The Best Movies of 2014

I've already ranted about the dismal slate of movies we were given last year, and how disappointing it was that so many critics were in love with them. Still, there are at least five movies from 2014 that I think you should see, and they are:

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
A powerful allegory of many of today's societal problems, "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes" might even be better than its predecessor from three years before. The visuals surely look better, and if it weren't for the breathtaking visual effects of Christopher Nolan's "Interstellar," this would certainly land a Best Visual Effects Award at the Oscars.

Leviathan
I like movies that make me think of allegories. The obvious parallel of "Leviathan" is to the story of Job in the Bible; this is where the title comes from, for ancient religious texts refer to sea creatures (or whales) as such. (Director Andrey Zvyaginstev also has described how the real-life situation of Marvin Heemeyer in the United States inspired the story.) But there's another likely inspiration: Thomas Hobbes. His famous philosophical work, calling for an absolute sovereign to rule, shares the title, and the cover features the biblical text from Job: "There is no power to be compared to him." How is that relevant? The film "Leviathan" has been described by Ethan Gates in the New Republic as the movie Hollywood loves but the Russian government hates. There are not so unobtrusive criticisms of Russian corruption, and so it's as if the film makers are saying that there is no power compared to Putin, and that's not necessarily a good thing. (This is a powerful sentiment considering how popular Putin is in Russia.) In "Leviathan," there are also moralistic Orthodox clergymen and moments of sexual violence sprinkled throughout the film. And this all, ultimately, follows the expected path -- the total opposite of American movie's usual trajectory -- that "all's well that ends unwell." This is a dark, depressing movie that, allegory or no allegory, requires a bit of patience, but it's certainly well worth it.

Pride
"Pride" is the reason movies should still exist. This is a film that with ease marries the belief that movies should be about something with the simple requirement that they should entertain. And entertain "Pride" does. I think Dominic West dancing to "Shame Shame Shame" was the best thing I saw in the movies all year. Based on the true story of a queer organization coming to help striking miners in rural Wales, this often does feel like a pretty standard message-film, but it's a lot more than that. It's funny, it's heartfelt, it's smart, it has terrific acting. It embraces cliches, but who cares? Messages about friendship and acceptance can sometimes be forgiven for this. One of the best moments in when the group, Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners, drags the leader of the local striking miners to a gay bar in London, and practically pushes him on stage to thank them for their support. While the crowd isn't exactly thrilled to see him, he eventually, like a natural, gives a genuine moment of thanks: "What I'd really like to say to you tonight is thank you. If you're one of the people that's put money in these buckets, if you've supported LGSM, then thank you, because what you've given us is much stronger than money. It's friendship. When you're in a battle against an enemy so much bigger, so much stronger than you, well, to find out you had a friend you never knew existed, well, that's the best feeling in the world. So, thank you."

The Babadook
"The Babadook" isn't necessarily scary because it features some kind of demon-ghost haunting a mother and her son; it's scary because of what it represents. Even the most amateur film historian will recognize the tribute to early cinema German expressionism, but it's deeper than that; consider what one blogger has said about expressionism, that it is "at its bare essence taking the internal and making it external. Expressionists seek to express meaning and emotional experiences -- often radically to reflect mood and tone -- rather than physical reality." Sure, the monster (or whatever the hell it is) is terrifying, as is the poem that accompanies him (where, "if it's in a rhyme or it's in a book, you can't get rid of the Babadook..."). But what's more horrifying is (slight spoiler alert) the way this movie demonstrates, primarily through Essie Davis' character, that the fall into madness is one of the true horrors of life, that real demons are what's inside us, what often can only be put at bay rather than defeated outright. Understanding this will potentially help viewers understand the ambiguous ending a bit more clearly.

(Another good movie from 2014 about mental health is "Two Days, One Night" from France.)

Life Itself
"Life Itself" was by far the best film of the year, and yet this year's Academy Awards would certainly never give you that impression. I wasn't demanding a Best Picture nomination, which it definitely deserved, but Best Documentary is obvious, and yet, now the overrated "Citizenfour" will go home with the win. Why the film was ignored is something I don't understand, though the film's summer release probably didn't help, as the Academy has a terribly short memory. As I wrote back in July, "Life Itself," the documentary tribute to Roger Ebert, is of course a story largely exploiting our love of nostalgia, for there is a lot of footage of Ebert and his partner Gene Siskel dueling over movies. But "Life Itself" is also the best romance of the year and a truly heartfelt homage to the man who most would agree was the film critic of his time.

Honorable Mentions: "Guardians of the Galaxy," "The Overnighters," "In Bloom," "Snowpiercer"

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Life Itself

I've made no secret of my admiration of Roger Ebert over the years. But allow me to keep on showing my adoration for the finest film critic we ever had: If there ever was an American treasure in film criticism, it was Ebert. The winner of the Pulitzer Prize and a recipient of a Hollywood Walk of Fame Star (the first in both categories for a film critic), and a prolific writer on a variety of subjects, he was the film critic. But I assure you--you don't have to know who Ebert was to enjoy this movie. Whether you know who he is or not, you really should see "Life Itself," the new documentary about his life and career. It's one of the year's best.

The country first came to know Roger Ebert through his incredibly influential partnership with Gene Siskel of the Chicago Tribune. They were Siskel and Ebert. But as we all know, it was a complicated relationship. An example of just how much they could truly hate each other is told by Marlene Iglitzen, wife of Gene Siskel. Siskel and Ebert were on a plane out of Chicago, and Siskel grew tired of Ebert (who is described as a raconteur by several individuals in the documentary) telling a story to another passenger. Siskel, annoyed as ever, gave a note to the flight attendant and asked if she would give it to Ebert. She did. The note said something along the lines of: "Mr. Ebert, we in the cockpit almost always agree with you over your reviewing partner. We would be delighted if you would join us in the cockpit." Ebert was ecstatic, sprang from his seat, and marched toward the cockpit (and keep in mind that because of his weight, it was rather awkward for him to move about the cabin). The flight attendants were shocked as he was about to knock on the door, before Siskel shouted up toward him and revealed himself as the true author of the note, much to Ebert's profound irritation and humiliation.

Ebert was an exceptional storyteller. If you don't believe me, listen to his story he told on Letterman's show involving Siskel and a Korean film about a lady and her dog. According to Ebert, the two of them were viewing the film with other Chicago film critics and were quite bored by it. Siskel decided to leave the cinema to make a phone call. In the time that he was gone, the movie (which featured nothing of any significance) suddenly took a bizarre turn by having the main protagonist have sex with her dog. Siskel returned, and the other critics broke out into laughter. Siskel demanded an explanation, Ebert told him, and Siskel refused to believe it. Trust me, it's much funnier listening to Ebert explain the situation.

The narrative over the years, especially after Siskel died in 1998 from brain cancer, has been that even though Siskel and Ebert seemed to frequently shout at each other, they really did like each other. But the documentary makes great use of the awesome--yet frightening--YouTube clip of repeated outtakes from their show. "Sound a little excited, Gene," Ebert lectures. "Sound less excited," is the terse response. Ebert continues to correct him--"It's called 'And the Moves,' not 'At the Movies,'" is the next interruption. Siskel keeps it together, then finishes: "That's this week on 'Siskel...and Ebert...and the Movies...and the asshole, and that's Roger!"

Don't worry: They really were a great partnership and seemed to do other outtakes simply roasting each other. "Do you know that for Gene, speech is a second language?" Ebert keeps winning, poking fun of Siskel's inability to not trip over his words. Then for another outtake, they team up, poking fun at Protestants, which, according to Ebert is a group of people who sort of want a religion. What a team. I mean, these two guys couldn't have been further apart in personality. One was tall and thin, the other was small and large. One studied Philosophy at Yale, the other journalism at Urbana. One wrote for the bourgeois Chicago Tribune, the other for the more working class Chicago Sun-Times. But they were quite the team. They came full-circle in the aftermath of Siskel's death. Consider Chris Jones' exceptional 2010 article, where Ebert describes how he and Gene were born to be Siskel and Ebert. In the following paragraph, we see just how much Ebert protected Siskel after his death:

Ebert keeps scrolling down. Below his journal he had embedded video of his first show alone, the balcony seat empty across the isle. It was a tribute, in three parts. He wants to watch them now, because he wants to remember, but at the bottom of the page are only three black squares. In the middle of the squares, white type reads: "Content deleted. This video is no longer available because it has been deleted." Ebert leans to the screen, trying to figure out what's happened. He looks across at Chaz. The top half of his face turns red, and his eyes well up again, but this time, it's not sadness surfacing. He's shaking. It's anger. 

But the heart of the movie--the team the film most wants to focus on--is Roger and Chaz. Those two additionally seemed different, the most obvious difference being their skin color. But the love they clearly had for each other, especially as Chaz cared for him during his battles and pushed him to keep going, makes this one of the great love stories of any documentary. She herself also has a talent for storytelling, but many of the stories involve pain. She tells us how at one point, the pain became so bad that he slipped her a note saying "kill me." She angrily refused--"That is not an option," she insisted. Ebert is terribly in pain throughout the filming. An obvious hole exists where his jaw used to. We see him struggle deeply as a nurse inserts a suction tube into his throat, and as a physical therapist coaches him to produce even a few steps at the hospital after he's broken his hip. Nobody deserves such suffering, especially Ebert. But he endured, as long as he could.

Ebert is described by a friend as being "nice--but not that nice." Indeed, his not-niceness shows, whether it's in heated conversations with Siskel or arrogant reminders of his Pulitzer Prize--he doesn't always come across in the best light. But as a champion of motion pictures, he was extraordinary. Errol Morris tells us of how a strike during the premiere of his documentary "Pet Cemetery" meant that it wouldn't be reviewed in New York, which essentially equated to doom for his film. But Siskel and Ebert, based in Chicago, were to review it, and they reviewed it not once but three times during the course of the show. Ava DuVernay describes her meeting with Ebert at the Oscars and his inspiring her. (He wrote about the encounter on his blog.) Ramin Bahrani explains how Ebert promised to attend a showing of his film "Man Push Cart" at the Sundance Film Festival. For the first two showings, Ebert was a no-show, but the third and final showing (at eight in the morning during the final day), Ebert was happily at the front of the line. Ebert would later give Bahraini a gift that had been given to him by Laura Dern, who was given it by Alfred Hitchcock. It was Bahraini's responsibility, Ebert told him, to give it to someone else. Martin Scorsese, who Ebert predicted in 1967 would be one of America's most important film directors, tells us how at one point in his career, his marriage had fallen apart and he became addicted to cocaine. He truly was at a low point, and begins to break down as he describes what kept him going: he was told that Siskel and Ebert were to pay tribute to him at a film event. When they gave a bad review to his "The Color of Money," Scorsese mentions that it felt more like a paternalistic warning, not a malicious bucket of venom.

Film critics are meant to be the unsung heroes of movie-watching. That is, we not only are long passed the days of Pauline Kael and Siskel and Ebert but we are also passed the point where people take film critics' opinions seriously. But if Ebert could have had some kind of totally objective viewing of such a documentary, I believe he would adore this movie. He would certainly be proud of director Steve James, one of Ebert's favorite directors. Ebert famously said that no good movie is too long but no bad movie is short enough. I've never found that particularly accurate, but it surely is here. I didn't want the film to end. But all good things must end; such is life itself.

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