Holy Sh_t! Christmas is only two days away and you probably didn't even remember to buy me something, but that's okay, I don't expect my readers to send me gifts to show their appreciation. A few kind words and a satchel full of money is really all I need, but if you absolutely must get me something for Christmas, please allow me to help you navigate the rocky waters of my desire, so that you (my reader) may pick out the perfect gift for your humble and grateful author. After all, I've bared my soul so many times on these pages that it seems fair that, after so many extremely personal posts that have made me tear up as I wrote them, you would want to send along something to let me know you care or enjoyed my work and don't want to find me slumped over an empty bottle of cheap whiskey some day soon.
In order of "least amount of want" to "most want" these are the gifts you, my dear reader, may want to consider when shopping for me, your favorite blogger.
"Least Amount of Want" Will Ferrell: You're Welcome America - A Final Night With George W. Bush
I am a sucker for Will Ferrell and pretty much anything he puts out that doesn't have Land of the Lost in the title, so when a friend of mine told me he was going to a sneak preview, limited audience (read: super special, expensive) off-Broadway production of what would become You're Welcome America in it's earliest stages, I nearly stabbed him in the throat out of sheer jealousy. Instead of performing some of the old ultra violence I decided to take on a more mature role and practice patience as best I could; biding my time until You're Welcome was on DVD. The only problem is I forgot all about it until a few weeks ago when I saw an advertisement for it on IMDB. Soon thereafter I started dropping hints to my girlfriend, my sisters and, as a last ditch effort, my coworkers in the hopes they would take it upon themselves to provide me with my annual dose of Ferrell based humor. Couple Mr. Ferrell's preternatural ability to be witty while being dumb with his spot on George W. Bush impression and I am more than chomping at the bit to devour what I believe will be the most deserving farewell to one of America's most atrocious, yet hilariously dumbfounded, presidents. Only Will Ferrell could do such a thing and make me laugh about the dismal memory of the last eight years.
"Kind of, sorta, want it more than I should" A gift certificate to Target
There's something about Target that I can't resist. I can, literally, spend entire days walking between the isles without ever feeling bored or frustrated, and, oddly without ever purchasing a single item. I've done this more often than a heterosexual male in his mid to late twenties should admit in public, but such is the allure of the almighty Target. No, their clothing isn't the best made apparel on the planet, and yes their furniture is more flimsy than the average Ikea lamp, but who cares? It's Target! They have almost everything you'll ever need in the history of the world and it's all under one roof, and available for low, low prices (but not so low as to make you feel dirty, cheap and destitute). It's like Walmart for people who can read, write and breathe with their mouths closed, and I, for one, would finally like to walk out of Target with a red and white bulls eye decorated bag of goodies.
Also, check out this absolutely wonderful commercial featuring WTWTWLTA8 comedy goddess, Maria Bamford; which only serves to better prove my point about how f_ckdiculously awesome Target really is.
"Want" A New Pair of Puma Sneakers
I used to be the kind of guy who would feel naked if I walked out of the house with out a pair of dress shoes on (this is one of the weird side effects of going to a school that had a strictly enforced dress code), but as I've aged and comfort has superseded style in almost every facet of my life (and there are far fewer rulers around to rap my knuckles), I've found that nothing beats a sweet pair of Puma's when it comes to stepping out on the town, going to work, or just kickin' it back to the old school like a member of the Sugar Hill Gang. I currently own three pairs of Pumas that are quickly deteriorating due to excessive wear and tear, and one pair is really supposed to be used on the golf course exclusively, but they can easily double as a kick-ass pair of travelers (which is golftard speak for shoes that are appropriate on and off the course due to their lack of spikes and increased tread). Really, any pair will do, but be sure to send along the receipt as my shoe size, especially when it comes to Pumas, varies between 12 and 13 and I wouldn't want you to waste your money on a pair of shoes that didn't fit me.
"Really Want" Big Fan on DVD
This movie is the one that got away from me in 2009 due to it being independent and not readily available at any of the local theaters in my area, not even my precious indie darling movie house that is generally my last bastion of hope when it comes to movies that otherwise go unnoticed or unseen. In other words, I was famously pissed off when I read that I would not be able to see Big Fan until an exclusive screening on January 9th, 2010; which, is sort of okay because the writer/directer will be present for a Q+A session after the film is done. Still, as excited as I am for the possibility of rubbing shoulders with a man who was once The Onions editor and the writer of last years incredibly poignant The Wrestler, I'm going to need to own this movie as soon as possible (which, by the way, is January 12th). Not to mention it stars one of my favorite people ever, Patton Oswalt as the put upon protagonist in a role that is garnering so much praise and attention that I'm stupefied by the lack of award season heat surrounding this film. Pre-Ordering is available right now. Don't hesitate at the chance to immerse yourself in my good graces, and, while you're at it, order yourself a copy too, after all it was Nathan Rabin's (my favorite journalist working today, and head writer over at The AV Club) favorite movie of 2009. It pretty much has to be good.
"Most Want" The Big Rewind: A Memoir Brought To You By Pop Culture by Nathan Rabin
Speaking of Mr. Rabin, he wrote a book last year about his life growing up dealing with depression and life in a group home through his love of popular culture. I've read brief excerpts that were posted at The AV Club, and from those little snippets I can only say that I am, literally, dieing inside each day I go without reading the entire thing from cover to cover. As you've probably guessed, if you are a regular around her, I too dealt with the lions share of my mental issues by immersing myself in books, movies, comics and other pieces of pop-culture detritus that many people overlook or just don't understand. That's not to say I am a snarky bastard all the time or that I look down my nose at people because I can tell you more about The X-Men than I can about, say, World War II. It is, however, my belief that in Mr. Rabin I have found a kindred spirit, though it seems our experiences have been vastly different as I have never spent time in an institution of any sort, and my depression and mania come and go like the tide. Still, this is the only thing I legitimately asked for this year, and I cannot tell you how happy I will be if I wake up Christmas morning and see a book shaped package waiting for me under the tree.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
This Is My Sadness
For three Christmases now I've been trying to write something up to let my family know how proud I am of them for soldiering onward with unparalleled dignity, bravery and love in the wake of the tragic loss of our mother more than 2 years ago. Still, I haven't found that I have been preternaturally imbued with the type of vigor for the season that my siblings have, nor do I have the ability to look sadness in the face and back it down with the sheer force of will that my Father has so heroically displayed these past few years. It's been otherworldly difficult for all of us, I imagine, and yet as the youngest member of the clan I still selfishly cling to the naive ideology of my youth and hope and pray every single day that I will wake up and the past pain and suffering will all have been part of a nightmare or, rather, a life lesson loaded dream that God himself would not allow me to wake from for fear that some of the imperatives he's tried to impart upon me would be lost. Every morning I wake up and realize the harsh truth that, no matter how hard I hope and pray for it all to have been something other than what it was, I am still planted firmly in the reality of this life, and I miss my Mom more and more each day, and as her favorite holiday approaches, sometimes the sadness can be unbearable.
Well, there you have it. That's the reason I am unable to write something uplifting to send along to my family, because deep down in the recesses of my soul I know that I am, in no way, over the loss of my mother. I've put on the happy face and smiled and laughed with the rest of the world, but its largely been insincere and forced. Nobody likes a "sad-sap" after all, so why play the part of the "depressed son" when I can appear to be something else entirely? That's the way people have survived through their trials and tribulations for thousands of years, and I, if I may be so bold, am just a regular guy trying to make it through my day to day life just like the rest of humanity. I deserve no special treatment and I would never deign to ask for it, but part of me is always crying on the inside.
I cry for my Mother's ear in times of sadness and pain when I need her comforting words.
I cry for my Mother's tomato sauce and pasta when I am hungry.
I cry for the lost afternoons of Murder She Wrote and Matlock reruns.
I cry for the oddest things.
I cry, I cry and I cry and in the end I realize it serves no purpose other than to highlight my own selfishness and ego that is screaming to be noticed, placated and appealed to.
If I've learned anything over the past two plus years it's been that I am about as meaningful as a gnat on an elephants earlobe. I may be noticed, but I am ultimately insignificant and nothing more than an itch that needs to be scratched. It's not much, but it's a life, and I digress. Sometimes, it's important to be the invisible element that rattles the window panes during a thunderstorm, because that's what wakes you up and reminds you to batten down the hatches and prepare for what's to come, but people don't see sadness that way. They see sadness, depression and melancholy as emotions that are to be ignored and only dealt with in private. Why, after all, are funerals, memorials and wakes the only appropriate time to "let it all out" and wail in pain? Because it's a shared sadness, one that everyone in the room is experiencing and it's the only venue where tears are expected and encouraged, and then, almost in a collective and cosmic effort to say "f_ck you" to grief, we drink and eat and tell stories about the recently and dearly departed that are so embellished as to be bordering on fairy tales.
I remember, hazily, that during the reception following my Mother's funeral, a number of her friends came up to me to congratulate me on my eulogy and the way I was able to "keep it together" during what "must have been the most difficult thing I've ever done." Well, to those people I would like to say that you've never tried to hit a flop shot out of thick, green side rough to a short-sided pin tucked into the back left corner of the second hole of Oak Hill's West Course, because that was the most difficult thing I've ever done. Not be crass or void of emotion, but delivering my Mother's eulogy was so incredibly easy to do, and such a brilliant honor bestowed upon me by my immediate family, that I never thought twice about it, and only in the aftermath, when every one reminded me it was supposed to be difficult, did I feel any kind of pressure, but it passed quickly and was replaced by the pride of doing a good job. I buried my parting words with my Mother's body and never thought twice about it. I deleted the file from my computer. I wasn't prepared for people to ask me for copies, and I was not about to give them to anyone, let alone some ladies I'd only known in passing despite their long relationships with my Mother. That was my goodbye and what I chose to do with it was nobodies business...
... still, I put on the happy face and smiled and laughed, because that's what a good son does as his Mother's funeral when people ask for things like a copy of the eulogy. I was gracious in my explanations and sincere in my apologies, because that's what a good son does at his mother's funeral. I drank to excess. I smoked more cigarettes than I would for weeks to come and I was so hopped up on Xanax by the time the day was over that pain, both physical and emotional, was but a distant memory and something to be disregarded and dealt with later on when the time was right and there weren't so many people around. This is what people do, this is what I did, and this is the result of those actions.
Two plus years, and three Christmases later I am but a husk of the man I wanted to become. I go through my routines with zombie like efficiency and emotion. The only respite from the sorrow that fills my daily life is the comfort and love I feel when I am with the love of my life, or when I'm walking my dog, or when I am faced with a problem that needs solving at work; in other words, when I am distracted or just downright overwhelmed by the good things in my life am I able to cope. I find it increasingly difficult to talk to my father on the phone, because I can hear his voice break and crack under the immense strain he must be feeling when the holiday season rolls around. I find it hard to be there for my sisters when they need me, because looking at them is like looking at a Monet of my Mother's face, and to see them interact with their children in the same way my Mother did with us is often too much for me to take, but I choke it down and put on the happy face and laugh, because that's what you do. You suck it up. You move forward. Life won't let you take a break to lament the loss of your loved ones.
Am I really as sad as I'm making myself out to be? No, I suppose I'm not, but the thoughts and practices I've described above are as real and honest as I'm willing to be. I write and crack jokes and make comments I shouldn't make as a way to get through the day and mask my pain. So, it's difficult for me to admit this to anyone let alone the anonymous users of the internet who will most likely declare me to be something other than what I am for briefly touching upon something as ignoble as my own, honest to god feelings about something so personal to me. I should be writing a "best of" list of some kind, or a joke post about Santa's sleigh or why Rudolph had a red-nose for a much different reason than we are told, but I can't bring myself to feel that way. Not now. Not four days away from the saddest hours of my year.
This is my sadness, and I chew it back and hold it in and try as hard as I can to forget about it and leave it for another day, another time when I can really open up and let out an anguished howl, but that day never seems to come. I try to put my feelings into words and express myself as best I can when I'm with my girlfriend -who knows all there is to know about me- but it comes off as complaining and nobody likes a "sad sap" this time of the year, so I put on a happy face and I laugh, because that's what you're supposed to do.
I think, now that my melancholy has been laid out on the table, I can get around to writing that cheery, uplifting prose piece I've been trying to put together for the past few years; if only to let my family know everything is fine, that we're doing great and Mom would be proud of us. I'll mean every word of it, too.
Well, there you have it. That's the reason I am unable to write something uplifting to send along to my family, because deep down in the recesses of my soul I know that I am, in no way, over the loss of my mother. I've put on the happy face and smiled and laughed with the rest of the world, but its largely been insincere and forced. Nobody likes a "sad-sap" after all, so why play the part of the "depressed son" when I can appear to be something else entirely? That's the way people have survived through their trials and tribulations for thousands of years, and I, if I may be so bold, am just a regular guy trying to make it through my day to day life just like the rest of humanity. I deserve no special treatment and I would never deign to ask for it, but part of me is always crying on the inside.
I cry for my Mother's ear in times of sadness and pain when I need her comforting words.
I cry for my Mother's tomato sauce and pasta when I am hungry.
I cry for the lost afternoons of Murder She Wrote and Matlock reruns.
I cry for the oddest things.
I cry, I cry and I cry and in the end I realize it serves no purpose other than to highlight my own selfishness and ego that is screaming to be noticed, placated and appealed to.
If I've learned anything over the past two plus years it's been that I am about as meaningful as a gnat on an elephants earlobe. I may be noticed, but I am ultimately insignificant and nothing more than an itch that needs to be scratched. It's not much, but it's a life, and I digress. Sometimes, it's important to be the invisible element that rattles the window panes during a thunderstorm, because that's what wakes you up and reminds you to batten down the hatches and prepare for what's to come, but people don't see sadness that way. They see sadness, depression and melancholy as emotions that are to be ignored and only dealt with in private. Why, after all, are funerals, memorials and wakes the only appropriate time to "let it all out" and wail in pain? Because it's a shared sadness, one that everyone in the room is experiencing and it's the only venue where tears are expected and encouraged, and then, almost in a collective and cosmic effort to say "f_ck you" to grief, we drink and eat and tell stories about the recently and dearly departed that are so embellished as to be bordering on fairy tales.
I remember, hazily, that during the reception following my Mother's funeral, a number of her friends came up to me to congratulate me on my eulogy and the way I was able to "keep it together" during what "must have been the most difficult thing I've ever done." Well, to those people I would like to say that you've never tried to hit a flop shot out of thick, green side rough to a short-sided pin tucked into the back left corner of the second hole of Oak Hill's West Course, because that was the most difficult thing I've ever done. Not be crass or void of emotion, but delivering my Mother's eulogy was so incredibly easy to do, and such a brilliant honor bestowed upon me by my immediate family, that I never thought twice about it, and only in the aftermath, when every one reminded me it was supposed to be difficult, did I feel any kind of pressure, but it passed quickly and was replaced by the pride of doing a good job. I buried my parting words with my Mother's body and never thought twice about it. I deleted the file from my computer. I wasn't prepared for people to ask me for copies, and I was not about to give them to anyone, let alone some ladies I'd only known in passing despite their long relationships with my Mother. That was my goodbye and what I chose to do with it was nobodies business...
... still, I put on the happy face and smiled and laughed, because that's what a good son does as his Mother's funeral when people ask for things like a copy of the eulogy. I was gracious in my explanations and sincere in my apologies, because that's what a good son does at his mother's funeral. I drank to excess. I smoked more cigarettes than I would for weeks to come and I was so hopped up on Xanax by the time the day was over that pain, both physical and emotional, was but a distant memory and something to be disregarded and dealt with later on when the time was right and there weren't so many people around. This is what people do, this is what I did, and this is the result of those actions.
Two plus years, and three Christmases later I am but a husk of the man I wanted to become. I go through my routines with zombie like efficiency and emotion. The only respite from the sorrow that fills my daily life is the comfort and love I feel when I am with the love of my life, or when I'm walking my dog, or when I am faced with a problem that needs solving at work; in other words, when I am distracted or just downright overwhelmed by the good things in my life am I able to cope. I find it increasingly difficult to talk to my father on the phone, because I can hear his voice break and crack under the immense strain he must be feeling when the holiday season rolls around. I find it hard to be there for my sisters when they need me, because looking at them is like looking at a Monet of my Mother's face, and to see them interact with their children in the same way my Mother did with us is often too much for me to take, but I choke it down and put on the happy face and laugh, because that's what you do. You suck it up. You move forward. Life won't let you take a break to lament the loss of your loved ones.
Am I really as sad as I'm making myself out to be? No, I suppose I'm not, but the thoughts and practices I've described above are as real and honest as I'm willing to be. I write and crack jokes and make comments I shouldn't make as a way to get through the day and mask my pain. So, it's difficult for me to admit this to anyone let alone the anonymous users of the internet who will most likely declare me to be something other than what I am for briefly touching upon something as ignoble as my own, honest to god feelings about something so personal to me. I should be writing a "best of" list of some kind, or a joke post about Santa's sleigh or why Rudolph had a red-nose for a much different reason than we are told, but I can't bring myself to feel that way. Not now. Not four days away from the saddest hours of my year.
This is my sadness, and I chew it back and hold it in and try as hard as I can to forget about it and leave it for another day, another time when I can really open up and let out an anguished howl, but that day never seems to come. I try to put my feelings into words and express myself as best I can when I'm with my girlfriend -who knows all there is to know about me- but it comes off as complaining and nobody likes a "sad sap" this time of the year, so I put on a happy face and I laugh, because that's what you're supposed to do.
I think, now that my melancholy has been laid out on the table, I can get around to writing that cheery, uplifting prose piece I've been trying to put together for the past few years; if only to let my family know everything is fine, that we're doing great and Mom would be proud of us. I'll mean every word of it, too.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Posthumous David Foster Wallace Short Story
David Foster-Wallace, author of "Infinite Jest" and the best f_cking graduation speech I've ever had the pleasure to read a transcript of, passed away in September of 2008 after, apparently, committing suicide (why are the greatest minds often the most tortured?); which was a terrible loss to the literary community and just plain sad. However, that hasn't stopped The New Yorker from posthumously publishing a previously unprinted short story titled "All That" which you can read here: Click Me!
In true Wallace fashion the prose is eloquent and accessible and the subject matter (the power of "magic" in a child's mind) is something each and every one of us can relate to. I am saddened when I think of the works of genius the world will never get to read because of Mr. Wallace's untimely death, but I am more than willing to accept any future publications which will further illuminate the genius of this incredibly gifted man.
In true Wallace fashion the prose is eloquent and accessible and the subject matter (the power of "magic" in a child's mind) is something each and every one of us can relate to. I am saddened when I think of the works of genius the world will never get to read because of Mr. Wallace's untimely death, but I am more than willing to accept any future publications which will further illuminate the genius of this incredibly gifted man.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
According to Jimbolaya: The 10 Best Movies of the Aughts
I had such a good time writing about the best television shows of the aughts that I decided, with my vast reservoir of trivial knowledge and pop culture references overflowing, to do yet another "best of" list for you, my faithful reader, and this time we're going to the movies.
The aughts have definitely been one of the better decades for film, and in my opinion, it ranks only behind the game-changing film making of the 1970's for overall quality and innovation. But, for every The Man Who Wasn't There there were 5 Transformers 2: The Revenge of the Fallen like films clouding the public's perception by raking in more money at the box office than the far superior films that always have trouble making money. In that respect, the aughts was a unique era for film. We saw terrible movie after terrible movie make millions of dollars week in and week out, but quietly, off to the side in art house theaters and independent cinemas across the world, small, touching movies of staggering ability slowly but surely made their way into the mainstream.
Which brings us to number 10...
10. Memento (2000)
After the insane success of The Dark Knight, Batman Begins and The Prestige, it's easy to forget that way back in 2000 Christopher Nolan directed and co-wrote the movie that changed the aughts forever. Memento, was and is a movie that, upon further review, is so groundbreaking in it's approach to storytelling that it boggles the mind on a level so profound there are literally few words besides "breathtaking" and "phenomenal" available to describe it. It is equal parts murder mystery, character study and romance, but it's less about the story than how it is told, and Nolan and star Guy Ritchie (in a career defining performance he has never lived up to since) wove a tale from finish to start so mesmerizing and often times confusing that 10 years later it is still riveting to watch and all the surprises and twists still hit home like a hammer to the back of the head.
9. Block Party (2005)
I'm sure Michel Gondry's ability to be an artistic voyeur played a large part in the force and feel behind Block Party, but the movie is so dominated by the presence of Dave Chappelle that it is truly his movie. Mr. Chappelle is such a warm, caring person who honestly wants to give back to the community and fans that made him the outrageously successful stand up comedian and television star that he once was, that one day he decided to throw an impromptu block party in Brooklyn, NY for 5,000 lucky (and random) people; and, obviously, he filmed it. What happens during the course of the film is nothing less than absolute magic as we go from the budding idea at the very start to the absolutely stunning concert performances that play throughout, all of which are connected by personal vignettes that explore the hearts and minds of those involved in the process; from fans to the crazy family that lives in the "broken angel" house to man who got the whole thing off the ground in the first place. It's a happy movie with a powerful message about the true nature of a community seen through the eyes of the finest, most endearing story teller of our time.
7.The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005)
It isn't easy being Daniel Johnston, and that is made incredibly clear in 2005's The Devil and Daniel Johnston; which portrays it's titular character as a musical genius saddled with the mind of a mad hatter. Johnston's music is pure brilliance, as anyone who has taken the time to listen to any of his crudely recorded tapes will attest, but outside of a small circle of trusted friends and family members and musical cohorts that were allowed on the inside, too little was known about this mysterious Svengali. The Devil and Daniel Johnston changed all that, as the raw talent and pure heart of a man with manic depression are put on full display for the world to see, the images are endearing, heartbreaking and enraging all at the same time. To watch the life of Daniel Johnston chronicled in such painstaking detail is like watching a roll of toilet paper unravel into a trash can full of water. We, the viewer, are looking through an all to honest portal into the head of a man who, despite his mental issues, is so full of love and intelligence that his charisma (even behind the stained sweatshirts and greasy, glossed over look in his eyes brought on by his medications) shines through as if it can't be stopped. Such is the brilliance of the damaged mind of Daniel Johnston, he is a legend in his own right and The Devil and Daniel Johnston does his legacy proud by never excusing his behavior, only explaining it and showing the world that once upon a time there was a boy named Dan who just wanted to love and be loved and used all his joy and suffering to write some of the finest music of the past 50 years. Even if you've never heard it.
6. Gangs of New York (2002)
This is a highly personal choice. I am a sucker for great performances, but I am doubly a sucker for great performances by Daniel Day-Lewis (as you'll see later on), because I honestly believe that Mr. Day-Lewis is far and away the best actor on the planet, and perhaps the best of all time. That being said, Martin Scorsese's long sought after dream job (legend has it he tried to make this movie in each decade from 1972 on) finally came to life in 2002 and it is a brutal, but beautiful, portrait of a fledgling New York City that is governed not by law and reason, but by the all too powerful presence of the myriad gangs that patrol the 5-points neighborhood. Less than stellar performances by Leonardo DiCaprio and Cameron Diaz (seriously, Scorsese?) take away some of the impact of the films message, but thanks to his amazing turn as Bill the Butcher, Daniel Day-Lewis more than makes up for it. DDL is truly a forced to be reckoned with in Gangs of New York, and his menacing presence is evident in every single frame of film shown on screen. From the gut wrenching opening scene (in my opinion, the best opening to any movie I've ever seen), to the mind numbing final battle between DiCaprio and Day-Lewis, Gangs of New York is a visually striking tour de force reminder of the way NYC used to be, and how, sadly, it isn't that different today.
5. WALL-E (2008)
How is it possible that a movie starring an animated robot with no speaking parts for the entire first third of the movie is able to be so stirring a message about love, environmental carelessness and hope? It's all about the execution. In a not too subtle homage to the work of the late great Buster Keaton, Pixar's WALL-E is a throwback to a time when movies didn't need loud explosions and plot twists to keep the audience entertained. Made even more captivating by the juxtaposing of classic movie music (I get giddy just thinking about the beginning of the film's choice of music), knee slapping physical comedy and timeless movie staples like the quest for love, over a futuristic, desolate Earth that is covered in the refuse of the human's that have long since abandoned it. It's a cautionary tale hidden in a love story that, despite it being between 2 robots, is as touching a romance that has ever been portrayed on screen; and, even though WALL-E stumbles home in the final third of the film it is still an ever optimistic reminder that it is never too late to make things better than they already are. As an aside, it is quite possibly the finest animation ever put to film, and the stunning beauty of WALL-E would have been enough for me to place it in my top 5 on its own, but couple that with an incredible story and imaginative film making of the highest level, and WALL-E transcends its genre to become something much, much more.
4. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007)
"No matter what I say, it draws controversy. It's sort of like the abortion issue."-Billy Mitchell, star and antagonist of The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. To truly love The King of Kong is to embrace the assholish nature of Billy Mitchell, and nothing epitomizes his delusional opinion of himself more than the quote up above. Mr. Mitchell is a man obsessed with himself and his legacy as the greatest arcade gamer of all time, and when his beloved Donkey Kong score is in jeopardy of being broken by a relative newbie in the competitive gaming world named Steve Wiebe, the gloves come off. While most documentaries attempt to be objective about the subject matter they cover, The King of Kong does no such thing as it very much paints a picture of the good (Steve) and the bad (Mitchell), and the film makers have no problem painting Steve Wiebe in the best light possible, while casting a long, dark shadow over Billy Mitchell and the way he goes about securing his legacy. But, in all honest, neither man is right nor wrong and they each display their faults individually; which illuminates the film's hidden message that obsession and ego will lead people to do very, very strange things.
3. Shaun of the Dead, (2004)
Many [citation needed] have attempted to make a horror/comedy/romance, but until 2004's Shaun of the Dead no one got it right. It's truly a testament to the creativity and genius of director Edgar Wright and star/co-writer Simon Pegg that Shaun of the Dead is rife with moments that are equal parts terrifying and hilarious without sacrificing any of the plotting or pacing of the film. It's no less stunning that the movie is ridiculously re-watchable and packed with so many call-backs, Easter Eggs and circular themes that each time it's viewed the audience can pick up on something they didn't notice before, but really, all you need to do is watch the opening 20 minutes and the entire movie is spelled out for you in full; you just have no idea that's what they are doing, and when it kicks in that all the editing, all the quick cuts and sound effects and story lines have already been announced to the audience, the effect is staggering. I've never seen a movie so fully aware of it's purpose and place in the world than Shaun of the Dead, it is far and away my favorite film on this list (not the best, just my favorite), and the only one that I will stop whatever I am doing just to sit down and soak it all in time and time again.
2. No Country For Old Men, (2007)
The Coen Brothers have been the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Bogart and Bacall for almost 20 years, it just took a nearly perfect movie for the entire world to fully embrace and award their wry, subtle genius, and No Country For Old Men is that movie. Aside from being painfully beautiful to look at, No Country tells the story of a nation that has moved far past the ideals it once held so dear and has begun a tailspin into a sort of limbo from which it needs more help than is readily available to pull out of. It is chilling, it is hilarious at times and best of all it tells a story so well it's almost too good to be true. Staring Josh Brolin, in his best role to date, as a quiet, but deep cowboy who stumbled upon the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong only to find a bag full of money that could change his life, No Country heads off in several distinctly different directions. The least of which is the ever present menace of Javier Bardem's portrayal of Anton Chigur and his relentless search to recover the bag of money Brolin took at the beginning of the movie, no matter what it takes; and Tommy Lee Jones "old man" Sheriff who is tasked with putting the pieces of several disturbing homicides together only to realize his country and the ideology it once held so dear has, in fact, left him by the wayside ages ago brings to the forefront one of the Coen Brothers most striking abilities: which is to say their ability to get the most out of their actors without ever creeping into over the top parody or Nicolas Cage like overacting. As the movie slowly converges the plot lines into one fantastic parable about greed and the death of the American dream in favor of quick cash and easy living, it's hard not to scratch your head and wonder where we all went wrong; and as Anton Chigur limps away in one of the films final scenes, you get the creeping suspicion that no matter how hard we try to fight it, he's always going to be just around the corner waiting for someone to steal that next bag full of money. The Coen's are master story tellers of the highest degree, and No Country For Old Men finds them firing on all cylinders to create an epic masterpiece that will be impossibly difficult to top... but, the crazy thing? The Coen's are so good they will probably prove me wrong.
1. There Will Be Blood, (2007)
Whoever had the idea to combine the force of nature acting style of Daniel Day-Lewis with the unrelentingly inventive and beautiful direction of P.T Andersen should be given a medal, or at the very least a milkshake, because I have never witnessed a performance or a film so brutal in it's execution, and so honest in it's message than There Will Be Blood. What starts as the epitome of the American dream with Daniel Day-Lewis chipping away at the walls of a gold mine, ends with a twisted, maniacal representation of a man who sold his very soul for a wealth and power without ever stopping to think of the consequences. It is truly an allegory for the current miasma America has found itself in, and how greed when combined with power can corrupt even the most devout man, as is evidenced by the scheming preacher Eli, played wonderfully by Paul Dano (honestly, people, wake up and recognize this young man's talent, for it is formidable) who, when money is dangled in his face and the promise of a new church and, yes, a road leading to that church are too much for even his most pious soul to bare. In the now infamous final scene, the torturous, lonely life of Daniel Day-Lewis' Plainview is made obvious, and it should serve as a cautionary tale for those among us with greed in our hearts to stop forfeiting the small pleasures in life in favor of something as trivial as the pursuit of power and money.
The aughts have definitely been one of the better decades for film, and in my opinion, it ranks only behind the game-changing film making of the 1970's for overall quality and innovation. But, for every The Man Who Wasn't There there were 5 Transformers 2: The Revenge of the Fallen like films clouding the public's perception by raking in more money at the box office than the far superior films that always have trouble making money. In that respect, the aughts was a unique era for film. We saw terrible movie after terrible movie make millions of dollars week in and week out, but quietly, off to the side in art house theaters and independent cinemas across the world, small, touching movies of staggering ability slowly but surely made their way into the mainstream.
Which brings us to number 10...
10. Memento (2000)
After the insane success of The Dark Knight, Batman Begins and The Prestige, it's easy to forget that way back in 2000 Christopher Nolan directed and co-wrote the movie that changed the aughts forever. Memento, was and is a movie that, upon further review, is so groundbreaking in it's approach to storytelling that it boggles the mind on a level so profound there are literally few words besides "breathtaking" and "phenomenal" available to describe it. It is equal parts murder mystery, character study and romance, but it's less about the story than how it is told, and Nolan and star Guy Ritchie (in a career defining performance he has never lived up to since) wove a tale from finish to start so mesmerizing and often times confusing that 10 years later it is still riveting to watch and all the surprises and twists still hit home like a hammer to the back of the head.
9. Block Party (2005)
I'm sure Michel Gondry's ability to be an artistic voyeur played a large part in the force and feel behind Block Party, but the movie is so dominated by the presence of Dave Chappelle that it is truly his movie. Mr. Chappelle is such a warm, caring person who honestly wants to give back to the community and fans that made him the outrageously successful stand up comedian and television star that he once was, that one day he decided to throw an impromptu block party in Brooklyn, NY for 5,000 lucky (and random) people; and, obviously, he filmed it. What happens during the course of the film is nothing less than absolute magic as we go from the budding idea at the very start to the absolutely stunning concert performances that play throughout, all of which are connected by personal vignettes that explore the hearts and minds of those involved in the process; from fans to the crazy family that lives in the "broken angel" house to man who got the whole thing off the ground in the first place. It's a happy movie with a powerful message about the true nature of a community seen through the eyes of the finest, most endearing story teller of our time.
7.The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005)
It isn't easy being Daniel Johnston, and that is made incredibly clear in 2005's The Devil and Daniel Johnston; which portrays it's titular character as a musical genius saddled with the mind of a mad hatter. Johnston's music is pure brilliance, as anyone who has taken the time to listen to any of his crudely recorded tapes will attest, but outside of a small circle of trusted friends and family members and musical cohorts that were allowed on the inside, too little was known about this mysterious Svengali. The Devil and Daniel Johnston changed all that, as the raw talent and pure heart of a man with manic depression are put on full display for the world to see, the images are endearing, heartbreaking and enraging all at the same time. To watch the life of Daniel Johnston chronicled in such painstaking detail is like watching a roll of toilet paper unravel into a trash can full of water. We, the viewer, are looking through an all to honest portal into the head of a man who, despite his mental issues, is so full of love and intelligence that his charisma (even behind the stained sweatshirts and greasy, glossed over look in his eyes brought on by his medications) shines through as if it can't be stopped. Such is the brilliance of the damaged mind of Daniel Johnston, he is a legend in his own right and The Devil and Daniel Johnston does his legacy proud by never excusing his behavior, only explaining it and showing the world that once upon a time there was a boy named Dan who just wanted to love and be loved and used all his joy and suffering to write some of the finest music of the past 50 years. Even if you've never heard it.
6. Gangs of New York (2002)
This is a highly personal choice. I am a sucker for great performances, but I am doubly a sucker for great performances by Daniel Day-Lewis (as you'll see later on), because I honestly believe that Mr. Day-Lewis is far and away the best actor on the planet, and perhaps the best of all time. That being said, Martin Scorsese's long sought after dream job (legend has it he tried to make this movie in each decade from 1972 on) finally came to life in 2002 and it is a brutal, but beautiful, portrait of a fledgling New York City that is governed not by law and reason, but by the all too powerful presence of the myriad gangs that patrol the 5-points neighborhood. Less than stellar performances by Leonardo DiCaprio and Cameron Diaz (seriously, Scorsese?) take away some of the impact of the films message, but thanks to his amazing turn as Bill the Butcher, Daniel Day-Lewis more than makes up for it. DDL is truly a forced to be reckoned with in Gangs of New York, and his menacing presence is evident in every single frame of film shown on screen. From the gut wrenching opening scene (in my opinion, the best opening to any movie I've ever seen), to the mind numbing final battle between DiCaprio and Day-Lewis, Gangs of New York is a visually striking tour de force reminder of the way NYC used to be, and how, sadly, it isn't that different today.
5. WALL-E (2008)
How is it possible that a movie starring an animated robot with no speaking parts for the entire first third of the movie is able to be so stirring a message about love, environmental carelessness and hope? It's all about the execution. In a not too subtle homage to the work of the late great Buster Keaton, Pixar's WALL-E is a throwback to a time when movies didn't need loud explosions and plot twists to keep the audience entertained. Made even more captivating by the juxtaposing of classic movie music (I get giddy just thinking about the beginning of the film's choice of music), knee slapping physical comedy and timeless movie staples like the quest for love, over a futuristic, desolate Earth that is covered in the refuse of the human's that have long since abandoned it. It's a cautionary tale hidden in a love story that, despite it being between 2 robots, is as touching a romance that has ever been portrayed on screen; and, even though WALL-E stumbles home in the final third of the film it is still an ever optimistic reminder that it is never too late to make things better than they already are. As an aside, it is quite possibly the finest animation ever put to film, and the stunning beauty of WALL-E would have been enough for me to place it in my top 5 on its own, but couple that with an incredible story and imaginative film making of the highest level, and WALL-E transcends its genre to become something much, much more.
4. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007)
"No matter what I say, it draws controversy. It's sort of like the abortion issue."-Billy Mitchell, star and antagonist of The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. To truly love The King of Kong is to embrace the assholish nature of Billy Mitchell, and nothing epitomizes his delusional opinion of himself more than the quote up above. Mr. Mitchell is a man obsessed with himself and his legacy as the greatest arcade gamer of all time, and when his beloved Donkey Kong score is in jeopardy of being broken by a relative newbie in the competitive gaming world named Steve Wiebe, the gloves come off. While most documentaries attempt to be objective about the subject matter they cover, The King of Kong does no such thing as it very much paints a picture of the good (Steve) and the bad (Mitchell), and the film makers have no problem painting Steve Wiebe in the best light possible, while casting a long, dark shadow over Billy Mitchell and the way he goes about securing his legacy. But, in all honest, neither man is right nor wrong and they each display their faults individually; which illuminates the film's hidden message that obsession and ego will lead people to do very, very strange things.
3. Shaun of the Dead, (2004)
Many [citation needed] have attempted to make a horror/comedy/romance, but until 2004's Shaun of the Dead no one got it right. It's truly a testament to the creativity and genius of director Edgar Wright and star/co-writer Simon Pegg that Shaun of the Dead is rife with moments that are equal parts terrifying and hilarious without sacrificing any of the plotting or pacing of the film. It's no less stunning that the movie is ridiculously re-watchable and packed with so many call-backs, Easter Eggs and circular themes that each time it's viewed the audience can pick up on something they didn't notice before, but really, all you need to do is watch the opening 20 minutes and the entire movie is spelled out for you in full; you just have no idea that's what they are doing, and when it kicks in that all the editing, all the quick cuts and sound effects and story lines have already been announced to the audience, the effect is staggering. I've never seen a movie so fully aware of it's purpose and place in the world than Shaun of the Dead, it is far and away my favorite film on this list (not the best, just my favorite), and the only one that I will stop whatever I am doing just to sit down and soak it all in time and time again.
2. No Country For Old Men, (2007)
The Coen Brothers have been the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Bogart and Bacall for almost 20 years, it just took a nearly perfect movie for the entire world to fully embrace and award their wry, subtle genius, and No Country For Old Men is that movie. Aside from being painfully beautiful to look at, No Country tells the story of a nation that has moved far past the ideals it once held so dear and has begun a tailspin into a sort of limbo from which it needs more help than is readily available to pull out of. It is chilling, it is hilarious at times and best of all it tells a story so well it's almost too good to be true. Staring Josh Brolin, in his best role to date, as a quiet, but deep cowboy who stumbled upon the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong only to find a bag full of money that could change his life, No Country heads off in several distinctly different directions. The least of which is the ever present menace of Javier Bardem's portrayal of Anton Chigur and his relentless search to recover the bag of money Brolin took at the beginning of the movie, no matter what it takes; and Tommy Lee Jones "old man" Sheriff who is tasked with putting the pieces of several disturbing homicides together only to realize his country and the ideology it once held so dear has, in fact, left him by the wayside ages ago brings to the forefront one of the Coen Brothers most striking abilities: which is to say their ability to get the most out of their actors without ever creeping into over the top parody or Nicolas Cage like overacting. As the movie slowly converges the plot lines into one fantastic parable about greed and the death of the American dream in favor of quick cash and easy living, it's hard not to scratch your head and wonder where we all went wrong; and as Anton Chigur limps away in one of the films final scenes, you get the creeping suspicion that no matter how hard we try to fight it, he's always going to be just around the corner waiting for someone to steal that next bag full of money. The Coen's are master story tellers of the highest degree, and No Country For Old Men finds them firing on all cylinders to create an epic masterpiece that will be impossibly difficult to top... but, the crazy thing? The Coen's are so good they will probably prove me wrong.
1. There Will Be Blood, (2007)
Whoever had the idea to combine the force of nature acting style of Daniel Day-Lewis with the unrelentingly inventive and beautiful direction of P.T Andersen should be given a medal, or at the very least a milkshake, because I have never witnessed a performance or a film so brutal in it's execution, and so honest in it's message than There Will Be Blood. What starts as the epitome of the American dream with Daniel Day-Lewis chipping away at the walls of a gold mine, ends with a twisted, maniacal representation of a man who sold his very soul for a wealth and power without ever stopping to think of the consequences. It is truly an allegory for the current miasma America has found itself in, and how greed when combined with power can corrupt even the most devout man, as is evidenced by the scheming preacher Eli, played wonderfully by Paul Dano (honestly, people, wake up and recognize this young man's talent, for it is formidable) who, when money is dangled in his face and the promise of a new church and, yes, a road leading to that church are too much for even his most pious soul to bare. In the now infamous final scene, the torturous, lonely life of Daniel Day-Lewis' Plainview is made obvious, and it should serve as a cautionary tale for those among us with greed in our hearts to stop forfeiting the small pleasures in life in favor of something as trivial as the pursuit of power and money.
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