Marcelo's Top Ten Movies of 2019
It was an exceptional year for cinema. Or, at least, my definition of "cinema."
Not to get bogged down in the film discussion of 2019—that whole kerfuffle concerning Martin Scorsese, theme park rides, and big budget comic book movies—but it's interesting that this conversation happened in a year in which the industry kept rapidly changing, for better and worse.
A growing number of high profile prestige pictures were released via streaming services this year, with theatrical counts and release windows continuing to dwindle. Using two movie theater subscription services, I was determined to watch as many films on the big screen as possible in 2019, and I think I did a commendable job. I mean, driving three hours to Dallas just to see Steven Soderbergh’s The Laundromat in a theater should tell you how dedicated, or just how stupid, I was.
By the end of the year, the idea of going out to watch a movie became important to me. A movie speaks for itself, no matter the format and presentation, but the ritual of sitting down to watch a movie on a huge screen, with a group of strangers, became just a little more special, a little more precious, because it felt like the tide was turning. A legitimate fear ran through my mind: Just how much longer will the theatrical experience last? But maybe I’m just being overly paranoid… Who knows, but I’ll cherish it while it lasts.
Save for two, each movie I mention in this article I watched in a theater and I’m grateful I had the opportunity to do so.
As is tradition, I’ll go through some honorable mentions before diving into my top 10 of the year...
6 Underground / A Hidden Life
Two masters of their craft each made films in 2019 that were distinctly them. Terrance Malick’s A Hidden Life’s more traditional story elevates it above some of the reclusive director’s more detached, yet still breathtaking, work of the last decade. While 6 Underground, thanks to Netflix’s unlimited budget, had some of the best action Michael Bay has ever constructed. The ‘Bayhem’ and Malick’s weightless camera traveling through wheat fields are both alive and well, and we’re blessed for it.
The Death of Dick Long / Doctor Sleep / Dark Waters
Horror comes in many forms. Doctor Sleep is more direct, making memories the (literal) ghosts that keep us up at night. The Death of Dick Long rides a fine line between comedy and thriller before the Earth-shattering, very real and very horrifying ending. But the most chilling film of 2019, for me at least, was Dark Waters. On the surface, Todd Haynes’ based-on-a-true-story drama is a standard legal thriller, but in adding in corporate paranoia and body horror, Dark Waters stuck my mind, and has forever changed the way I look at Teflon pans.
Pain & Glory / Marriage Story / Deadwood: The Movie
Bittersweet. It’s a hard feeling to perfectly portray in film. Pedro Almodóvar is a master at it; Pain and Glory is one of the most beautifully tragic in his career. Antonio Banderas’ journey in recounting past love, mixed with the hurtful real of the present is unforgettable. Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story uses comedy and a small tinge of hope so as not to drown its audience in the disillusion of a marriage, and to a greater point, love. Deadwood: The Movie proved to be the most effective. The mere fact we were back in the world of Deadwood was exciting enough, but the movie never let us forget that the return we always wanted turned out to be an ending. It was a beautiful thing to behold, and beyond sad we won’t be there again. Bittersweet.
Knives Out / Us
In a time in which we’re witnessing the further destruction of the ideals long held so dear, it’s lucky we have storytellers well-equipped to remind everyone the system has always been messed up—what, you’re just noticing that? Knives Out is made in the mold of a classic whodunits; what makes Rian Johnson’s ensemble film so special is how present it feels. White entitlement, racism, classism, it’s the same as it ever ways—Twitter just makes it feel a whole lot worse. Johnson touches on those socio-political themes to motivate each player in his story. Jordan Peele’s Us is a more layered deconstruction of the American way of life than his first film, Get Out. It’s also a plea, and a shout from the dark, against the systemic issues we all bury deep. Both films are of a time, yet have eternal concepts that, unfortunately, won’t be seen as dated anytime soon.
Booksmart / The Nightingale / A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood / The Farewell / Honey Boy
2019 was a stellar year for female filmmakers. The argument that “the best work gets recognized regardless of who directs it'' is just an excuse for male privilege to continue to run rampant. Olivia Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, is a brilliant coming-of-age film. The Nightingale is an important, appropriately horrific look at violence, race, and misogyny. Marielle Heller’s direction in A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood immaculately recreates the world of Mr. Rogers, while also providing a human perspective on the man and the myth around him. Lulu Wang’s The Farewell beautifully embodies being an immigrant and embracing your cultural roots. Honey Boy features incredible performances, with a script by Shia LaBeouf that could’ve only been tenderly directed by Alma Har'el. To not recognize any one of these films, for everything from writing, directing, and acting, means there’s still a long way to go before the powers that be realize women can make exceptional films too.
And now for my top ten, presented as double features…
Uncut Gems / Her Smell
For me, two performances stood head and shoulders above any other in 2019: Adam Sandler in Uncut Gems and Elisabeth Moss in Her Smell. Each character, in their respective film, is driven by their destructive behavior. Sandler’s Howard Ratner digs himself deeper and deeper into the red with his compulsive gambling habit, endangering his life and even the lives of those around him. Moss’ Becky Something is a rocker whose alcoholism and manic behavior leads to animosity between her, her bandmates and her family. Both films feel aesthetically appropriate to their respective stories and characters; Her Smell director Alex Ross Perry mirrors Becky’s spiraling descent, continually spinning the camera around her to dizzying effect.
The Safdie brothers’ Uncut Gems has the aura of a horror movie, straight down to the John Carpenter-esque opening title font, punishing both Howard and its audience. The anxiety is inescapable in each film—try watching both back-to-back, but don’t blame me for that permanent knot in your stomach you’ll get—but they’re distinct experiences, especially in their final acts. Both endings feel earned due in large part to Sandler and Moss’ Earth-shattering performances.
Little Women / Midsommar
Memory: It’s a powerful thing. Ari Aster’s Midsommar uses memory and trauma as the backbone for its lead’s journey—Dani (Florence Pugh) struggles to keep from falling into absolute despair while on a trip to a commune in Sweden; the images of her recently-deceased family are forever scarred in her mind. Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s classic novel, Little Women, utilizes memory as a slow burn revelation, jumping back and forth between time, contrasting the joys of youth with the sorrow of adulthood. Besides the obvious connection of having tremendous performances by Florence Pugh in each film—these two and Fighting with My Family made Pugh the performer of the year in my eyes—Midsommar and Little Women use the pain of memories to push their respective narratives to their very different endings.
Jo March (Saoirse Ronan) comes to grips with tragedy by turning to what she loves the most: writing. Little Women is an ode to women, and an ode to the artist and their preservation of themselves in their art. Midsommar, on the other hand, is more insidious in its use of memory. The cult Dani finds herself in takes advantage of her trauma and pain, all linked to the corrosive memory of her family’s death, and they manipulate her into taking part of their ritual ceremonies. Dani trading one emotionally abusive relationship for another—her awful boyfriend becoming another victim. Each film just shows how powerful, whether dangerous or life-affirming, memories are.
High Flying Bird / Parasite
“They invented a game, on top of a game,” Bill Duke’s seasoned youth basketball coach laments in Steven Soderbergh’s High Flying Bird. The film revolves around basketball, taking place right in the center of an NBA players’ strike, but it manages to say a lot about the systemic problem of those with the power. Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite also deals with the haves and have-nots, but just more directly. It’s no surprise that the only way to turn the tables on the rich and powerful in a post-capitalist world is to con them. Sports agent Ray Burke (André Holland), repping a rookie player, is up against the ropes with the money drying up at his firm. In order to end the strike and get over on the massive NBA system, one that squeezes players for all their worth, Ray makes moves, playing a long con that ultimately shakes the core of a system run by the elite. It’s an important story, considering it comes from Moonlight co-writer Tarell Alvin McCraney and renegade director Steven Soderbergh.
No matter the scenario or culture, the system is always rigged against the little guy, it’s a universal concept Parasite director Bong understands well. Though a thriller at heart—the blood does flow—it’s a smart deconstruction of the class system, filled with sensational twists. The work put in, from the script and the performances, right down to the fantastic production design, all feels like it’s working to accomplish its main theme. In both films, con games have our heroes come close to that final goal of theirs, but in all honesty, it’ll take a whole lot more to bring the entire system down.
Hustlers / The Irishman
There would be no Hustlers without Martin Scorsese, but not in the way you think. Scorsese passed on the script written by Lorene Scafaria—a director in her own right, Scafaria went ahead and directed the script herself. Perhaps Scorese passed on the project because he saw too much of Goodfellas and his style of gangster film in the based-on-true-events story about strippers who take it upon themselves to rob some Wall Street cash cows. Scafaria doesn’t shy away from the Scorsese vibe—it’s honestly hard to escape it with any modern crime film. What she does is embrace it, while still maintaining the welcome touch of a feminine eye. It’s a thrilling film, giving the power to the women at the center, exemplified by Jennifer Lopez’s performance and her stage presence while pole dancing to Fiona Apple’s “Criminal”. Hustlers also unravels the messy and beautiful relationship between women and mothers. It’s a film only someone like Scafaria could direct.
Maybe the most obvious reason Scorsese passed on Hustlers was because he was devoting his time to make a passion project of his own, an epic film that feels like a culmination of not only his career, but the film’s stars, too. Netflix gave Scorsese the money he needed to make The Irishman, the three and a half hour tale of the hitman (Robert De Niro) who befriended both a mob boss (Joe Pesci) and Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino). As a filmmaker with more years behind him than ahead of him, The Irishman feels like the work of man with something still left to say, something more profound and introspective than the work of his youth. Like Hustlers, The Irishman deals with friendship, specifically the friendship between men—the quiet understanding mixed with the suppression of emotions with every heavy decision. Both films dive deep, and they’re both, respectively, more than just another crime film.
One Cut of the Dead / Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Movies. Gotta love ‘em, right? Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is, yes, a love letter to Hollywood, but it’s also his most sincere film—or at least most sincere since Jackie Brown. A plotless, seemingly carefree cruise through the turbulent time of 1969 in Los Angeles. Having Sharon Tate’s final months of her life being the overall framework of the film, when first announced, felt ill-advised. Tarantino isn’t known for handling things with deft hands, but his interpretation of Tate, portrayed perfectly by Margot Robbie, as a glowing ray of positivity and light captures the joy of movies. Her odyssey in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is the most grounded, with Leonardo DiCaprio’s Rick Dalton giving the performance of his life (while hungover), and Brad Pitt’s Cliff Booth inadvertently stumbling into Charles Manson’s cult’s headquarters. Tate goes to a theater and watches a movie, her movie, The Wrecking Crew, and we see Robbie as Tate revelling in the movie and the audience’s reactions.
It’s a singular image, watching a movie with a big smile on your face. That’s the feeling I had while watching One Cut of the Dead, the Japanese horror comedy known for the ‘gimmick’ of being a single-take zombie film. To give away too much of the plot would be a disservice because the ultimate surprise of One Cut is how the film pulls back and becomes a movie about the love of making movies, and all the good and bad that comes with it. Like Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, One Cut of the Dead pulls back the curtain of the silver screen. Sometimes we do need a reminder of why we love going to the movies, and this year we had plenty.
”That’s all I’ve got. It’s over.”
