A Fond Farewell and Final Top 10

Dear Friends and Readers,

Rather than let things end with a whimper, it seems the time has come to formally bring down the final curtain on Moving Pictures.  It has become clear, given the increasingly sporadic publications over the last year or so, that I no longer have the time to give this platform the attention it needs; therefore, this will be my last entry.  It has been such a pleasure to share my thoughts with you over the last few years on this magical form that we call cinema, and I sincerely want to thank every single person who has taken the time to read them.

Film continues to be a deeply rooted passion of mine, and I hope that some of these articles have made you think, perhaps turned you on to a few movies you otherwise might not have seen, and maybe gave you just an ounce more appreciation for the craftsmanship and artistry of the medium.  Most importantly though, I believe that films’ greatest value is to act as (to quote Roger Ebert) “empathy machines.”  Fostering our capacity to understand the lives of other people is, in my opinion, imperative to the continuance of humanity and all the good that can come from it.  I believe it is in no way grandiose to say that movies can help us do this.

I want to give a special thanks to my old friend Shaun McGuire, who assisted me technically in putting this blog together, and my wife and editor Della for helping make these articles readable (and for her love of course).

Rather than end with a simple goodbye, I’d like to sign off with my top ten list for 2016 (very late as usual).  A few will be linked to past reviews, but as you can see, I’ve mostly just listed titles.  2016 was a particularly good year and I hope you will look to some of the many other great film review websites out there to learn more (I’m partial to AV Club for snarky but competent criticism, as well as the network of Indiewire related sites).

Again, thank you all for your support!

Most Sincerely,

Ian Nester Moran



10.  La La Land (Dir. Damien Chazelle)

9.  Louder Than Bombs (Dir. Joachim Trier)

8.  The Witch (Dir. Robert Eggers)

7.  Christine (Dir. Antonio Campos)

6.  O.J.: Made in America (Dir. Ezra Edelman)

5.  American Honey (Dir. Andrea Arnold)

4.  Krisha (Dir. Trey Edward Shults)

3.  Manchester by the Sea (Dir. Kenneth Lonergan)

2.  The Lobster (Dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)

1.  Moonlight (Dir. Barry Jenkins)




Even before the first shot of Barry Jenkins’ astounding sophomore feature Moonlight, I was pulled in by the warm, analogue sound of Boris Gardiner’s 1973 tune “Every N****r is a Star” laid over the A24* logo.  It’s a song that’s easy on the ear, almost comforting musically, but its language and themes cut deep.  The same can be said for Moonlight: so elegantly crafted, such difficult content, and like this introductory song, somehow ending on a hopeful note.

I was completely swept up by Moonlight’s blend of intimacy and expansive scope, its sweet humor and suffocating tension, its tragedy and its optimism. Throughout the film I waited for mistakes, looking for at least one small misstep, but it simply never came.  Moonlight could have easily fallen into the trap of becoming an issue film, a film about being black, being gay, a film about poverty or addiction, but in avoiding pigeonholes it preserves itself as a character study in the purest sense.  At all times it remains a story about Chiron (or “Little”, or “Black”, depending on the time period), covering roughly 20 years of his life.  Each of the three different actors portraying him (Alex R. Hibbert, Ashton Sanders and Trevante Rhodes, chronologically) show masterful restraint, each one’s face so articulate in conveying the unspoken.  In fact, the entire cast is exemplary; Mahershala Ali is a particular standout as Juan, Chiron’s drug-dealing father figure, eschewing any and all cliches such a description might conjure.  His final scene with Chiron is both heartwarming and heartbreaking in its honesty about life’s complicated truths.

James Laxton’s cinematography may be Moonlight’s linchpin. At once raw and expressionistic, I was hypnotized by the closeups and handheld work, the lush and messy color palate of the Miami setting.  There are a few nifty tricks, too (I particularly enjoyed one shot during the third act using a camera mounted to a car door), but Moonlight’s success visually is owed more to the choices of how to block and frame scenes.  The film’s opening uses the camera’s mobility to give the audience an immersive sense of space.  Another scene (one of the year’s best), depicting a baptismal swimming lesson, places the viewer within the undulating waves of the Atlantic, close enough to taste the salt water and feel the unlikely trust growing between two characters.  Nicholas Brittle’s score adds layers of melancholy, curiosity and unease to the proceedings, at times evoking comparison to Johnny Greenwood’s work with Paul Thomas Anderson.

I hesitate to say much more about this film because words on a page cannot do it justice, and much of the pleasure and pain of Moonlight is derived from the accumulation of nuance throughout.  The screenplay was adapted by Writer/Director Barry Jenkins from an unproduced play called In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue by Tarell Alvin McCraney, who actually grew up only a few blocks from Jenkins in the Liberty City section of Miami where the film takes place.  Both the play and the film contain autobiographical aspects for each of these men, and while Moonlight is decidedly the vision of two artists, it is a singular work, displaying the type of detail and subtle emotional shades that make great films great.  Because there is so much to unpack, I look forward to watching Moonlight again.  To readers yet to see the film, I envy your opportunity to experience it for the first time, to let wash it over you like the ceaseless tide of the Atlantic. 

* This relatively new production company has been absolutely slaying it over the last few years.  Take a look at their filmography and you’ll find a good many films that have appeared on Moving Pictures’ year end lists.

PFF25 Coverage: Christine

This piece will be the first of several installments of Moving Pictures’ coverage of the 25th Philadelphia Film Festival.  PFF25 programming runs through Sunday Oct. 30th.  Click HERE for more info on the schedule and ticketing.


Spoilers below, if you are not already familiar with the story of Christine Chubbuck.

Director Antonio Campos’ new film is based on the true story of a local Florida news reporter who committed suicide during a live broadcast in 1974.  While Christine Chubbuck was indeed a real person, Christine does not function as a typical biopic.  At its core, it’s a film about depression, how it’s triggered, how it takes root, how it festers.  Rebecca Hall, the film’s lead, gives a powerful, yet artfully measured performance that’s at times uncomfortable, but authentic and respectful of the people and issues it examines.  Christine is also a blistering and timely critique of the media’s tendency to value sensationalism over substance, and Chubbuck’s battles to produce issue driven stories in the face of the station leadership’s “if it bleeds, it leads” philosophy both fuel her deterioration and render her final, stunning act more ironic and defiant.  

Structurally, Christine is unconventionally straightforward; linear, deliberate, patient.  Campos knows when to dwell in certain scenes and let them develop. In fact, I found the film to start rather slowly and wasn’t so sure what I thought of it for the first 15 to 20 minutes, but in hindsight, the slow build was necessary for the latter passages to seem well-earned.  It also pulls off the coexistence of dramatic and comedic tones (no easy feat), toying with the audience’s expectations throughout.  Aesthetically speaking, Christine’s production design, wardrobe and hair and makeup give it a strong period authenticity, and its effective sonic blend of early 70s hits and a tense original score drive home the creation of a fully formed world.  Cinematographer Joe Anderson’s camerawork plays with darkness and disorienting framing, a decided reflection of the titular character’s perspective.  

Look for significant awards attention for Rebecca Hall, who imbues this career-best turn with the speech patterns and body language of person who often overcompensates for her deep insecurities.  Michael C. Hall (of Dexter fame) steals a few scenes of his own as the station’s lead anchor and object of Chubbuck’s infatuation.  He plays, at times, like a less crass version of Thomas Hayden Church’s character in Sideways, offering some of the films ample comic relief but also holding his own in weightier scenes.  But one of the most impressive achievements of Christine is its writing of supporting characters, almost all of which are given texture and elicit some kind of empathy.  

My only slight criticism of Christine is that it seemed to continue a touch too long after the suicide.  The bulk of the film stays so focused on Chubbuck that, for me, it felt superfluous to suddenly shift so pointedly towards those left in the wake of her death for 5 or 10 minutes before the credits roll.  But this is a minor misstep.  Christine is a great film, and provided an exciting start to to my PFF25 experience.

The 10 (+1) Best Films of 2015

2015 didn’t produce as many special films as the previous two years, but it was strong and it was consistent.  So consistent that, I admit, I had a hell of a time putting the films below in any kind of order, and, as you can see, couldn’t help but add an extra slot.  It was also unpredictable.  Some films that I was sure would top this list didn’t even make it (see The Hateful Eight, Anomalisa and the extremely disappointing The Tribe) while a number of erstwhile afterthoughts became favorites.  We saw some great films from prolific auteurs, but perhaps even more from filmmakers just starting out.  And the especially encouraging thing is that these first, second or third efforts weren’t trying to reinvent the wheel with boundary pushing or stylistic bombast.  Instead, they exhibited traits more often acquired over the span of much longer careers: patience, respect for characters, knowing what not to say.  Some of these films have rather tough outer shells, but if you give them some time and just little bit of effort they’ll surely deliver you cinematic pearls.

A few spoilers below, but nothing, in my opinion, that would detract from one’s overall viewing experience.

  1. James White (Dir. Josh Mond)


James White is the story of a rudderless, twentysomething New Yorker (Christopher Abbott, of Girls fame) caring for his dying mother as he simultaneously struggles to make sense of his own life.  Films that deal with terminal illness can skew sappy, but director Josh Mond and his actors understand that the film’s heaviest aspects work well enough without embellishment.  The writing, too, puts the bulk of the focus on characterization, filling the smallest of moments with just as much detail as the more vital ones.  The look of the film is appropriately naturalistic, but with just enough flourish to feel the filmmaker’s identity.  Cinematographer Mátyás Erdély’s camera often stays tight on James’ face, obscuring everything around him.  This technique is especially well employed in the opening sequence, which also sports some impressive sound design that allows both the character and the audience to drift between thumping club beats and the sweet croon of Ray Charles.  

James White boasts a truly breakout performance from Abbott, who showcases an exhaustive range of emotion without ever chewing scenery, and Cynthia Nixon as James’ mother Gail has never been better (sorry Sex and the City fans).  But these standouts aside, it’s the dynamic between all of the characters (the best friend and girlfriend characters are wisely given equal shrift) that allows the film to reach an impressive level of authenticity.  The ending may feel like it comes a little early, but I admire the film’s focus on a very specific and intense period of the protagonist’s life and the director’s restraint in refusing to give us much closure.  James White is Mond’s first feature length directorial effort (he was a producer on the excellent Martha Marcy May Marlene); it’s a fine debut, one of the year’s best, and I look forward to whatever it is he’s able to cook up next.

  1. Room (Dir. Lenny Abrahamson)


Let me just say this at the outset: Room does not make this list without the astoundingly capable performance of ten year old Jacob Tremblay, and the film does not work nearly as well overall.  Despite its disturbing premise, at its core Room is a film about growing up, and to execute that well you need a child actor mature enough to convey the pain and awe inevitably required.  Held prisoner in a single, bomb shelter-like room by a very sick individual known simply as “Old Nick”, Tremblay’s Jack and his “Ma” (Brie Larson in an Oscar winning performance) pass the many days with creative games, stories, and their almost religious routines.  Ma was kidnapped and confined to Room (not “the room”, or “a room”, just “Room”…more on that later) almost a decade prior.  Jack was born in captivity, the product of Old Nick’s sexual abuse, and as a way to shield his fragile young psyche from the horror of their predicament, we learn that Ma has concocted an elaborate mythology explaining the pair’s claustrophobic existence.  “Room” is their entire world, and every object within (like Bed, Rug and Chair Number Two) is monolithic, finite and elemental, no need for articles.  But Room is just as much about what happens to Jack and Ma after their harrowing escape, a painfully tense sequence providing one of my favorite shots, or series of shots, I suppose, of the year (see picture above).  

The latter half of the film deals with the post captivity adjustment period; the initial elation that eventually gives way to frayed family relationships, intense media scrutiny and the crushing question of “now what?”  Jack struggles to process the big, loud world all around him, often wishing to return to Room, while his mother struggles to reintegrate herself into a world that kept on moving while hers was effectively on pause.  While certainly exacerbated by their unique situation, both characters deal with many of the same issues we all deal with as we mature, and it’s Jack’s sense of wonder, especially, that hit me the hardest on an emotional level.  Even the way he uses language conveys ideas in their most basic form.  “There’s so much of place,” he says to himself at one point, and I think everyone comes to that simple realization at one point or another in life.  Room leaves you with the sense that despite Jack’s ordeal, the rest of his life will be the real adventure.

  1. Inside Out (Dir. Pete Docter)


There was one animated film released in 2015 that I absolutely could not wait to see.  Helmed by a seasoned and celebrated filmmaker, it seemed poised to provide a ground-breakingly fresh take on the medium.  That film was Charlie Kaufman and Duke Johnson’s Anomalisa, and while it was certainly an interesting and thought provoking piece, it ultimately disappointed.  Pixar’s Inside Out, on the other hand, stunned me with its creativity and depth of emotion.  Directed by Pete Docter, the member of the Pixar stable of creative minds that brought you Up and Monsters Inc., Inside Out takes place mostly within the mind of a pre-teen girl, Riley, just after a family move from the midwest to San Francisco.  We, the viewers, largely experience this transitional period via the perspective of Riley’s personified emotions (Joy, Fear, Disgust, etc.), voiced by the likes of Amy Poehler, Bill Hader and Mindy Kaling.  The film sucks you in with the details of Riley’s mental machinations, running the audience through the rules and principles that govern her inner world in a way that’s always fascinating and never comes off as unnaturally expository.  These fresh and funny details might carry Inside Out well enough, but it’s the film’s emotional gravitas that really makes it something special.  I mean, who knew a character named Bing Bong could afford me one of the most deep, cathartic cries I’ve had in years?  It’s a movie that aims to literally bring the fear, excitement, nostalgia and bravery of growing up to life, and unexpectedly, amazingly, Inside Out nails it on its own unique terms.

  1. The Revenant (Dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu)


The Revenant was one of the year’s most lauded films: Golden Globe winner for Best Picture (Drama), 12 Academy Award nominations and three wins, including the third in a row for Cinematographer Emmanuel “El Chivo” Lubezki, second in a row for Director Alejandro Iñárritu, and a hitherto elusive first for Leonardo DiCaprio.  It came on the heels of Iñárritu’s big winner last year, the more successful Birdman, and where Birdman was playful, meta, often silly (though with a surprisingly affecting emotional core), The Revenant is grave, dour and relentlessly punishing.  As engrossing as much of the film was, there was an emotional disconnect for me.  DiCaprio’s 19th century fur trapper Hugh Glass, mortally wounded in a bear attack, betrayed and left for dead, finds himself in such a cartoonishly insurmountable situation that when he ultimately claws his way back to civilization it threatens to undercut the realism that had been so well earned by the film’s cast and production team. Granted, The Revenant follows what the real-life Glass recounted in his own writings (aside from the shoehorned-in creation of a “half breed” son), but there are scant other sources to corroborate this decidedly tall tale.  There’s nothing wrong with a good old fashioned yarn, but regardless of the story’s authenticity, Iñárritu’s reach for an emotional response ends up feeling like overreaching.  

Clearly I found flaws in this film, but what it does right it does very, very right.  The Revenant looks amazing, from the production design to the costumes to the hair and makeup to Lubezki’s nimble and naturally lit camera work.  He utilizes his signature long tracking shots superbly; the early encampment attack scene is the stuff of nightmares (if you thought those long takes in Children of Men were intense…).  DiCaprio is fully committed and very good, even if his character is a little flat, but Tom Hardy actually steals the show with his nuanced handling of the story’s “villain.”  Oh, and the score is pretty great too.  The Revenant definitely misses a few marks narrative wise, but it’s skillfully made and ambitious as hell, and for that I must doff my critical cap.

  1. The End of the Tour (Dir. James Ponsoldt)


My knowledge of David Foster Wallace is more so as an icon, a literary legend, than as an actual writer.  His first novel, The Broom of the System, was the inaugural selection of a short lived booked club I participated in several years ago, and I admit that I only made it about halfway through.  I didn’t dislike it, and it wasn’t impenetrable, it just didn’t pull me in hard enough to urge me towards the conclusion.  My cursory understanding of the author remains based on the facts (and lore) of his life: young, midwestern college professor publishes 1,000+ page opus Infinite Jest in the mid 90s; book has major impact on the literary world while author is thrust into the media spotlight; author has recurring struggles with depression; author commits suicide in 2008 having never published another completed novel.  This is, of course, a facile description of Wallace’s life and career and does little to get at who the man really was, which is why The End of the Tour was, for me, such a fascinating film.  

Read the full review HERE.

  1. Carol (Dir. Todd Haynes)


Based on the 1952 novel The Price of Salt, Todd Haynes’ adaptation is, above all, a gorgeous film.  Its 1950s setting, the cars, the clothes, the hair, are fertile ground for cinematographer Edward Lachman (who also shot Haynes’ fantastic 2002 period drama Far From Heaven), and his choice to shoot on 16mm film (as opposed to 35mm or digital) gives every color a muted yet saturated hue that feels absolutely authentic.  It’s this aesthetic authenticity that really sets the stage for two wonderfully understated performances by the film’s leads, Cate Blanchett in the titular role and Rooney Mara in her best performance to date as Therese Belivet.

Carol is a simple story of a same sex love affair that happens in a time and place where such things are still very much taboo; we’ve heard these stories before.  What sets this one apart is its execution.  Carol is a film of glances, gestures and things left unsaid, much like real life.  This is not easy to pull of and it’s a credit to the actors and filmmakers that we’re able to sense the beats of the central relationship’s evolution with so little overt expression.  Haynes, thankfully, trusts his audience enough to take this approach.  Carol, has a sociopolitical bent (and ends on a healthy yet well earn note of affirmation), it must; but we also get to know the characters well enough that they come off as real people and not just stand ins for a larger debate.

  1. Amy (Dir. Asif Kapadia)


The rise and fall of the troubled artist is a perennial tale, and Amy Winehouse is as worthy a subject as any.  Asif Kapadia’s skillfully rendered film is mostly comprised of intimate archival footage, and it stitches together a rich cinematic fabric documenting the English musician’s life and career.  The director’s tactful sensibilities would matter little, though, if it weren’t for the magnetism of his film’s subject.  Before seeing Amy I’d possessed a passing appreciation for Winehouse as a talented neo-blue-eyed-soul singer.  Afterwards, that appreciation morphed into a very real sense of respect for her artistry and vision, and further into sadness.  Not just a sadness for the loss of great music that might have been, but the sadness one feels seeing someone you care about in pain.  Of course I didn’t know Amy Winehouse, but Amy kind of made me feel like I did.

A true prodigy from musical stock, Winehouse began serious vocal training at age 11, took up guitar at 14, and was a featured vocalist in the National Youth Jazz Ensemble by 17.  Ten years, two albums and five Grammys later she was dead.  But unlike most coverage of her explosive career and ultimate demise, Amy refuses to exploit the woman at it’s center. It leaves viewers with more than a sense of Hollywood tragedy; it demands an appreciation for her truest legacy: her music.  Like other singers who, in the true jazz tradition, use their voice as an instrument (Van Morrison comes to mind), Winehouse’s vocals are often unintelligible.  But Kapadia’s choice to use titles during much of the performance footage allows the audience to enjoy her immense talent as a lyricist as well.  Musicianship aside, Winehouse comes across as a genuinely lovely person with a lust for life that no doubt contributed to her astuteness at capturing raw human emotion in song, and Amy makes us feel her absence.

  1. The Look of Silence (Dir. Joshua Oppenheimer)


Joshua Oppenheimer’s companion piece to 2013’s The Act of Killing, an incredible film that actually found itself in the same position on Moving Pictures’ top ten list that year, tackles the Indonesian genocide from a different angle.  Rather than focusing on the perpetrators, The Look of Silence turns its lens to the victims.  The film’s central subject is Adi, the younger brother of a brutally murdered “communist sympathizer” (read: anyone whose views and lifestyle were not compatible with the military dictatorship that took over in the mid 60s); and when I say brutally, I mean brutally.  Oppenheimer’s film spares the audience no terrible details.  The director once again heavily utilizes the treasure trove of interview footage he amassed over many years spent in Indonesia talking with members of the current regime (yes, the people who carried out these mass killings fifty years ago are still in power).  But Silence adds further layers to the tragedy with its focus on Adi and his elderly parents (both seem unsure of their own exact age), showing us how grief can seep into the soul like a sickness.

Adi, a local optomologist, uses his occupation to secure face time with those responsible for his brother’s death.  As each slowly realizes Adi’s true motives, their responses range from righteous indignation to cold blankness to outward hostility; one high powered politician even suggests that if people continue to ask questions like Adi’s, maybe there needs to be another purge.  One passage, in which Adi visits an aging uncle, ruthlessly illustrates the extent of the complicity that permeates these communities.  Another late scene hints at some hope of healing for the younger generations, but it’s a cold comfort given all that precedes.  There is, without a doubt, significant artistry is the way The Look of Silence is put together, but it’s also a confidently quiet film which understands that the gravity of its subject matter is conveyed best with simple presentation, rather than editorialization.  During the film’s coda, Adi’s frail and senile father skuttles along the laundry room floor, frightened and confused.  “I’m lost,” he says, and in his words we hear the cry of an entire generation.

  1. Mad Max: Fury Road (Dir. George Miller)


We have to ask ourselves two questions when critiquing art of any kind: what is the artist trying to accomplish and how well does the piece achieve their self-established goals?  Fury Road is, reductively speaking, a sci-fi action film, but Australian filmmaker George Miller has spent decades fleshing out the idiosyncratic universe of the Mad Max film series that he created.  This most recent installation, the director’s crowning achievement, is essentially one long post-apocalyptic chase sequence, and its use of pacing, staging, editing and effects (mostly practical, as opposed to CGI) nails everything an audience could possibly want out of such a scenario.  But Fury Road ended up so high on this list because it’s able to do and say so much more than what one would expect of it.  It is an overachieving film in every way.

On the surface the world of Fury Road, it’s set pieces, it’s rituals, it’s characters’ garb, could seem like a random assortment of wackiness for its own sake.  But if one considers the context and other bits of information Miller provides, all of these details are grounded in a thoughtful understanding of the world in which his characters desperately exist.  Aesthetically speaking the film is marvelous, both in its most kinetic moments and most quiet ones.  It’s at times a ballet of mayhem, at others a dystopian opera.  Fury Road deals with some relatively elevated themes as well.  Commentary on climate change and water scarcity (something even the most privileged developed countries will have to deal with much sooner than we think) are front and center.  The film has a strong feminist message as well, and makes no bones about it; another refreshing departure for the genre.  Charlize Theron’s Furiosa is effectively the lead, Max is merely the audience’s vehicle through which to witness her efforts to liberate her subjugated sisters.

This is a film one really must see to understand.  It may not be for you, but it would be wrong to lump it into the same category as the mindless Hollywood action offerings that are all too common.  Mad Max: Fury Road is an action film with explosions and blood and guts, but it also has a heart and a head; these days that’s something very rare and special indeed.

  1. Son of Saul (Dir. László Nemes)


There are so many films about the Holocaust that they’ve basically formed a distinct subgenre, and I’ve seen quite a few of them.  It is, of course, a vital story to tell; as a memorial, as a warning, and, perhaps, for the little catharsis it might provide.  But I’ve never seen a Holocaust film like first time Hungarian director László Nemes’ Son of Saul.  Covering only a day or so inside the walls of Auschwitz, 1944, it maintains a laser focus on Saul, a Hungarian Sonderkommando on a singular mission to provide a proper Jewish burial to a young camp victim who may or may not be his estranged son.  There are millions of stories that have emerged from this nightmare period of history and dozens of films that deal with its subjects and themes; what makes this story stand out is the way it’s told.  Nemes utilizes the now rare “Academy Ratio” (which makes the frame much closer to a square than a rectangle), long, point-of-view shots and a very shallow focus that blurs everything outside of Saul’s immediate sphere.  Tamás Zányi’s incredible sound design lends another layer to this immersive film, creating a cacophony of cries and whispers almost as disturbing as the obscured atrocities surrounding the protagonist.  The result is a feeling of claustrophobia and disorientation that puts the audience inside the experience, rather than allowing them to merely observe.  Géza Röhrig as Saul, a former teacher, current poet and first time actor, is mesmerizing in the largely wordless role; his face says it all.

Son of Saul also includes details of a prisoner uprising that actually did happen at Auschwitz in ‘44, and how Saul’s goals come into conflict with those of the larger group; but the film is ultimately more about feeling and experience than narrative.  Some have bemoaned its so-called first-person-video-game presentation, charging the filmmakers with exploitation.  I, on the other hand, found Son of Saul to be authentic and subtle, a thriller so intimate that it forces us to confront the Holocaust up close, and never forget how horrible human beings can truly be if we allow fear to breed hatred.

  1. 45 Years (Dir. Andrew Haigh)


In many ways, 45 Years director Andrew Haigh’s approach couldn’t be more different than George Miller’s.  This list’s number three film thrives, nay depends, on maintaining a near constant state of kinetic energy; not only via the characters’ movements through Miller’s wasted landscapes, but also through its editing and visual style.  45 Years, on the other hand, uses stillness, silence and a steady gaze to generate a level of tension that stands up to many of the white-knuckle sequences in Fury Road.  What’s not so different about these films, however, is their impeccable attention to detail, the way that little specificities, teased out just enough, can so quickly thrust the viewer into a thoroughly realized world.  45 Years’ premise sounds almost silly on paper: the comfortable, pastoral existence of an old English couple, Geoff (Tom Courtenay) and Kate (Charlotte Rampling in an Oscar nominated performance), is compromised when the body of Geoff’s long ago girlfriend is discovered, perfectly preserved, in a block of ice in the German Alps.  This woman, Katya, was killed during a climbing accident years before the now-couple met, and her life and death have been minimized to a few passing conversations.  But over the course of a few days leading up to their 45th anniversary party, long buried memories are resurrected, and Kate’s curiosity and Geoff’s evasion begin to fray the emotional fibers that have so long held the two together.  

Stylistically speaking 45 Years is nothing earth-shattering, employing classic Euro-cinema techniques such as long static shots, naturalistic performances, frank sex and ambiguous narrative turns.  But it’s all done so well.  Haigh and Cinematographer Lol Crawley create some fantastic imagery, though much of it is born of a tastefully selective eye rather than a particularly masterful manipulation of craft.  It’s the ever so lived-in nature of the characters’ world and the easy rapport of the actors that make the film superlative; the routines, the stealthily divulged histories, the characters’ unique quirks (Geoff’s tarzan-like chest thumping was a favorite of mine).  45 Years is a film that seems to simply exist, effortlessly.  If I had to pinpoint what made it my favorite film of the year, though, it’d have to be the ending.  The proceedings build, appropriately, to the anniversary party, which seems to take on 45 years worth of significance.  The final shot in particular, its use of music and Charlotte Rampling’s delicate performance, delivers one of the most haunting finales I’ve seen, with implications for the characters that reverberate through the credits and far beyond.  I guess the more simple way to put it is this: 45 Years is the best among several great films I saw this year because it’s the one I’m still thinking about.


Ex Machina…for the best hard sci-fi film in ages, and the year’s most memorable dance sequence!

Spotlight…for a very well made journalistic procedural with solid performances and a genteel handling of its difficult subject matter.

Sicario…for yet another visual masterpiece from cinematographer Roger Deakins and a wonderfully menacing score from Jóhann Jóhannsson.

Queen of Earth…for a weird-as-hell, retro psychological horror film featuring the greatest Elizabeth Moss performance ever (outside of Mad Men of course).

Moving Pictures’ PFF 24 Coverage

The weekend before last I had the good fortune to catch two stellar screenings at the Philadelphia Film Festival in less than 24 hours.  While I was unsuccessful in finding the time to see any of the other titles I’d been interested in, I did succeed in doubling my number of PFF screenings from last year…so that’s something.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy Moving Pictures’ decidedly modest coverage of PFF 24, and let us know your thoughts about any films you saw in the comments section!



Writer/Director Josh Mond delivered a humble, soft spoken introduction to James White at the Ritz East to a nearly packed house.  A young man, bearded and beanied, Mond told us that his new film was “made with a lot of love” and appealed to those in attendance to “give it a chance”.  As the film progressed I found myself wondering if its story of a rudderless, twentysomething New Yorker caring for his dying mother was at all autobiographical.  The titular character, played by Christopher Abbott (many may know him as Marnie’s first boyfriend, Charlie, on the HBO series Girls), in many ways resembles Mond in appearance and mannerism.  The fact that I had occasion to make this connection at all is a prime example of the perks of the festival format, how closer proximity to the filmmakers themselves can add meaningful context. But regardless, James White stands on its own as a formidable achievement.

Films that deal with terminal illness can skew sappy, but Mond and his actors understand that the story’s heaviest aspects work well enough without embellishment.  The writing, too, puts the bulk of the focus on characterization, filling the smallest of moments with just as much detail as the more vital ones.  The look of the film is appropriately naturalistic, but with just enough flourish to feel the filmmaker’s identity.  Cinematographer Mátyás Erdély’s camera often stays tight on Christopher Abbott’s face, blurring everything outside of his immediate sphere.  This technique is fantastic in the opening sequence, paired with impressive sound design that allows both the character and the audience to drift between thumping club beats and the sweet croon of Ray Charles.

James White boasts a truly breakout performance from Abbott, who showcases an exhaustive range of emotion without ever chewing scenery, and Cynthia Nixon as James’s mother Gail has never been better (sorry Sex and the City fans).  But standouts aside, it’s the dynamic between all of the characters (the best friend and girlfriend are smartly given equal shrift) that allows the film to reach an impressive level of authenticity.  The ending may feel like it comes a little early, but I admire the film’s focus on a very specific and intense period of the protagonist’s life and the director’s restraint in refusing to give us any closure. James White is Mond’s first feature length directorial effort (he was a producer on the excellent Martha Marcy May Marlene); it’s a fine debut, and I look forward to whatever it is he’s able to cook up next.



The following morning I attended a noontime screening of Justin Kurzel’s Macbeth, starring Michael Fassbender and Marion Cotillard, at the Prince Theater on Chestnut Street.  Given the playhouse venue and storied curse on the material, our PFF representative referred only to “the Scottish film” during his cautious introduction.  Many know the broad strokes of the play from high school English class, but the blood red titles outlining the initial scenario were a welcomed preface for something as dense as Shakespeare.  I’ll admit at the outset, I am far from an expert on The Bard’s work; I often lost track of what characters were talking about, having to rely on context clues.  Shakespeare’s work can be hard to understand primarily because it’s written in Elizabethan English, but it’s also packed with allusions, metaphors, puns and other devices that create a sort of literary onion, and there are always more layers to pull back.  Add to this the thick Scottish accents and Kurzel’s straightforward, period rendering (so many Shakespeare adaptations these days are modern interpretations) and it’s admittedly not the most accessible piece.  It’s a testament to the performances and the direction, however, that instead of feeling alienated, I wanted to watch it all again.

If you’re not familiar with the story (maybe your English class read Romeo and Juliet or The Tempest), here’s my two sentence synopsis: a high ranking military leader in medieval Scotland is goaded by his wife to kill the king and assume his crown after receiving a prophetic message from three witches. Having taken the throne, the tyrannical King Macbeth is driven mad with guilt and paranoia as his misdeeds pile upon themselves.  Kurzel takes some liberties by creating a handful of wordless scenes not found in the source material that help orient the audience without having to invent new dialogue. The inclusion of an opening scene of a child’s funeral speculates most liberally on the characters’ motivations.  It’s followed by a slow motion depiction of an important battle that is merely recounted in the original text; it’s a muddy, bloody and beautiful sequence almost reminiscent of the prologue of Lars Von Trier’s Melancholia.  

Fassbender is excellent as Macbeth, quite subtle for a role that could easily be played as fully unhinged.  I did, however, find his reading to be almost too understated at times, though that could possibly be attributed to my muddled understanding of a significant chunk of his lines.  The royal banquet scene, where Macbeth is haunted by the apparition of a slain compatriot, is a standout.  Cotillard is fantastic in the iconic and revered role of Lady Macbeth; fittingly cold, but also infusing the character with a level of sexuality that helps explain the sway she holds over her husband.  The actress’s rendition of the “Out, damned spot” speech is the climax of a very special performance.  And despite the strong lead performances from internationally famous actors, the lesser known Sean Harris actually ends up stealing a number of scenes (his tortured reaction after discovering the king’s murder) as Macduff, Macbeth’s ultimate foil.  There were just a few moments in the film’s third act that dragged for me, though I wouldn’t presume to blame it on the writing.  

It was a strange feeling to walk out into the beaming 2:00pm sunlight of a brisk fall day having just witnessed such a visceral imagining of one of fiction’s most towering tragedies, but it left me with an even deeper appreciation of Shakespeare’s massive role in Western Culture five hundred years later.

The 21 Best Films of the 21st Century (Pt. 2)

Art is not a contest, and the consumption of art is largely a subjective experience.  No list is definitive, but lists are fun to read (and to write).  The growing prevalence of listing-making and websites like Buzzfeed are, in my opinion, a blight upon our media culture, another manifestation of our dwindling collective attention span (think: The Top 18 Celebrity Selfie Malfunctions That Will Totally Change Your World).  But ranking and categorizing our favorite films, musicians and books can also give rise to healthy debate.  

In that spirit, Moving Pictures has compiled a list of the 21 Best Films of the 21st Century.  The following is Part 2 of the list; if you missed Part 1 you can check it out HERE.  Please tell us what you think in the comments section, and enjoy!

  1. Under the Skin (2014) – Jonathan Glazer


Under the Skin is a film that few people saw and probably even fewer enjoyed.  I don’t think that’s right, but it’s certainly understandable.  It’s a challenging film to be sure; scarce on dialogue, it utilizes a B movie-style narrative conveyed through a schizophrenic combination of cinéma vérité and painstakingly manipulated imagery.  It works, and amazingly well, for two reasons, the first being Scarlett Johansson’s transformative, otherworldly performance.  The second is the unique and uncompromising way in which director Jonathan Glazer approaches the potentially pulpy material.  This filmmaker’s dedication and command of craft, just as much as his artistic style itself, evoke the term “Kubrickian” perhaps more appropriately than anything else I’ve seen since the death of the genuine article.  Under the Skin took ten years to make, but it should (and hopefully will) be remembered for ten times that.

(Read the full review HERE)

  1. Grizzly Man (2005) – Werner Herzog 


The image above is an appropriate representation of what Timothy Treadwell was all about: not simply observing the natural world but becoming a part of it, and indeed, in many ways, forsaking the human world for it.  As it’s divulged in the opening minutes of Werner Herzog’s Grizzly Man, it’s no spoiler to say that his quest ended in tragedy.  In some sense a found-footage documentary, the film largely consists of material Treadwell shot himself, of himself, over 13 summers in the Alaskan wilderness tracking and studying wild grizzly bears.  It is not, however, a nature documentary.  Though Herzog, a giant of cinema in his own right, crafts a bizarre yet successful framework with artfully staged interviews and his own signature narration, the German filmmaker clearly struck gold with his true subject, Treadwell himself.  A man of heartbreakingly childlike wonder and sadness, Treadwell bears his soul (no pun intended) to a camera on a tripod in the middle of nowhere, and many of the moments captured are as real and as human as movies can get.

  1. In the Mood for Love (2000) – Wong Kar-Wai


In the Mood for Love is the most recent film I’ve seen on this list, just within the last few weeks, and given its pedigree I’d expected to see something special. To say I was not disappointed would be a gross understatement.  Yes, In the Mood for Love is dazzlingly beautiful and formally rich, though these strengths ultimately exist to serve its heartbreaking and universal story of unfulfilled love.  A friendship forms between neighbors Chow and Su when they discover their spouses are carrying on an affair, and that friendship quickly becomes a close and complicated bond.  Director Wong Kar-Wai’s script plays with the idea of repetition throughout, replaying musical themes and even the same interactions to fascinating and hypnotic effect.  The subject of identity, too, is explored; not just in general terms of the characters’ pairing within the film’s conservative social context, but also directly in the form of recurring exercises where the two rehearse conversations and confrontations with their unfaithful partners.  The final sequence is breathtaking; the ancient setting, the significance of the act, the cello weeping through it all.  In the Mood for Love is also the most recent film on the Sight and Sound list, a towering institution, and as innovative as it is, it’s a work that also draws on many of the time-tested sensibilities that make it an obvious addition to the cinematic canon.  Mood has the quality of a memory: elemental and fragmented, but something you nonetheless can’t shake.

  1. Blue is the Warmest Color (2013) – Abdellatif Kechiche


Controversy swirled around Blue is the Warmest Color even before it took the top prize at the 2013 Cannes Film Festival (accusations of mistreatment of the cast and crew, backlash from the source material’s author, and of course, the extremely long, graphic sex scenes).  All of this ultimately became a distraction from the fact that Blue is one of the best coming-of-age stories in recent memory, if not ever.  While the film’s main focus is the romantic relationship between a young French woman named Adele, and Emma, a hip art school student several years her senior, it is just as much about Adele’s life before and after the relationship as it is about the relationship itself. Indeed, their connection carries so much weight because we spend those small, quiet moments with Adele both leading up to and in the aftermath of her time with Emma (in fact, the French title of the film is The Life of Adele – Chapters 1 & 2).  That structural choice, coupled with a beautifully naturalistic and emotionally raw performance from Adele Exarchopoulos, makes the nearly three hour film a deeply immersive experience.  Lea Seydoux, as Emma, hits all the right notes as the mature, nurturing lover and the increasingly distant artist, and the entire supporting cast creates a lush tapestry of characters that deepens the world created by Kechiche.  But one really cannot say enough about Exarchopoulos.  A relative unknown prior to filming, she is utterly convincing at every moment, whether chatting with friends, teaching a class full of second graders, making passionate love or eating a plate of spaghetti. Blue is the Warmest Color is a film about a particular relationship, yes, but ultimately it is about how love shapes our lives, how it does not always conform to our plans and responsibilities, how we can learn from the pain we experience, and how some people will always matter to who we are.

  1. Lost in Translation (2003) – Sofia Coppola


Bill Murray is one of American comedy’s greatest ambassadors, able to create characters of heartwarming silliness (What About Bob? was a staple in my home growing up and remains the most frequently quoted film by far) or caddish cool (see Stripes and the Ghostbuster movies).  Since the late 90s, however, many of his roles have taken on a sense of subtle melancholy that displays the true depth of Murray’s range.  Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation is the zenith of that phase, the story of a has-been actor and the young wife of a distant workaholic (a 19 year old Scarlett Johansson), both caught adrift amidst the flashing lights and frenzied pulse of Tokyo.  The film is built around a series of small moments as the two explore the city together.  Coppola’s script is meticulous in its pacing, toying with the nature of the relationship (Paternal? Comradely? Romantic?) for much of it’s runtime.  Murray is at his most genuine while still providing big laughs as an unlikely straight-man.  But Lost in Translation proves to be an even more critical milestone for Johansson, here establishing herself as a serious artist with serious chops.  Its memorable, though muted, climax shows powerful restraint (the director’s choice to obscure Murray’s parting words is a masterstroke) and offers one of the most sweetly sad moments ever filmed.

  1. Caché (2005) – Michael Haneke


The inspiration of endless debate and at least as much head-scratching, this enigmatic thriller from Austrian auteur Michael Haneke is a beautifully constructed and gripping film, but it’s also a brilliantly conceived viewing exercise that invites collaborative engagement from its audience.  When an upper class Parisian family starts receiving anonymous VHS tapes of a static video feed from outside their home, along with ominous, childlike drawings, suspicion and deceit seep into domestic relationships as a mother (Juliette Binoche), father (Daniel Auteuil) and teenage son struggle to make sense of the bizarre happenings.  Though material like this could easily be handled as cheap horror, Caché focuses on the impact rather than the action, holding a level of tension that defies the very concept of release, let alone resolution.  It also maintains a rich social subtext, adding yet another layer beneath the puzzlebox narrative.  A key clue (not to infer that there is necessarily a singular “answer”) is held in the film’s very last shot, so watch closely.  There will be much to talk about after the credits roll, so definitely watch this one before dinner.

  1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) – Michel Gondry 


Eternal Sunshine has been in my life for a long time.  I was in high school when it was released and it was the first time I saw a film in the theater that ended up being something truly indelible, a new classic.  It’s prompted many intense conversations, as well as many “let’s leave this on” afternoon half-viewings. There’s not a lot to say about Michel Gondry’s film that hasn’t already been said.  Its Wikipedia page calls it a “romantic science-fiction comedy-drama”, and the fact that that’s not a mischaracterization is amazing unto itself.  Under Gondry’s direction, Charlie Kaufman’s Oscar winning script commands a tonal alchemy that allows its dealings in routine memory erasure and surreal mindscapes to blend seamlessly with its tale of love gained and lost, and gained (and lost?).  I’ll refrain from delving into the particulars and assume you’ve seen it; if you haven’t, you should go in free of expectation.  It’s undoubtedly a superlative film: Gondry’s best, Kaufman’s best, certainly Jim Carrey’s most vital contribution to motion pictures.  Kate Winslet’s Clementine is one of the best written and acted female character’s in recent memory; her mix of traits, both challenging and endearing, is a captivating amalgam for both Carrey and the audience.  And the supporting performances (Ruffalo, Dunst, Wood, Wilkinson)!  And the music!  And the English actors doing perfect American accents!  It’s all a revelation, a cinematic mic drop, period.  

  1. Y Tu Mamá También (2001) – Alfonso Cuarón 


Y Tu Mamá También is many things.  It’s a road trip film, a frank examination of teenage sexuality, a commentary on Mexican society.  It’s a film about many things: friendship, class, youth and aging, time and impermanence.  It’s long been a favorite film of mine but I’ve had a hard time pinpointing exactly what about it hits me so hard.  The plot is rather slight: best friends Julio and Tenoch (Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna), on the cusp of college years and with girlfriends absent on a trip abroad for the summer, embark on an impromptu excursion through the Mexican countryside with thirtysomething Luisa (Maribel Verdú), the ex of an older cousin.  But this simple premise showcases a heady brew of ideas and choices from director Alfonso Cuarón. The handheld camerawork, prevalent use of long takes and the lack of close-ups and traditional “two shots” creates a powerful sense that the viewer is watching real people, eavesdropping on real conversations.  On the other hand you have heavily utilized voiceover by a faceless, omniscient, off-screen narrator; obviously not a naturalistic technique, but nothing in this film is technique for technique’s sake.  What this combination does is allow the performances to focus on interactions without needing to waste time adding depth with exposition.  And beyond the principals, it goes much further by fleshing out characters on the fringe, delving obliquely into the sociopolitical undercurrents of the setting. This whole approach is supported throughout by fabulous performances; Luna, especially, shines (his range of emotion during the hotel room fight is stunning).  If this all weren’t enough, there’s a reveal of information in the film’s conclusion that completely reframes one character, but the technique is an enrichment rather than a distraction.  I suppose this is all to say that the true success of Y Tu Mamá También is its ability to marry these seemingly divergent concepts in a way that’s provocative, beautiful and entertaining instead of just busy.  Less is usually more, but if done correctly, more can also be more.

  1. Before Sunset (2004) – Richard Linklater 


Richard Linklater’s trilogy of Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight is among the grandest and most skillfully realized of cinematic endeavours.  Before Sunset is the most exciting installment of the trilogy partly because of its urgency.  It unfolds in real time: 80 minutes, no ellipses.  Before Sunrise breathed vibrant life into these intelligent and complex characters and Before Midnight provides a realistic, well-earned conclusion, but in Sunset we witness the real moment of truth: when we find out if Jesse and Celine will, finally, become Jesse & Celine.  These characters are older and in many ways wiser, and the same can be said for the actors portraying them.  While Before Sunset is the second installment in the series, it’s the first that was co-written by Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, and the ease with which words tumble and burst from their mouths make us feel like we’re witnessing an authentic and intimate conversation rather than watching a performance.  These three films taken as a whole are a grand, ambitious and sublimely successful experiment, possibly the most comprehensive study of the life cycle of love ever committed to film.  Each piece lends greater perspective to the last, but like other classic trilogies The Godfather and Star Wars, “Part 2” is the most essential.  I’ve asked myself why this has emerged as a pattern in film trilogies, and my only answer is that perhaps the freedom from resolution coupled with the benefit of backstory creates the closest approximation of real life.

  1. There Will Be Blood (2007) – Paul Thomas Anderson


My god, what can’t this film do?  Iconic performances, a story both timely and timeless, breathtaking cinematography, a brilliantly experimental score and a diamond cut script; check, check, check, check, check.  This epic yet subtle study of greed and antisocial behavior in the context of America’s westward expansion is PTA as Kubrick, but with more emotional heft.  The elegantly fluid camerawork and scarcity of dialogue, carried by a mesmerizing and unsettling score from Johnny Greenwood of Radiohead, lull the audience into a trance punctuated only by the film’s bursts of physical and emotional violence.  Daniel Day-Lewis, in an Oscar winning performance (if you thought he was good in Lincoln…), creates one of the most disgustingly fascinating characters in American film history, at once powerful and pathetic, a living, breathing embodiment of humankind’s most base impulses masquerading as progress. He is Charles Foster Kane; he is Colonel Kutz; he is Ahab.  Understanding Daniel Plainview is a way of understanding American history and the personalities that forged our present, and like much of said history, it’s not pretty.  Simply put, There Will Be Blood is the crowning achievement of America’s newest best filmmaker.

The 21 Best Films of the 21st Century (Pt. 1)

Art is not a contest, and the consumption of art is largely a subjective experience.  No list is definitive, but lists are fun to read (and to write).  The growing prevalence of “listicles” and websites like Buzzfeed are, in my opinion, a blight upon our media culture, another manifestation of our dwindling collective attention span (think: The Top 18 Celebrity Selfie Malfunctions That Will Totally Change Your World).  But ranking and categorizing our favorite films, musicians and books can also give rise to healthy debate, and that’s a good thing.  

In that spirit, Moving Pictures has compiled this rundown of the 21 Best Films of the 21st Century.  The following is Part 1 only; Part 2 will follow in the next week or so.  Please tell us what you think in the comments section, and enjoy!

  1. The Comedy (2012) – Rick Alverson


Who would have thought that a film starring the comedic duo behind Cartoon Network’s Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! could be so sad, so emotionally transgressive.  Then again, the work of Tim Heidecker (the film’s lead) and Eric Wareheim (largely relegated to the background) has always belied darker impulses.  This film isn’t much more than an episodic chronicle of the rambling excursions of a lazy, detached and often mean-spirited man-child, but its handle on the characters and willingness to go uncomfortable places allows The Comedy to act as the defining treatise on Hipsterism.  The film’s final shot suggests a fleeting glint of redemption, but one is left wondering if this character (and all he represents) is too far gone.

  1. Drive (2011) – Nicolas Winding Refn 


There was significant mainstream backlash directed at Drive upon its release when many theatergoers discovered, to their dismay, it was neither a video game adaptation nor Fast and Furious companion piece.  What they found instead was a film unexpectedly short on dialogue, with only two car chases and a style of violence more disturbing than exciting.  The misunderstanding mattered little in critical circles; Drive earned Danish auteur Nicolas Winding Refn the Best Director Award at Cannes and it maintains a subtle power to this day.  The first of the aforementioned car chases could act as a veritable master class in tension-building and deftly sets the tone for everything to come.  Drive also features a bevy of stellar performances.  Ryan Gosling reinvents the strong silent type, coloring his getaway driver with shades of chivalry and psychosis simultaneously, and Carrie Mulligan builds a beautifully rounded character almost entirely with facial expressions.  Albert Brooks is cast against type as a cold blooded crime boss, and Oscar Isaac and Bryan Cranston even make appearances in meaty supporting roles.  There’s so much to like about Refn’s film, but his patience and restraint make it shine mostly for what he chooses not to do.

  1. The Master (2012) – Paul Thomas Anderson 


There’s something about The Master that makes it more than the sum of it’s parts, impressive though those parts may be.  Shot on 70mm (basically IMAX), PTA’s very big yet very intimate film is loosely based on the genesis of the Church of Scientology (Philip Seymour Hoffman turns in his last great performance as the L. Ron Hubbard figure, Lancaster Dodd), but there’s so much more bubbling beneath the surface.  Relatively straightforward yet somehow surreal, the story utilizes a subtly disorienting structure that obscures the passage of time and blurs the lines between dreams, visions and flashbacks. Joaquin Phoenix delivers a performance for the ages as Freddie Quell, a drunken drifter who falls in with Dodd’s cultish enclave.  His twisted face, simian physicality and mumbling speech allow the actor to disappear completely into the role; an early scene depicting Freddie’s first “processing” session is among the most mesmerizing I’ve ever seen.  The Master is a puzzle of a film that refrains from revealing itself as such in any overt way.  Only with repeated viewings does one begin to grasp how far down the rabbit hole it can take you.

  1. Superbad (2007) – Greg Mottola


I watch at least part of Superbad about twice a month, and it’s quoted in my house almost daily.  The interesting thing, however, is that the most quotable lines aren’t even funny on paper: “It’s fine, I’ll be fine.”; “Hell…yea we should get some road beers.”; “That was pimp. I feel like a pimp right now.”  It’s not the writing that makes these moments so funny and so memorable (though Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg’s script is top notch), it’s the delivery.  Certainly the best high-school-comedy-unfolding-over-a-single-day since Dazed and Confused, Superbad brings on the nostalgia just as hard as the laughs.  It’s hilarious, yes, but it also has heart, and the cadence and phrasing of the characters’ banter gets at the way real people talk better than 99.9% of contemporary comedies.  It rightly sits atop the Judd Apatow cannon and created bonafide stars out of Jonah Hill, Michael Cera and Emma Stone (even “McLovin” enjoyed some solid subsequent roles), but Martha MacIsaac was also fantastic as Becca.  What ever happened to her??

  1. Requiem for a Dream (2000) – Darren Aronofsky


There are many films about substance abuse, and naturally they handle the topic with varying degrees of success.  Some are downright cartoonish in their depiction of the negative effects, others whitewash the same, focusing only on the fun, excitement and cool of it all.  The best films about this subject strike a balance, because the reality is that drugs are fun (that’s why so many people have at least dabbled), but they are also capable of shattering lives, relationships, and even whole communities.  Requiem for a Dream, the sophomore feature from director Darren Aronofsky, is a daunting viewing experience to be sure.  It’s a film that utilizes nightmarish expressionism and graphic portrayals of rock bottom, challenging the audience with the gravity of the characters’ situations.  Aronofsky’s showy and sometimes jarring direction creates the appropriate tone without detracting from the narrative, and the film’s harrowing final minutes build to a peak of such disturbing consequence that upon my first viewing I simply sat and stared at the screen in shock as the credits rolled to completion.  Why would anyone subject themselves to institutionalization, prostitution, imprisonment and horrific bodily harm for a relatively short lived high?  Requiem for a Dream answers that question with its deft setup and characterization.  It’s not just a high these people are looking for, they hope to recapture the past, to have a better life, to be loved.  Sadly, it’s one of the more aptly titled films on this list.

  1. Irreversible (2003) – Gaspar Noe 

irreversible final

Certainly the most difficult film to watch on this list (maybe ever?), Noe’s sickening backward spiral of violence and vengeance punishes its audience with an onslaught of human ugliness virtually unparalleled in my experience as a viewer.  Irreversible is really a simple story of revenge and vigilante justice told backwards.  Such narrative tinkering can easily turn to gimmickry, but in this case it allows for a slow reveal of the characters’ backstories that adds richness to the performances and emotional weight to the violence.  Vincent Cassel’s fevered performance is a stand-out, but the entire cast is operating at the top of their game.  This is a film that many will struggle to get through, but if you can stick it out to the end you’ll be rewarded with the full scope of this marvelously constructed and visceral accomplishment.  Sometimes we have to be reminded of humankind’s capacity for cruelty to truly appreciate its aspirations to love.

  1. Mulholland Dr. (2001) – David Lynch


Haunting and confounding, David Lynch’s dreamlike neo-noir/classic horror mash-up draws you in with it’s bizarre pageantry, holds your attention with its central mystery and ultimately leaves you knowing that you’ve seen something significant even as it’s full meaning proves evasive.  Mulholland Dr. explores a familiar Lynchian theme: the rot beneath the surface of the more glossy corners of our society.  Naomi Watts’ archetypal mid-western beauty, fresh off the bus with high hopes of Hollywood success, endures as her most powerful and desperate performance not only because of the depths to which her character plunges but the scope of her transformation over the film’s run-time. Theories abound on what it all means (Lynch even offers some hints on decoding the film), but it won’t immediately matter as you reach the shock-inducing crescendo.

  1. Melancholia (2011) – Lars Von Trier 


The subversive and mercurial director of Melancholia was a founding member of the Dogme 95 movement, a collaborative of filmmakers with a fully formed manifesto: handheld camerawork only, no non-diegetic sound, shoots must be on location, etc.  The goal was to create a new paradigm in film making focused on completely unadorned storytelling, no bells or whistles of any kind.  It’s an interesting history considering that Melancholia is one of the most beautifully rendered and technically savvy films in recent memory, one in which Von Trier utilizes almost all of the techniques he once rejected to mesmerizing effect. Old-moneyed sisters Claire and Justine (Von Trier regular Charlotte Gainsbourg and Kirsten Dunst in a Cannes Best Actress winning performance) share the focus, but the narrative crux is the latter’s crippling depression, an issue very near to the filmmaker’s heart, having experienced his own public battles.  Melancholia is gorgeously shot and superbly acted but its structural choices also contribute in a major way to its unique identity.  An eerie, tableau-like, Wagner scored intro provides a cryptic outline of the entire film, and the first half plays out in a single night within a single set piece.  This is a beautiful film about an ugly topic, and its raw, honest portrayal of a well off and well loved individual battling despair clearly draws on Von Trier’s personal experience.  Oh, it’s also about another planet colliding with Earth…did I mention that?

  1. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (2007) – Cristian Mungiu 

4 months

Palme d’Or winner at the 2007 Cannes film festival, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days is the poster film of the Romanian New Wave in cinema, and appropriately so.  Lean, tense and authentic in its depiction of life under Nicolae Ceaușescu’s Communist regime, it tells the story of a college student’s perilous efforts to assist her friend in obtaining an illegal abortion.  Its darkly saturated cinematography and drab Eastern Block set pieces effectively mimic the mindset of the two leads, and director Cristian Mungiu’s minimalist approach leaves the audience hanging on every moment, leveraging the viewer’s knowledge to create almost unbearable suspense.  This filmmaker is clearly familiar with Hitchcock’s famous lesson that “surprise” is when two characters are sitting at a table talking and all of a sudden a bomb explodes from under the table; “suspense” is when the audience knows the bomb is there the whole time.  The film’s jarring final shot hints strongly that Mungiu has not only been deftly puppeteering his characters, but his audience as well.

  1. Sideways (2004) – Alexander Payne


Sideways is an immensely enjoyable and endlessly re-watchable film due in large part to the breadth of its tonal range.  It’s equal parts uproarious buddy comedy/road trip film and heartbreaking study of depression and insecurity, and it’s a real feat that it works so well at both ends of this spectrum.  Paul Giamatti (in his best performance to date) plays Miles, a recently divorced middle school English teacher with a deep, aching love of wine.  His best friend and former college roommate Jack (Thomas Haden Church) is finally taking the proverbial plunge and Miles has planned a week-long itinerary of tastings, dinners and rounds of golf throughout California’s Santa Ynez Valley to celebrate his friend’s last week of freedom.  As the trip progresses (and is made more complicated by the addition of two female companions), the film explores themes of friendship, loneliness and trust.  Payne’s tasteful direction draws little attention to itself while keenly establishing a sense of space among the film’s gorgeous locations, and Rolfe Kent’s score provides a perfectly calibrated accompaniment, like a fine Pinot Noir to a funky Camembert. Sideways is more than a film about the joys and pretensions of the wine world; it’s a funny and brutally honest look at the struggle to allow others to see you as you are and, perhaps, change how you see yourself.  Aging isn’t easy, but to quote one of the film’s principal characters, when you get it right, “it tastes so fucking good.”

  1. United 93 (2006) – Paul Greengrass 


Neither sensational nor sentimental, Greengrass’s docudrama is the definitive celluloid statement on 9/11.  The action is relegated solely to the ill-fated plane itself and the military and air traffic control rooms that feverishly yet professionally labored to make sense of the horrific events as they happened. Greengrass takes an added risk in portraying the hijackers not as evil, faceless cogs, but as conflicted human beings capable of fear, panic and uncertainty. When the credits rolled I wept.  Maybe because the events were, at that point, far enough in the past for the shock to have worn off, or maybe because I was more mature than I was in 2001, but for me United 93 crystallized this national tragedy in a way that nothing else could.

The End of the Tour

First, a note from the writer:

Hello Readers!  

I hope you’ve all been enjoying your summers; mine has been quite busy to say the least.  On top of the usual summer happenings, in the last few months I started a new job and got engaged.  It’s all been wonderfully hectic and hectically wonderful, but these events coupled with the typical summer lull in quality films ended up creating an over 5 month gap in Moving Pictures publications, a pattern which I am now very happy to interrupt.  This will be a relatively short review, but it will be followed in the coming weeks by a very meaty piece that I’ve been chipping away at for some time: The 21 Best Films of the 21st Century.  

With summer drawing to a close we’re careening headlong into the beginning of awards season.  There will be lots to talk and write about in the coming months and I’m excited to share it all with Moving Pictures’ readers, and I hope very much to hear your thoughts as well.  Thank you, as always, for reading.  











My knowledge of David Foster Wallace is more so as an icon, a literary legend, than as an actual writer.  His first novel, The Broom of the System, was the inaugural selection of a short lived booked club I participated in several years ago, and I admit that I only made it about halfway through.  I didn’t dislike it, and it wasn’t impenetrable, it just didn’t pull me in hard enough to urge me towards the conclusion.  My cursory understanding of the author remains based on the facts (and lore) of his life: young, midwestern college professor publishes 1,000+ page opus Infinite Jest in the mid 90s; book has major impact on the literary world while author is thrust into the media spotlight; author has recurring struggles with depression; author commits suicide in 2008 having never published another completed novel.  This is, of course, a facile description of Wallace’s life and career and does little to get at who the man really was, which is why The End of the Tour was, for me, such a fascinating film.

Aside from the cliched flashback framing, The End of the Tour eschews most biopic tropes.  A major reason for this is the film’s source material: the non-fiction book Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip with David Foster Wallace by Rolling Stone staffer David Lipsky, the bulk of which consists of transcripts of recorded conversations between the journalist and author during the final few days of the latter’s Infinite Jest book tour.  The primary source basis and narrative framework for which it allows creates a film mostly involving one-on-one conversations, and it’s fertile ground for two very talented actors.  Jesse Eisenberg as Lipsky is fantastic as usual; though never a chameleon actor, his ability to access and exude authentic emotion helps counter the fact that his own personality, speech patterns and mannerisms come through very strongly in all of his roles.  He also happens to be perfectly cast as the ambitious journalist.  It’s Jason Segel as Wallace, however, in a mesmerizing and career upending performance, who does the real shape shifting.  The look, the physicality, the voice, and most importantly the depth of emotion, allow the actor’s persona to completely recede.  His facial expressions, the way he pauses mid sentence, corrects and censors himself, the cadence of his speech, the beat of the words, it’s all so real.  I watched some videos of Wallace to gauge Segel’s impression, but it’s not really even an impression; or rather, it’s more than an impression.  He has the glasses and the hair and the bandana (if anything I think he goes a tad overboard on the accent), but what Segel’s created is not just a likeness of Wallace, it’s an authentic voice.  The fact that much of the dialogue comes straight from recorded conversations is more than a device, it gives the actors a reason to believe what they’re saying and focus primarily on embodying the real life characters they portray.  Though some of Wallace’s loved ones and fans have protested the very concept of a feature film portrayal of the author, citing his own beliefs on celebrity and fame, I can’t help but think of the end product as a truly honest attempt to convey his personal philosophy in a uniquely unfettered way.

The End of the Tour is about many things (loneliness, fame, friendship, the creative process) but the framework is simple: a dialogue.  As tight and professional as the film looks, director James Ponsoldt’s camera draws little attention to itself; this is the right move.  Donald Margulies’s  screenplay does a canny job of blending the tones of the firsthand conversations and the ones that required recreation or invention.  But ultimately this is an actors’ film, and as a viewer it struck me early on that I was watching two of the best performances of the year.

The 10 Best Films of 2014

As catalogued in Moving Pictures’ very first article published just over a year ago, 2013 was a spectacular year in film.  2014 was no different.  In fact, there’s an encouraging emergent pattern suggesting that the Hollywood establishment is starting to catch back up, after years of wandering the cultural wastelands, with what constitutes art (and real entertainment) worthy of recognition.  After years of watching my favorite films go unnoticed I’d come to expect the narrow taste of the Academy. But this year, like last year, more than half of the films on Moving Pictures’ top ten list were also nominated for Oscars.  Are award nominations a true barometer of a film’s worth?  Of course not.  But with awards come funding, access and support for future projects.  For that reason, 2014 was an exciting year even beyond the fine cinematic specimens listed below.

This list comes a little late, I know, and there’s a slew of evidently top notch films that I unfortunately have not yet had a chance to see.  In the interest of full disclosure, I missed out on the well received Selma, American Sniper, Leviathan, Listen Up Philip, Mr. Turner and Winter Sleep.  I plan to see them all, and I encourage anyone reading this to do the same, but I can’t in good critical conscience release a 2014 year in review piece beyond Q1 of 2015. Perhaps it speaks to the embarrassment of riches heaped upon filmgoers last year that I simply didn’t have the time.  At any rate, I hope you enjoy these thoughts and please share yours in the comments section below.

10. A Most Violent Year (Dir. J.C. Chandor)

a_most_violent_yearEdging just into this year’s top ten is a film about, more than anything else, a time and place.  1981 was New York City’s most violent year on record up to that point and director J.C. Chandor infuses every frame with a dark yet penetrating quality that brings the period setting to dread-inducing life.  Oscar Isaac continues his artistic hot streak as the complex and conflicted Abel Morales, a business/family man who slowly but steadily becomes a second rate wiseguy in the face of mounting crises.  Jessica Chastain turns in an excellent (and Oscar-snubbed) performance as Abel’s wife Anna, the perennial devil on her husband’s shoulder.  It’s refreshing to see a strong female character with the agency to be a bad person, though Chandor’s nuanced characterization suggests explanations for her behavior via her own backstory. And while A Most Violent Year also happens to be beautiful to look at, its real success lies in its ability to bring together all of it’s moving parts to viscerally convey the rot of NYC in ‘81.

Read the full review HERE.

9. Two Days, One Night (Dirs. Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne)











As I write these words, Two Days, One Night is the most recent film I’ve seen (just three days ago).  This latest outing from sibling French directors and Cannes darlings the Dardenne Brothers is a tight, minimalistic meditation on human nature in the form of a modern day fable.  Anchored by compatriot Marion Cotillard’s naturalistic and desperate performance, the filmmakers utilize a spare visual and narrative style that boils Two Days, One Night (an appropriately unadorned title) down to is most rudimentary, and most meaningful, elements.  Cotillard’s Sandra is a young mother and wife already teetering on the edge of a deep depression when she learns she’s been laid off from her factory job at a solar panel plant.  Faced with the possibility of having to move her family into public housing, and more importantly, her own dark impulses, Sandra has one weekend to convince her coworkers one by one to forgo a hefty bonus in favor of keeping her on.  This singular premise provides a nimble vehicle through which to explore a wide range of human emotion and behavior.  The final product is a work of truth and authenticity that, in the end, reveals itself to be about so much more than one woman’s fight to save her job: it’s a different kind of fight entirely, and one that we’ve all faced at one point or another.

8. Foxcatcher (Dir. Bennett Miller)

FOXCATCHERFoxcatcher is a divisive film.  While many applaud its craftsmanship and powerful performances, many others have trouble with its decidedly dour tone and narrative flaws.  It’s true that the third act feels a little clumsy, reading conversely (and perplexingly) as both rushed and dragged out, but personally I land squarely in the former camp.  It helps that the filmmakers’ inspiration is such a fascinatingly bizarre (and for me, local) story of true crime.  Visually speaking, director Bennett Miller and cinematographer Greig Fraser have concocted a film that’s gorgeous in it’s drabness, yet also containing some of the most arresting shots of the year.  It’s the interplay of the film’s 3 leads, however, that really makes Foxcatcher special.  Channing Tatum and Steve Carell play beautifully against type, and Mark Ruffalo, marvelous as always, provides the film’s least showy yet most complex performance.  While not perfect, Foxcatcher is an interesting step in the right direction for all involved.

Read the full review HERE.

7. Whiplash (Dir. Damien Chazelle)

Whiplash-5547.cr2This is a film about the dark side of art, the agony that often outweighs the ecstasy.  Promising up-and-comer Miles Teller plays Andrew Neiman, a first-year student at a prestigious music conservatory with aspirations of becoming a great jazz drummer (or as he puts it, “one of the greats”).  When he’s accepted into an elite ensemble helmed by an infamous, drill instructor of a conductor (J.K. Simmons in an Oscar winning role), the young musician is pushed to the brink of both genius and insanity.  Aside from its harrowing depiction of Neiman’s punishing craft, the film also says a lot about what such a lifestyle can do to personal relationships.  Whiplash is a keenly conceived and deftly executed tale of creative obsession, a student/teacher tug-of-war that culminates in one of more epic filmic finales in recent memory.  And my god, the music!

6. Force Majeure (Dir. Ruben Östlund)

Force Majeure filmWhat a strange and beautiful and ugly film.  Strange in it’s blend of wildly divergent tones, from disaster film to family drama to dark comedy.  Beautiful in it’s construction of the bright and sleekly contoured world of it’s characters, with IKEA-like set pieces that appropriately mirror the film’s Swedish origins. And ugly in its examination of our most unflattering primal instincts. Without divulging too much, Force Majeure is the story of a family vacationing in the French Alps whose entire dynamic and stability is upended by one subtly terrifying moment.  Said moment comes early on and the rest of the film deals with the fallout, though the penultimate scene (and maybe this is just my own phobias talking here) was one of the most tense and unsettling of the year for me.  Possessing the measured pace and patience that characterizes many international imports, Force Majeure is a dazzlingly uncomfortable train wreck from which one simply can’t look away.

5. Nightcrawler (Dir. Dan Gilroy)

maxresdefaultWriter/director Dan Gilroy’s scathing yet hilarious indictment of media sensationalism run amok and the callow characters who inhabit its landscape has been accused by some of being too on-the-nose.  It’s message it glaringly clear, yes, but there’s no fault in being bold when said phenomenon is still obviously a huge real-world problem.  Beyond that, Nightcrawler is so vividly and expertly realized (whether through Jake Gyllenhaal’s mesmerizing performance or Robert Elswit’s laser cut photography) that anything less than its delightfully outlandish plot would be somehow inappropriate.  Gilroy, a first time director, clearly knows how to pull together an A Team of collaborators both in front of and behind the camera, and his dialogue, especially, uses sharp humor to deliver disturbing ideas in a way that’s challenging but not inaccessible.  This, my friends, is a filmmaker to keep an eye on.

4. Birdman: Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (Dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu)

Birdman13It’s both shocking and encouraging that a film like Birdman could win the Academy Award for Best Picture.  It’s experimental in structure, self deprecating metafiction in style, and reads mostly as a comedy tonally (usually a non-starter in terms of Oscar buzz).  Ultimately the accolades do more to elevate their bestower than the recipient, which speaks entirely for itself as a formidably made, haunting and deeply funny achievement. Birdman’s use of music, camerawork, and performances coupled with its ability to pack a wide ranging and immaculately rendered depiction of human emotion into one film made it one of the most fun and affecting viewing experiences of the year for me.

Read the full review HERE.

3. Boyhood (Dir. Richard Linklater)

25-boyhoodThe Birdman/Boyhood dichotomy created an exciting competition and conversation that came to define this year’s awards season.  Both are amazing movies, vastly different in style and substance, and representing divergent value systems around creating art.  While Birdman is a towering technical achievement heavy on style with a wink-wink type premise, Boyhood (director Richard Linklater’s grand experiment twelve years in the making) is a no filter, small-moments-focused piece that is more or less content to simply observe.  As in life, there are dramatic moments, but much of the film’s almost three hour runtime is taken up by the more mundane.  It speaks volumes to the caliber of each performance that this never gets old, and it’s that ability to create those (sorry for the cliche) slices of life, just as much as the decision to film the same actors over a twelve year period, that makes the world of Boyhood feel so lived in and alive.

Read the full review HERE.

2. The Overnighters (Dir. Jesse Moss)

the overnighters review









This dynamic, funny and heartrending documentary was my sleeper favorite of 2014.  I knew relatively little about it as I entered a free screening at the Philadelphia Film Festival, but I would imagine it was just as surprising and moving an experience to those who had followed the film’s trajectory more closely.  Most documentaries these days are “issue” films, and while there are many issues at play in The Overnighters (the environment, the economy, the justice system), it’s the characterization, the narrative drama and even the Malickesque camerawork that let this film stand up to and above some of the most expertly crafted fiction available.  The confluence of quality, substance and format is what makes The Overnighters such a lasting experience.  Pastor Jay Reinke, the film’s principal subject, is a figure of such desperation, joy and sadness that one could easily imagine finding him between the pages of a tragic novel.

Read the full review HERE.

1. Under the Skin (Dir. Jonathan Glazer)

Undertheskin-3This is a film that few people saw and probably even fewer enjoyed.  I don’t think that’s right, but it’s certainly understandable.  Under the Skin is a challenging film to be sure; scarce on dialogue, it utilizes a potentially B movie-style narrative conveyed through a schizophrenic combination of both cinema verite and painstakingly manipulated imagery.  It works, and amazingly well, for two reasons, the first being Scarlett Johansson’s transformative, otherworldly performance.  The second is director Jonathan Glazer’s level of taste and his skill and patience to follow through with such a genius concept so uncompromisingly.  This filmmaker’s dedication and command of craft, just as much as the artistic style itself, evoke the term Kubrickian perhaps more appropriately than anything else I’ve seen since the death of the genuine article.  Under the Skin took ten years to make, but it should (and hopefully will) be remembered for ten times that.

Read the full review HERE.


The Grand Budapest Hotel (Dir. Wes Anderson)

The Immigrant (Dir. James Gray)

Gone Girl (Dir. David Fincher)

Life Itself (Dir. Steve James)

Last Days in Vietnam (Dir. Rory Kennedy)

Moving Pics’ Oscar Picks

Nate D. Sanders Auctions Collection Of Academy Award Oscar Statuettes Set To Be Auctioned






When people talk about “the holidays”, to me that means Columbus Day through the Oscars.  What can I say, I’m a festive guy.  The 87th Academy Awards ceremony this Sunday will salute another stellar year in film, and below you can find Moving Pictures’ list of who could take home statues and who really deserves them.  Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!


  • American Sniper
  • Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

  • Boyhood

  • The Grand Budapest Hotel

  • The Imitation Game

  • The Theory of Everything

  • Selma

  • Whiplash

Should Win: Boyhood

Will Win: Boyhood

Thoughts: Full disclosure – I have not yet had the chance to see Selma, American Sniper or The Theory of Everything.  I just ran out of time (and money to go to the theater), but I have to say, I’d have a hard time imagining any of these films unseating Boyhood, for me.  It was an early favorite for Best Picture and despite a serious challenge from Birdman and the late steam gathering of Sniper, I think things will hold together for Richard Linklater’s 12 year project, and it could be one of the most deserving Best Picture winners in quite a while (as would several of these nominees).  Linklater has been a prolific presence for years, churning out creations ranging mostly from solid to brilliant.  As much as I still consider the Before trilogy to be his crowning achievement, Boyhood delivers an embarrassment of riches in it’s indelible performances, epic scope and understanding of the human condition.  It’ll be a real treat to see the always down-to-earth Linklater take the stage (as producer) to receive the recognition he so thoroughly deserves.


  • Wes Anderson – The Grand Budapest Hotel
  • Alejandro G. Iñárritu – Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

  • Richard Linklater – Boyhood

  • Bennett Miller – Foxcatcher

  • Morten Tyldum – The Imitation Game

Should Win: Alejandro G. Iñárritu

Will Win: Alejandro G. Iñárritu

Thoughts: In such a close race it often comes to pass that the Academy splits the Best Picture and Best Director awards, but that doesn’t mean Iñárritu didn’t earn it.  This is an especially exciting acknowledgement because it acts as an affirmation of his move in this new direction.  Iñárritu has made some really excellent films in his career, but a jarringly successful departure like Birdman makes it clear that he’s just getting started.


  • Steve Carell – Foxcatcher
  • Bradley Cooper – American Sniper

  • Benedict Cumberbatch – The Imitation Game

  • Michael Keaton – Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

  • Eddie Redmayne – The Theory of Everything

Should Win: Michael Keaton

Will Win: Eddie Redmayne

Thoughts: The last time somebody won the Best Actor Oscar without winning the SAG Best Actor (which Redmayne did) it was 2003.  While this is looking like it’ll be a generally on-the-money year as far as winners go, the Academy gets it wrong a lot.  The late(r) in life comeback narrative didn’t work for Mickey Rourke’s Oscar campaign for his marvelous performance in The Wrestler a handful of years back, and it may not work for Keaton either this time around.  At least Rourke lost to a deserving Sean Penn as Harvey Milk, rather than the technically savvy yet Oscar-baiting performance from up-and-comer Eddie Redmayne.  It’s a real shame too, because I don’t see Keaton getting another chance like this any time soon.  More so than any other category this year, this is the one where I really, really hope I’m wrong.


  • Marion Cotillard – Two Days, One Night
  • Felicity Jones – The Theory of Everything

  • Julianne Moore – Still Alice

  • Reese Witherspoon – Wild

  • Rosamund Pike – Gone Girl

Should Win: N/A

Will Win: Julianne Moore

Thoughts: I unfortunately only got the chance to see one of the performances in this category and it wasn’t Julianne Moore’s, but I can totally buy the consensus that this one is hers to lose.  Moore has been a personal favorite since her work with Paul Thomas Anderson in Boogie Nights and Magnolia and she’s been nominated for four previous Oscars.  Whether it’s her best or not, this is an award that will rightly give props to not only a performance, but an exemplary career.


  • Robert Duvall – The Judge
  • Ethan Hawke – Boyhood

  • Edward Norton – Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

  • Mark Ruffalo – Foxcatcher

  • J.K. Simmons – Whiplash

Should Win: Edward Norton

Will Win: J.K. Simmons

Thoughts: If it were up to me, I give this one to Norton over the sure-thing J.K. Simmons.  And you know what?  I’d give it to Hawke or Ruffalo over Simmons as well.  That’s not to say that Simmons isn’t great and that Whiplash isn’t an excellent film, it’s just that this category is so strong this year.  Norton, especially, delivers perhaps the best performance of his career as the cocky thespian Mike Shiner, and his introductory scene with Michael Keaton in Birdman was one of my favorites of the year.  This would be a deserving role for Norton to earn his first Oscar, but it seems, unfortunately, that he’ll have to wait another year at the very least.


  • Patricia Arquette – Boyhood
  • Laura Dern – Wild

  • Keira Knightley – The Imitation Game

  • Emma Stone – Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

  • Meryl Streep – Into the Woods

Should Win: Patricia Arquette

Will Win: Patricia Arquette

Thoughts: This is probably the least exciting category of the night for oddsmakers because it’s going to Patricia Arquette, hands down.  Her co-star and on-screen ex-husband Ethan Hawke may steal a few more scenes but Arquette anchors the film, as well as the bumpy life of it’s leading man…I mean, boy.  I’ve always liked Arquette (if you haven’t seen her work in True Romance or David Lynch’s Lost Highway, do yourself a favor and check these films out), and she comes from a hardworking show biz family that raised her on the principles of art over fame and passion over pretension.  She’s won every major award of the season for this role, but I’m sure Sunday’s finale will be especially sweet.


  • Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) – Emmanuel Lubezki
  • The Grand Budapest Hotel – Robert Yeoman

  • Ida – Lukasz Zal and Ryszard Lenczewski

  • Mr. Turner – Dick Pope

  • Unbroken – Roger Deakins

Should Win: Emmanuel Lubezki

Will Win: Emmanuel Lubezki

Thoughts: This will mean back to back wins for Lubezki and he deserves it even more this time around than he did for last year’s Gravity.  His one-continuous-shot approach is more than a gimmick to be sure, it gives the kinetically charged Birdman the perfect vehicle for it’s free flowing style, and beyond the virtuosic camera work Lubezki realizes a fully formed vision boasting impeccable lighting, a canny sense of space and some truly arresting images.  It’s a film about theater which theater itself could not possibly recreate.


  • American Sniper – Jason Hall
  • Inherent Vice – Paul Thomas Anderson

  • The Imitation Game – Graham Moore

  • The Theory of Everything – Anthony McCarten

  • Whiplash – Damien Chazelle

Should Win: Whiplash

Will Win: American Sniper

Thoughts: Whiplash is the little-film-that-could this year and beyond J.K. Simmons’ career best performance the reason for it’s success is writer/director Damien Chazelle’s taut yet colorful screenplay.  It works to the film’s benefit that it landed in the Adapted category (even though it’s an expanded version of a short film of the same name also written by Chazelle) since this allows it to be free from the competition of Wes Anderson, Linklater, and the team behind Birdman.  But I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that the Academy will give it to American Sniper.   While Clint Eastwood’s film has been gaining some late traction, I don’t think it will be enough to put it over the top in any of the other major categories, and Adapted Screenplay could be the Academy’s way of tipping it’s collective hat to Sniper.


  • Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) – Alejandro G. Iñárritu, Nicolás Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris, Jr. & Armando Bo
  • Boyhood – Richard Linklater

  • Foxcatcher – E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman

  • The Grand Budapest Hotel – Wes Anderson

  • Nightcrawler – Dan Gilroy

Should Win: Nightcrawler

Will Win: The Grand Budapest Hotel

Thoughts: Because it feels like it’s going to be a year where the Academy will spread things around, this will be the top prize for Grand Budapest.  It’s a playful yet methodically made film, truly a delight, but Nightcrawler is more impressive in terms of this particular award.  For one thing, it’s a first time effort from writer/director Dan Gilroy, and the only thing as exciting to this writer as the film itself is the thought of what else its helmer will come up with.  It doesn’t hurt when you’ve got a ridiculously good leading man (Jake Gyllenhaal, in the most egregiously snubbed performance of the last few years) and one of the business’s best DP’s (Robert Elswit) behind the camera, but Gilroy’s screenplay merges dark comedy, timely satire and straight up white knuckle action in a way that only comes along once in a blue moon.