Millionaire or Doubt) that failed to intellectually engage with their themes or artistically distinguish themselves as part of the cultural conversation?

In order to retain some semblance of suspense (or is it surprise?) as to the current state of my fluid Top 10, I'll mention one more thing before getting into it. The global economic climate has prompted an investigation into the social byproducts of capitalism (over on the small screen, David Simon just concluded his five-year thesis: "Capitalism is not a social policy"), its contribution to national security (perhaps necessarily limited to comic movie fantasies), and its moral implications (Gomorrah, which recently won the European Film Award for Best Film, follows its mob movie predecessors in exploiting organized crime to address failings in the unfettered free market, including environmental negligence, factionalization, Machiavellian self-interest, and favoring corporations to small business).

The ensuing list is obviously flexible. These are the films that stayed in my head, but most of them I've only seen once. And as stated, I still haven't seen possible heavyweights like Synecdoche, New York or Waltz with Bashir. In other words, this is my preliminary opinion on the year's best films, so the current order is more general preference. By this time next year, I hope my list has changed.

2008: The Honorable Mentions (in alphabetical order):

Burn After Reading by the Coen Brothers. A vicious evaluation of the national intelligence, and I'm not talking about spies. One could argue the Coens limit their attack on the political elite, but nobody in the picture seems particularly intellectually curious--quite the opposite, rather, resulting in the ending cover-up--making this one of the most precise critiques of the Bush era. And as usual, the Coens have assembled quite the cast to live their sharp screenplay into being.

Let the Right One In by Tomas Alfredson. The contrarian in me wants to leave this off the list now that it's getting so much critical (if not awards) hype--the snob in me wants to avoid any overlap with Harry Knowles' Top 10--but I was impressed with this coming-of-age tale from start to finish. It is not a vampire story per se; a vampire catalyzes a boy's maturation, but beyond that, this is simply a beautifully shot story of a troubled boy who likes a troubled girl.

Pineapple Express by David Gordon Green. Apatow stoner-slackers find themselves in a gritty, melodramatic '70s cop show, the whole violent affair grounded in an adorable friendship.

Tropic Thunder by Ben Stiller. (I unconditionally love anything involving Justin Theroux who, btw, played John Hancock in John Adams this year.) Two-fifths hilarious excoriation of Hollywood, two-fifths showcase of Robert Downey, Jr.'s talents (playing Irish, Australian, black, and Neil Armstrong), and one-fifth mildly amusing connective tissue, Tropic Thunder is, like the best of the year, imperfect. But it's mostly sharp and hysterical, and everyone from headliners Stiller and Jack Black on down to Danny McBride and Tobey Maguire gets moments to shine. Bonus points for giving work to Jay Baruchel.

The Wrestler by Darren Aronofsky. A strange idea for a Christ tale, but no less ultimately obvious, this intimate midlife crisis drama intrigues. Like Revolutionary Road, it's not as effective in execution as implication; the territory covered and questions provoked make up for any formal drawbacks, like a certain predictability and the tedious performance of Evan Rachel Wood. I'm not sure what exactly Aronofsky's getting at with his American motif--I had an idea when I saw it (possibly related to the midlife crisis plot and/or the Christian allegory), and have since forgotten--but I'm willing to give him the benefit of a doubt. Mickey Rourke achieves a truth in his performance that stays with you long after his blaze of glory.

And now, the top 10 movies of 2008:

10. Wendy and Lucy by Kelly Reichardt.

True, it's Umberto D for contemporary art film aficionados, and true, Chop Shop comes across as the year's more realistic nephew of Italian neorealism, but Michelle Williams' lonely performance and Kelly Reichardt's refreshingly lo-fi direction amount to a powerfully involving assessment of the social contract. The predominant criticism is that nothing happens, which is the opposing reaction from mine. What I saw, upon Wendy finding Lucy away from her post, was the two title characters falling through the cracks until one or both were recovered by a social institution. The fall didn't involve any action setpieces or tearful monologues, but the helplessness of Wendy in an economy (subject to governmental abuse) that takes more from her than it gives builds to that transcendent, teary sigh she releases after discovering Lucy's safe. The action is internal, paralyzing perhaps, and the denouement (despite the predictability for anyone who's seen Umberto D) adds a needed touch of ambiguity. The ending is possibly too hopeful--both Wendy and Lucy were scooped up by helpful individuals and institutions, despite their best efforts to sneak by unnoticed; and really, why is Wendy so intent on making things difficult for herself?--but with Inauguration Day right around the corner, why not give in to a moment's optimism?

9. Four Nights with Anna by Jerzy Skolimowski.

A small, gorgeous tale of longing, Four Nights with Anna plays like a response to all my haranguing of American studio film this year. There's almost no dialogue, the plot is whimsically elliptical, and director Jerzy Skolimowski imbues the film with a vague sense of danger, suspense, apocalypticism perhaps. Early on, we see a dead cow floating down a river. Just once, I'd love to see a dead cow float by in a Ron Howard film. But I didn't fall for this story of voyeurism out of sheer frustration with other movies but for its own charms. As the protagonist, shy, lonely, naturally victimized Leon Okrasa, Artur Steranko is captivating. Reviewers are fond of comparing Anna to the work of Krzysztof Kieslowski, and the setting evokes Béla Tarr's villages, but Skolimowski is assured, unafraid to trample on other directors' territory because of confidence. Hence the reliance on silence to convey Okrasa's loneliness, and the extended tracking shots of his travel, and the alarming sirens. Danger is always ahead for Okrasa, but love, even longing, makes it bearable.

8. Vicky Cristina Barcelona by Woody Allen.

Shot with clear artistic parallels to its characters, aspiring photographer Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) and naive Spanish scholar Vicky (Rebecca Hall), Woody Allen's latest continues his exploration of art, artists, philosophy, and life. In the characters--Vicky, Cristina, Vicky's fiancé Doug (Chris Messina), the girls' Latin lothario Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), and his fiery fling Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz)--Allen establishes various dichotomies: practicality vs. romance, monogamy vs. casual sex, and studying vs. living, all of which are encapsulated in the Myers-Briggs spectrum of thinking vs. feeling. I'm not sure Allen arrives at any conclusions outside of the obvious (we should be ourselves), but the philosophical arguments onscreen are so pleasantly involving, I don't mind. Besides, Allen's cast is remarkably solid--Johansson falters a bit, but the rest are certainly awards-worthy--and the Spanish vistas seductive.

7. Encounters at the End of the World by Werner Herzog.

Saddled with Herzog's legendary personality--stubborn, strange, judgmental, prone to gravitas--Encounters somehow lives up to the grandeur of its title. In fact, Antarctica might be the perfect setting for Herzog, drawn as he is to peculiar personalities like the grad student who participated in the destruction of a language (if that sounds weird, might I suggest a Herzog marathon), a Guinness record-seeker whom Herzog openly disdains, and the cook/filmmaker who discusses the island-wide love of Frosty the robot's ice cream. The linguist has a theory that all the unattached people on the planet fall to the bottom, the end of the world. This is one explanation of the title, but the other involves Herzog's thematic mainstays, awe at nature and apocalypticism. The evaporation of cultures, the end of the dinosaurs, fossils of the first human expeditions to the continent, the inadequacy of a team's abilities in simulated white-out conditions, the sheer size of the iceberg, the power of the volcano, the depth of the caves, and the ubiquitous yet untraceable neutrinos constantly remind us of man's insignificance, as if to counterbalance the bizarre attempts at longevity, however inconsequential, by the quirky characters. In the end, despite Herzog's pretentious, pseudo-academic approach--which, by the way, I don't mind; Herzog's emotionalism can't prevent The White Diamond or Fata Morgana from effectively conveying wonder--Encounters feels like not the next chapter, but the culmination of his work. A fitting climax, but I wonder where he'll go from here.

6. Happy-Go-Lucky by Mike Leigh.

Mike Leigh doesn't strike me as a particularly cheerful director--unless you consider schadenfreude an avenue for cheer (in which case, get thee to a Naked screening)--but then Happy-Go-Lucky isn't actually about happiness. In fact, protagonist teacher Poppy, played with surprising relatability by Sally Hawkins, does not weather every storm with a smile on her face, as less thorough reviews would have you believe. No, this is a movie about education, or pedagogy anyway, and epistemology. Poppy's sunny outlook is simply the barium highlighting the spread of knowledge. Apart from the wonderful flamenco class scenes--which really aren't getting their due, with another instance of education, this one underscored by hilarious work from Karina Fernandez; "My space!"--the highlight and prime subplot (part of the film's offbeat sensibility includes a series of subplots rather than any traditional narrative) involves Poppy learning to drive. In less natural hands, this could have been an off-puttingly blunt metaphor, but Leigh turns our attentions to the conflict between personalities--Poppy and her unfailing optimism against the immoveable object of driving instructor Scott (Eddie Marsan) and his cloud of cynicism--so that the idea of the two main characters learning to navigate life remains subtly in the background.

5. A Christmas Tale by Arnaud Desplechin.

Desplechin's followup to Kings and Queen mines much of the same territory--and bear with my amateur findings, because I haven't yet watched The Sentinel or How I Got Into an Argument (My Sexual Life) over at The Auteurs--but feels more full, perhaps because it's overflowing with family members and accompanying subplots. But it's essentially Desplechin, with regulars Emmanuelle Devos and Mathieu Amalric again playing lovers, and Jean-Paul Roussillon again playing Amalric's father. In addition to these superficial connections, A Christmas Tale features the same exciting camerawork, cultural references, and mythical overtones we've come to expect from Desplechin, all of which are embodied in one entrancing scene where a teenager, watching A Midsummer Night's Dream, is visited by a dark dog doubled by a mirror as the camera swoops around. For a film brought about by one character's potentially fatal illness, A Christmas Tale is full of life and energy, and I look forward to unlocking more of its secrets on future visits.

4. The Headless Woman by Lucrecia Martel.

Probably the year's formally best film (referring to the efficacy of its composition, color, sound, writing, and performance in conveying its themes), this Argentine psychological mystery scored for me where Michael Haneke's Hidden (Caché) came up short. Both are paranoid, socially minded mysteries that become something else entirely, but Martel's film is more subtle, refusing to yield even a moment's clarity. The thesis of my women's lit class was that while men tend to use grand symbolism and metaphor, women are more interested in nuanced realism. Noting again the year's feminist bent, this is certainly one explanation for my diverging opinions of Haneke's good movie and Martel's great one. Several writers have discussed Martel's trenchant attack on her classist society, and that is certainly the foremost target of the film, but few have mentioned the equally relevant feminist tones. The film is called The Headless Woman, after all. Notice how all the men in Verónica's life treat her like a child, and how she is consigned to the kitchen, the garden, the passenger seat, the gossip circle. The inciting incident, when upper class wife Verónica (played hypnotically by María Onetto) hits a dog and possibly a lower class child with her car, is the only time Verónica is in control of a scene. Which is not to say that she is passive, but that she is trapped, so psychologically paralyzed that she's unwilling to break out of her social chains. Of course, guilt is a luxury for the rich, and it's her vague desire for penance that drives the film. The ambiguous presence of mystery in the film also reflects the subtlety of modern sexism and classism, which can be difficult to trace. The ending is positively Lynchian, though tonally consistent with the rest of the movie, and Verónica's final carefree dismissal of her state invigorates, promptly demanding repeat viewing.

3. In Bruges by Martin McDonagh.

My favorite movie for most of the year is this surprising dark comedy. The medieval, fantastical town of Bruges overpowers the film, and McDonagh augments the carnivalesque atmosphere with a dwarf, periodic snow flurries, and apocalyptic discussion. Bruges enchants us, endowing several sequences--Ray meeting Chloe, Ken's grand finale, Ray's escape--with a magical feel. All this wonder, and the incessant comedy which stems mostly from Ray and Ken's fledgling friendship, helps balance the darkness of the story, which demonstrates the pointlessness of absolutism.

2. Rachel Getting Married by Jonathan Demme.

I recognize Demme's acknowledgement of this movie as his tribute to Altman, which reviewers will not shut up about, but I feel the similarities end at the overlapping dialogue. Instead, I saw a deeply Bergmanesque tale dressed up in Vinterberg clothes. That is, Demme's style of handheld cameras wandering around a crowded house harks back to the Dogme-95 movement, but his psychologically complex story of two sisters and their doting father, not to mention the emphasis on faces and emotional nakedness, is pure Bergman. Unlike many of the movie's detractors, Jenny Lumet's screenplay made no reference to Rachel's husband's skin color, so the movie is almost accidentally progressive--but accidentally is not the right word. The film is more confident than that: it is necessarily liberal; it's just not political. It's human, and if that made you gag, you may not appreciate Rachel's call for everyone to cut the cake together. Apparently interminable wedding interludes (toasts, songs, etc.) are the other major criticism, but these essential side-scenes give a much-needed texture to the laundry-airing of the main characters. Anne Hathaway's protagonist Kym is so real--don't we all know a Kym?--but for my money, Rosemarie DeWitt is the film's revelation. (Freedom of information: DeWitt plays Midge on Mad Men, which served me a restraining order after I parked outside its house one too many nights.)

1. My Winnipeg by Guy Maddin.

The most audacious, dazzlingly inventive movie I saw this year. In a year where film often seemed to drown in convention, My Winnipeg was a beacon for me. Guy Maddin's poetic tribute to his hometown demonstrates that the personal is universal. This "docufantasia" combines traditional documented history with an investigation into Maddin's childhood, the specter of his mother (played by Ann Savage) ever-looming, and why he's chosen not to leave. Maddin's expressionistic style complements his psychological findings (the lap, anybody?), and his unexpected wit ("the dance of the hairless boners") keeps the venture from nearing pretension. In under an hour and a half, Maddin covers so much territory that repeat viewings are especially rewarding. Cinema got me hooked on Barcelona and Bruges this year, but Winnipeg captured my heart.

My current Top 10:

My Winnipeg
Rachel Getting Married
In Bruges
The Headless Woman
A Christmas Tale
Happy-Go-Lucky
Encounters at the End of the World
Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Four Nights with Anna
Wendy and Lucy

Scanning my list, I realize I've only seen two of them more than once, and I highly anticipate returning to the rest.

You may have noticed some favorites missing. The Dark Knight, I imagine, is the most surprising omission. I loved it when I saw it on the big screen, mesmerized by Heath Ledger. Aaron Eckhart was right up there next to him, though many critics failed to notice, and Gary Oldman is the perfect Jim Gordon for the Gotham I've had in my head since I was yea tall. But then I saw it again and grew weary. Scenes don't end; the movie is like one long run-on sentence. This plays beautifully for a kid jacked up on caffeine and months of anticipation, but not so much for someone looking for a great film. After two hours, I was so tired I was dreading the climax. Besides, most of the best parts come before the Joker's final night on Project Mayhem. With some distance from the hype, I find the movie mostly enjoyable, and some of the performances great, but not among my favorites of the year.

I would not be so kind to some of the other frontrunners. Doubt, for instance, gave me a scene where I questioned Meryl Streep's reputation. It's the finale, and certainly the fault lies more with writer John Patrick Shanley's unearned character change for Sister Aloysius, but I remain shaken in my faith. I, too, have such doubts. Moreover, Amy Adams needs to give up the innocence act, and I'm talking a tabloid-fueled drug binge and meltdown. Hollywood loves a comeback. For the most part, Hoffman and Streep were their usual phenomenal selves, accompanied by a wonderful, "edgy" turn by Viola Davis (I hate to be sarcastic toward Shanley in my praise of Davis, but such is life), but Shanley's direction and script are unworthy of their praise. The film adaptation of a Pulitzer-prize winning play called Doubt had absolutely nothing to say about doubt, unless you count Hoffman's opening sermon, which suggests doubt binds us together. Fine, but not all that ground-breaking or deeply explored. Shanley successfully asked some provocative questions about Catholicism, but I was hoping he'd expound on the opening. Oh, and Viola Davis had one scene. Call me a stodgy traditionalist, but I don't see how this could possibly compare with Rosemarie DeWitt in Rachel Getting Married or even Frances McDormand in Burn After Reading.

Of similar quality, Gran Torino was cartoonish to the end. Did you catch that symbolism? If I never see a cross pose again, it will be too soon. I have a theory about his lighting, or more accurately, his shadows: Clint Eastwood is a decent but unimpressive director who shades his movies with such darkness they hoodwink critics and audiences alike into taking them as serious works of art. In this case, did you learn anything about violence, racism, masculinity, tolerance, hatred, Catholicism, guilt, or America? Did you even see realistic depictions of these themes? (If you did, think back to the scene where Walt introduces Thao to his barber.) Eastwood draws surface connections between them but apparently has nothing to say. Violence is bad? We should trust in the justice system? Racism can be overcome by actually interacting with other cultures? I learned all this in junior high.

WALL-E was a wonderful Pixar production, and I'm still disappointed I haven't seen it since my first viewing in theaters. But I'm as taken aback by its overwhelming hype as I am for Slumdog Millionaire and several others of 2008's supposed heavyweights. I belong to the camp that thinks WALL-E had a phenomenal beginning and then became merely good. It would have been more ambitious and moving if it had avoided the problematic humans entirely. Also, I find the gender identities of the robots at best unimaginative and at worst homophobic. Shouldn't this story have been about two androgynous beings falling in love? Maybe I should see it again. My opinion is, as always, fluid.

At this point, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is apparently poised to sweep multiple categories at the Oscars. David Fincher's beautiful history of a man whose body ages backward is surprisingly normal. Especially on the heels of Zodiac, Benjamin Button feels like a risk-averse crowd-pleaser. Oh, I enjoyed it all right. I just didn't think it was all that deep--certainly not as important as it pretended--and I wasn't all that invested in the romance. The performances--particularly Taraji P. Henson and Tilda Swinton on top of the leading duo--did their best to draw me in, and Fincher's style (charmingly magical in historical New Orleans making way for a warmer, more clinical modern day, and interspersed cutaways to even older film stock) dressed up a strange story that was a bit too long. Whether it sweeps the Oscars I don't think I care that much one way or the other.

Frost/Nixon was fun to watch, but like Doubt, had deep performances covering a shallow story and script. Revolutionary Road posed some challenging questions about modern life, but to get the thematic brilliance, one must endure the rest of this less subtle version of Mad Men. Slumdog Millionaire was fine, complete with that slick, stylish direction by Danny Boyle, but it too had nothing to say and failed to emotionally involve me. Well, the ending was moving--I'm not heartless--and as a travelogue of India, the movie was fantastic, but for the year's awards frontrunner, I expect to be romanced at least, if not intellectually engaged as well. In short, I prefer Boyle's 28 Days Later. Milk was overconventional but the best of these decent also-rans. Still, I can't muster up much enthusiasm for it. And it still sticks in my craw when reviewers mention that Van Sant gets the gay out of the way up front, as if Milk were startlingly progressive in its depictions of gay sex. Quite the opposite, actually, with a couple kissing scenes and one off-screen sex act. Last Tango in San Francisco it ain't.

As you can see, American studio fare disappointed me in 2008, usually thanks to reliance on trite narrative tactics. But I eventually uncovered a series of refreshingly unique films, treasures to match the best of any year. Now, bring on 2009. And bring on Synecdoche, New York!

DGA Nominations

You'll never guess who the directors guild nominated for their industry awards. The shocking results after the jump.

Best Feature Film Director:

Danny Boyle - Slumdog Millionaire
David Fincher - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Ron Howard - Frost/Nixon
Christopher Nolan - The Dark Knight
Gus Van Sant - Milk

This is the exact selection of films nominated for the PGA awards, and each of the nominated films' screenwriters were nominated for WGA awards yesterday (Milk for Original, the rest for Adapted). Slumdog, Button, and Dark Knight are also in the running for the ASC's grand prize.

Tomorrow, the DGA will announce the nominees for Television and Documentary.

I half-wonder who will win, but I also don't really care. It's new for me to feel disconnected from the year-end awards circuit. We've had about as rich a year as usual (contrary to popular opinion, 2008 was not exceptionally bad; 2007 was exceptionally good), but the most entrancing and provocative films have snuck by without non-festival awards attention. If anyone cares, feel free to post predictions and/or comments.

ASC Nominations

It's Guild Awards Nominations week apparently. I knew about the producers and directors, but the writers and now cinematographers have taken me by surprise. Still, it's fun to see what professionals (who, one assumes, have some degree of expertise in their fields) think are the best film work of the year. So here are the cinematographers' favorite cinematographers, followed by shots from 10 other films that merit consideration.

ASC Picks:

Roger Deakins - Revolutionary Road & The Reader

Anthony Dod Mantle - Slumdog Millionaire

Chris Menges - The Reader

Claudio Miranda - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Wally Pfister - The Dark Knight

I included stills from each of the nominees' films as samples of their excellence this year. But now I'd like to present ten of my other favorites. This is not to say that the ASC picks are less worthy; I just wanted to add to the celebration of cinematography this year. As with all awards, the showy choices tend to upstage the more subdued, so take that into account when perusing my choices. It's also important to note that I have almost no knowledge of cinematography, so I just picked frames that I found pretty, and we'll hope that the cinematographer (DP, right?) is primarily responsible.


Javier Aguirresarobe - Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Eigil Bryld - In Bruges

Eric Gautier - A Christmas Tale

Hoyte van Hoytema - Let the Right One In

Marco Onorato - Gomorrah

Dean Semler - Appaloosa

Jody Shapiro - My Winnipeg

Adam Sikora - Four Nights with Anna

Colin Watkinson - The Fall

Peter Zeitlinger - Encounters at the End of the World

Did I overlook any of your favorites? Do you think the ASC picked the top 5?

Writers Guild Awards: Film

In lieu of their second annual strike, the WGA have instead decided to announce their awards nominations. The nominations for film with the most insightful analysis on this page to follow.

Best Original Screenplay:

Burn After Reading
Milk
Vicky Cristina Barcelona
The Visitor
The Wrestler

As usual, the Original Screenplay list is more interesting and idiosyncratic than the Adapted lineup. I'm torn; is Milk a lock here? It's the only one of these in the running for Best Picture-type awards, which is a shame because it's one of the least qualified. Not that it's bad by any means, but the others are on balance more effective and innovative. Well, The Wrestler pretty much follows the Writing for Dummies story arc, but not quite as you'd expect, and where Aronofsky chose to end it suggests a mature restraint. Surprisingish exclusions: Rachel Getting Married, Happy-Go-Lucky, Wendy and Lucy.

Best Adapted Screenplay:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Dark Knight
Doubt
Frost/Nixon
Slumdog Millionaire

Another quotidian awards slate. I'm not wowed by any of these, although I can't think of an adapted screenplay that should replace them either. Unless you count Generation Kill. But for now, go Dark Knight!

Thoughts?

Brandon Getting Harried

This week's Time just came in the mail, so I finally got a chance to read an article that has been online for a week now. The article is called "When Bigger is Better," and its thesis, that blockbusters critically outscored traditionally awardsy indies this year, is almost as spurious as its evidence.

The big eye-catcher is a sidebar (middlebar?) of two columns. The first is headed "3 Action Movies That Worked..." and features Iron Man, Wanted, and The Dark Knight. The second, as you can guess, is called "...And 3 Indie Films That Didn't." The ludicrous examples are Rachel Getting Married, Wendy and Lucy, and The Visitor.

Corliss is mostly kind to Rachel, implying that he didn't connect with protagonist Kym or the family. To his credit, he's not one of the crazies complaining about how nobody mentions the interracial facet of the marriage. "There's no artistic challenge Demme offers his audience, apart from choosing whether to sympathize with the film's protagonist or reject her." I know he's limited by space constraints and his own apathy for the film, but that is hardly the point of Rachel. His problem with The Visitor is that it's predictable in its liberalism, and Wendy and Lucy is just "minimalism par excellence, which is to say nothing happens." True, if deceptively simplistic, on both counts, but please tell me how Iron Man has more to say about the world than Wendy.

Even more empty-headed than Corliss' action faves are the indie/action hybrids he mentions: Slumdog Millionaire and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. What, pray tell, did anyone learn from watching these two beautifully realized, traditional and totally intellectually disengaging stories? Worse, these are Corliss' hope for the future, calling them reasons to anticipate 2009 in film. I shudder to think that the future of American cinema will reflect the metamorphosis of the guy who made Se7en into the guy who made Button.

In a way, Corliss has a point (just, not the point he thinks). Iron Man and The Dark Knight both scored high on entertainment value, and both managed to have enough substance (or pseudo-substance, but I'll get to that downpage) to pretend to intellectual value as well. I haven't seen Wanted, so I can't responsibly comment. (But seriously?)

Corliss claims that "in recent years a movie's popularity has become a decent indicator, not just of its entertainment value but also of its quality." Convince me, because all I see are counterexamples. Hancock was the 4th most popular movie of the year, according to box office results, and only convinced 38% of its critics (according to Rotten Tomatoes) of its quality. Last year's box office results even more blatantly contradict Corliss' argument. Here are the top five winners in descending order: Spiderman 3, Shrek the Third, Transformers, Pirates of the Caribbean 3, Harry Potter 5. We're supposed to believe that these are the qualitatively best movies of the same year as No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, I'm Not There, Into the Wild, and Once? And if Corliss is just using evidence from this year, how is he responsibly putting forth his thesis?

"Indie films have grown stagnant and flaccid, while the blockbusters have gotten smarter, mixing storytelling craft with nifty effects work by the most imaginative people around." So much is wrong with this, let's take it piece by piece. First of all, indie films are not a leviathan or even a family tree. The success or failure of each is independent of the next. What evidence "in recent years" do we have of indies growing stagnant? As I recall, 2007 was a triumph of American cinema, one of the best years critically in the past couple decades, particularly for indies like I'm Not There, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, and Helvetica. These (and many more) show the imagination of an apparently flaccid genre. Furthermore, the most imaginative people around are the ones crafting comic book movies? Not only are these established properties (and in cases like 300, established storyboards), but this sweeping statement discounts the imaginative work put forth regularly by indie stalwarts Guy Maddin, Charlie Kaufman, and Darren Aronofsky (no matter what you thought about The Fountain, it's certainly imaginative). Maybe Corliss learned diction from the Cheney School of Last Throes.

Blockbusters have gotten smarter. There's an assertion that is as easily defended as it is attacked. Some have, sure, but there have long been smart blockbusters, and just as many fall on the Michael Bay side of the line. Corliss expounds later, saying of The Dark Knight, whatever else its flaws, "you can't say this 2 1/2 hour morality play has nothing on its mind." Which is exactly what The Dark Knight's best detractors have said. It sure has something on its mind, but what exactly is unclear. Even worse, it's not particularly innovative or illuminating. Oh, and morality play? Is he joking? I like the movie fine, but I can't say its moral dilemmas are particularly challenging. If that's what you're looking for, might I point you to Sundance opener In Bruges, a darkly hilarious look at moral absolutism, or even the ending of Wendy and Lucy.

Corliss follows up with the obvious assertion that the year's biggest earners were blockbusters. Duh. "What didn't seize the mass-movie audience was American independent films." Again, duh. He cites the poor earnings of Rachel Getting Married and The Visitor, both of which were limited to a small percentage of the nation's theaters. More importantly, the dollar has never corresponded with quality in film. This is why we constantly reference the struggle between art and commerce. It would be shocking if people suddenly started supporting the best movies, not the other way around.

Corliss' argument is logically incoherent: Action blockbusters made the most money. Indie films made almost no money. Therefore, action blockbusters are qualitatively better.

"To put it baldly, action films are where the art is." We haven't even gotten to the second section, and I'm convinced Corliss was assigned this topic by his editors, because the thesis is indefensible, especially for someone who gets to attend film festivals the world over. Again, if Corliss were simply saying that action blockbusters are getting "smarter," I wouldn't have as big a problem. But he's not satisfied with that, needing to also attack indie dramas.

In truth, I know he doesn't completely buy his thesis simply by perusing his 2008 Top 10:

1. WALL-E
2. Synecdoche, New York
3. My Winnipeg
4. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days
5. Milk
6. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
7. Slumdog Millionaire
8. Iron Man
9. Speed Racer
10. Encounters at the End of the World

The only reason I can come up with for Synecdoche, Winnipeg, 4 Months, Milk, etc. outranking The Dark Knight is that someone must have put Corliss on a boat with a detonator for a bomb on another boat, both of which would explode by midnight unless he changed his top 10. Or something.

But setting the man aside, a movement among movie-goers is afoot that believes Corliss' tenet that "action films are where the art is." I really enjoyed Iron Man and The Dark Knight, too, but I also have the advantage of having seen several, even more innovative and provocative smaller movies. Ones with contemplation instead of explosions.

If you are an actionite, might I point you to one of Corliss' picks: My Winnipeg is as flamboyant as a documentary can be while still capturing the spirit and factual history of a nonfictional place. Meanwhile, Gomorra is a hyperlink crime drama that responds to the global financial crisis as a clever critique of capitalism. And despite the naysayers, Rachel Getting Married is a beautifully contemporary, Bergmanesque family tale. And in the interests of supporting great indies, let's not forget Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Shotgun Stories, A Christmas Tale, Encounters at the End of the World, Man on Wire, The Wrestler, Chop Shop, and acclaimed movies which I have yet to see, Silent Light, The Order of Myths, and Synecdoche, New York.

Similarly, if you're an indiephile, Corliss has some worthy suggestions for you, as do I. Again, Iron Man is an enjoyable superhero movie grounded in an authentic portrayal by Robert Downey, Jr, and The Dark Knight is more thoughtful than its detractors (who often point to its admittedly clumsy dialogue rather than its much better executed plot) realize. But action films aren't the only blockbusters you may overlook. Comedies never get their due, and in the era of Apatow, they are even smarter and more realistic than action movies. Knocked Up, Superbad, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Pineapple Express and their cousins Tropic Thunder and Juno are worthy entertainments with fully realized characters.

Which is my way of saying, in the postracial age of Rachel and Obama (I'm only being half facetious), can't we all just get along?

UPDATE: Over at Not Coming to a Theater Near You, Ian Johnston has offered up a more moderate, defensible argument along the lines of Corliss'. Johnston mocks the building international art-house style marked by "the long take, minimal dialogue, and a slow pace," in an effort to praise an international indie (the overcast, measured, weird, romantic Four Nights with Anna) that uses all of these to serve its narrative. Where Corliss goes overboard to illustrate his point, Johnston displays a mature nuance that encourages respectful discussion.

PGA Nominations

Now that I am about three American movies away from seeing everything I care about (that I know of) this year, I finally feel qualified to discuss the offerings of 2008. Today's PGA nominations (for both film and television) are a start:

Best Picture:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Dark Knight
Frost/Nixon
Milk
Slumdog Millionaire

I think this would be a safe bet for the Oscars' Best Picture slate as well. Unfortunately, I don't really care if any of these movies wins, but in my eternal orneriness, I felt the same way in 2006 and 2004. On the other hand, I've had at least one favorite in each of the other contests since at least 1990.

The Dark Knight is probably my favorite of these (though you'll soon learn exactly how many movies from this year I prefer to that one). But I don't hope it wins, because it will receive even more backlash. It's not a great movie, and its dialogue is worse than many Batman graphic novels, but The Dark Knight is a fun, occasionally thoughtful action drama that provided one of the year's most iconic characters and several of its most entrancing moments. I smile just thinking about the Joker leaning out of a cop car he's driving in fast-mo set to ambient noise.

Frost/Nixon, Milk, and Slumdog Millionaire would all be fine picks, even if none of them did anything remarkable. I've written about each in more detail on my upcoming 2008 retrospective, so I'll leave it at this: I don't begrudge any of these decent movies their success, but I also find their strict adherence to convention disappointingly mediocre. Ron Howard isn't known as a risky filmmaker, but I certainly expected more from Danny Boyle and Gus Van Sant.

As for David Fincher's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, I thought it was aesthetically entertaining. Again, I found it shockingly conventional, particularly on the heels of Fincher's unsolved wonder Zodiac. Pitt and Blanchett were fine--nothing special from two actors who are certainly capable of great work--but Taraji P. Henson and Tilda Swinton stole the show. Unfortunately, neither are around that much, which I suppose fuels the story of loss and loneliness. On the other hand, I didn't find that Fincher--or more accurately, screenwriter Eric Roth--had anything interesting to say about these themes. Unless you point me to that final voice-over, which is more cartoonish than the one that concludes The Dark Knight.

Best Documentary:

Man on Wire
Standard Operating Procedure
Trouble the Water

I have seen five documentaries so far this year, and only one of these. Man on Wire's a great nominee, and I'm looking forward to the others. That said--and I'm not even sure if these fit the eligibility rules, so take this with a grain of salt--I'd like to complain about the overlooking of Encounters at the End of the World and My Winnipeg.

Best Animated Feature:

Bolt
Kung Fu Panda
WALL-E

I have nothing to say about this. But WALL-E was very well-produced.

Best TV Comedy:

Curb Your Enthusiasm
Entourage
The Office
30 Rock
Weeds

On one hand, these are production awards, and Entourage is quite handsomely produced. But it's not funny--it never has been, really--and HBO also produces the absurdly hysterical Flight of the Conchords. Weeds is also not that funny, but again, Showtime spends the dough to put out beautiful product. On the other hand, a couple of my favorite comedies like Scrubs (not including last season) and How I Met Your Mother often look as cheap as they are, so I can understand the PGA ignoring them, even if they are funnier than some of the nominees.

Best TV Drama:

Boston Legal
Damages
Dexter
Lost
Mad Men

If you're not foaming at the mouth, you probably don't care about television drama. Ahem. How is it that Hollywood still thinks Boston Legal is one of the top 5 shows on television? I assume it pulls in the most viewers of these nominees, but that has nothing to do with its quality. Most maddening is the exclusion of HBO's gorgeous production of The Wire, losing out on one of its final chances to be recognized by the awards community (the DGA nominations, which come out Thursday, might be its last chance to go overlooked). As anyone who's read a single post on this blog knows, only one of these series is great (one better: Mad Men was the best show on television in 2008), although I don't have a problem with the Lost nomination. But Damages over The Shield? Dexter over Battlestar Galactica? Boston Legal over Gossip Girl (seriously)? If you thought I was grumpy about the movie nominations, this is the difference between indifference and active rage.

Best Non-fiction TV:

Deadliest Catch
Frontline
Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List
60 Minutes
This American Life

Okay. Nothing that makes me question the universe.

Best Live Entertainment and Competition TV:

The Amazing Race
The Colbert Report
Project Runway
Real Time with Bill Maher
Top Chef

The obvious first reaction is that this is a weird, arbitrarily broad category, pitting Leno against Survivor. But its saving grace is the inclusion of Colbert, who is credited on the website for the PGA nominations as "Stephen T. Colbert, DFA." Awesome.

Best Long-Form TV:

24: Redemption
Bernard and Doris
John Adams
A Raisin in the Sun
Recount

Weird category title, eh? As if all television isn't long-form. In fact, a season of a television series is a longer form than these TV movies and miniseries, but I guess that doesn't sound as fancy. My biggest complaint: no Generation Kill, which is dramatically better than all these, and indeed, most of the year's film offerings. Oh, and my parents, who are avid Jack Bauer fans (and mindless action lovers as well), hated 24: Redemption.

It wouldn't be awards season if we weren't frustrated by the nominations. What do you think?