Directors of the Decade: You Decide

Robert here. Moving forward, my Directors of the Decade series is going to get a little bit of a makeover. I'll still be featuring the best, most original, most significant directors working, but not limited to 2000-2009. I'll look back at their influences (and yes even movies made prior to the decade) but mostly I'll look forward toward the impact these great directors will continue to have on modern cinema.

Since we're putting Directors of the Decade to bed, I thought I'd ask you to share your top directors of this past decade (and the masterpieces they've made). Who do you love?  Who has made a difference to you?

Directors of the Decade: Joel and Ethan Coen

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. This week’s directors have achieved new heights critically and commercially in the past ten years. They may be (collectively) the greatest director(s) of the decade. I speak of: Joel and Ethan. The Coen Brothers.

Number of Films: Seven
Modern Masterpieces: Two. No Country for Old Men and A Serious Man.
Total Disasters: The Ladykillers has maybe a few good things going for it.
Better than you remember: Burn After Reading was very much a love-it-or-hate-it film. If you hated it, it’s far better than you remember.
Awards: Director and Picture Oscars for No Country for Old Men
Box Office: That film is also their best performer w/ over 75 mil.
Critical Consensus: ...and received their most consistent raves.
Favorite Actor: If you said George Clooney, you’d be right! Also Stephen Root and Richard Jenkins. Three films each.

Let’s talk about:
Meaninglessness. It’s the major thematic thread through the Coen Brothers’ filmography, and best describes their view on life; a sequence of meaningless events full of sound and fury signifying nothing. But there’s a stylistic thread in the brothers’ films as well. It’s their favorite way to tell their tales of meaningless... By mixing and mis-matching various genres. The Coen brother’s films can reasonably be separated into two kinds. Those that are heavier on the genre fun (like The Big Lebowski where although it’s clear that The Dude’s misadventures add up to nothing the enjoyment comes from watching the stoner comedy meet Raymond Chandler). Or those that are heavier on the meaningless motif (like Fargo where the combined comedy and crime genre’s are essential, but the heart of the film lies within Marge’s “and what for?” monologue.)

Ethan, Joel, Roger

The Coen Brothers started off the decade with three films heavy on genre play and ended by digging deeper into the futility of their universe than ever before. O Brother Where Art Thou? is titled after a fictional film from Preston Sturges’ Sullivan’s Travels. And the film is their definitive love-letter to the 1930’s comedies that have inspired them from Raising Arizona onward. Sprinke in a little religious allegory and a lot of Greek myth (not to forget the contributions of T. Bone Burnett, one of their finest collaborators) and you’ve got classic Coen genre goofiness. Of course even after our fugitive protagonists save the day and get pardoned, they still find themselves senselessly at the whim of the film’s villain, followed by a Deus ex Machina ending that, from any other director, would be frustratingly unnatural. But not in the world of the Coens. After this came The Man Who Wasn’t There, the brothers’ definitive love-letter to film noir. Just as its predecessor the delights of the film come from watching noir elements congeal with staples of old time sci-fi and allusions to Nabakov’s Lolita (with a lot of aesthetic help from Roger Deankins, another invaluable contributor). And just as before not much that happens has any real meaning. It’s life. Man against a world out to punish him via ambivalence.

The Coen Brothers’ winning streak would tank a bit with their next film, Intolerable Cruelty. As long as they were making genre-based love letters, they might have as well thrown in screwball comedy. But they barely loaded the genre blender and as a result the film seems too safe (though it’s saved by Clooney’s inspired performance and an aside with a character named Wheezy Joe). Forget homage, The Ladykillers, their next film was an all-out remake, and like most remakes, came off as rather unnecessary. But the prospect of character after character getting bumped off in meaningless ways must have appealed to the Coens. And once again the film’s most worthwhile asset is its leading performance (nice to see Tom Hanks chew up the scenery comedically again).

Then, a high-water mark. Somehow The Academy Awards went for No Country for Old Men, the Coen Brother’s most nihilistic picture of the decade and a good example of the second kind of Coen film (light on genre, heavy on theme). As with Fargo the Coen Brothers create a crime film where each new futile development adds up to little more than additional death, while using the film’s protagonist to view the lunacy and ponder what it all means. As with Fargo, the true protagonist doesn’t show up for 30 minutes and is left with no real answer. Though Sheriff Ed Tom learns what Sheriff Marge may already know: the world is no place for reasonable people. But “after a while you just have to try to get a tourniquet on it.” And that’s it. As for the exciting plot, the chases, the shootouts, the intrigue… there could never be a satisfying ending to it. And plenty of viewers were upset. Feel that ambivalent universe yet?

MacGuffin

In Burn After Reading, the Coen’s again use a character who wonders out loud about it all. “What did we learn?” asks the CIA man. But “I don’t know” is really the only possible response. This isn’t a deep thematic contemplation. This is another fun-with-genre outing. What genre you ask? Only the most vogue of the decade, the (god I hate this term) hyperlink film, where the lives of random strangers intertwine to create some kind of poignant statement on the world. But the Coens mock it. They know that these films are so overly dependent on ridiculous coincidence and stupid characters that what was supposed to be meaningful can only be meaningless… perfect for the Brothers’ Coen.

Finally the Coens returned to thematic territory. Not that they don’t have fun combining the Book of Job with comedy elements. But essentially they’re again asking more questions about the meaning of meaninglessness, of the ambivalence of the world. Larry Gopnik has to know if the universe is out to get him, yes or no. But the answer is either unknowable like the Goy’s teeth, or no good can come from finding out, like the tale of the dybbuk. Better to let the answer be yes and no (like Schrodinger’s cat). Don’t look in the box. Embrace the mystery. Enjoy the parking lot (as Jerry Lundegaard never got to).

And the Coens continue to explore the universe, utilizing more techniques and exploring even far more territory than I’ve been able to describe here. Their films are filled with layers, yet crammed with delights. Over the past decade, no directors have managed to combine the cerebral and the comical with such success. And in the last ten years their status has grown from quirky and clever cult directors to two of the best minds working in American cinema.

Directors of the Decade: David Gordon Green

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. Our next subject is a director who made his debut this decade and was immediately compared to Terrence Malick. Some have suggested that he’s faltered recently and maybe they’re right but his early films are such a high point in modern indie cinema he more than qualifies as one of the best directors of this decade. I’m talking about: David Gordon Green.

Number of Films: Five
Modern Masterpieces: George Washington.
Total Disasters: None, though a few mixed efforts.
Better than you remember: Undertow, while flawed is still a worthwhile endeavor, better than the reaction it's been given.
Awards: Some Spirit Award noms, but not much else. Not enough.
Box Office: 89 mil for Pineapple Express, the expected winner.
Critical Consensus: George Washington was his best received film. All downhill from there.
Favorite Actor: Paul Schnieder and Danny McBride show up in two films a-piece.

Let’s talk about:
Growing up. And how do characters in David Gordon Green films grow up? They come to terms with the tragedies of their lives. Yes, it sounds depressing and David Gordon Green films live and die on whether they’re stylistically able to overcome that depression. George Washington is by far his most successful, and Green can credit both his cinematographer Tim Orr (for help with the Malick references), and a young cast that present the trials of youth with honestly and not condescension. Take this exchange between a young couple breaking up. Neither are old enough to understand the intricacies of relationships but they talk as if they do (as they’ve seen adults). She desires someone more mature. He asks to kiss her one more time. Of course, breaking up is a very minor tragedy in life (except when it's on the level of Green's second film). George Washington presents a much larger catastrophe to its young characters. And it’s how the film examines the urgency of this trauma juxtaposed against the meandering passage of childhood in a poor town where the film find's childhood's end.

In Green’s next film, All the Real Girls, the characters are considerably older, though still in need of maturing. Set in another small town again, that’ll have you screaming at the characters to “get out!” Paul Schnieder plays the town cad who genuinely falls for his best friend’s younger, innocent sister. These characters don’t possess enough self-awareness and understanding of their own emotions to make it work. And there's the tragedy. But Green never judges them. Instead he uses the backdrop of the run-down industrial town to frame their lack of direction, both internally and externally. The only way they can grow is when they’re forced to. Like it's predecessor, the film survives on its fantastic acting (that truly comprehends young love) and lyrical cinematography.

David Gordon Green

David Gordon Green’s next two films, while still good, endure considerably more difficulty in overcoming the weight of their tragedies. But these tragedies still fulfill their objective and force those around them into adulthood. Undertow takes a more suspenseful route, often echoing Night of the Hunter. Troubled teen Jamie Bell must straighten up enough to protect his younger brother and outrun evil uncle Josh Lucas as he hunts down a stash of gold. Critical reaction was mixed, and the theme of growth via tragedy while obviously present isn’t particularly deep. Still an ending more ambiguous than it first seems makes it an interesting entry in the Green canon. Snow Angels on the other hand, is David Gordon Green’s least successful film. Here the rub lies in the tragedy itself which feels like a plot point more than anything truly tangible and leaves the viewer cold.. But dependable David Gordon Green gets some fantastic performances out of his actors (Kate Beckinsale, Sam Rockwell, Michael Angarano and Olivia Thirlby) the latter two again capturing the experience of young love not often seen.

People were a bit startled when it was announced that Green would be partnering with Judd Apatow in 2008 for Pineapple Express. But knowing that both men were fascinated with the theme of individuals entering adulthood it was a natural fit. The film was sold mostly as an Apatow comedy with little attention payed to the talent or accomplishments of its actual director. But to know Green’s history is to know that this stoner comedy fits in perfectly with his oeuvre, as does the violence that surprised so many in the film (after all, what else would spur these men-children into adulthood?).

The country's current generation of 20-somethings are no strangers to the concept of adulthood spurred by tragedy. It's been a running theme of reality this past decade. So much that one would have to conclude that David Gordon Green is certainly a keen observer of the times. Another thing he keenly understands is that while independent dramas are great, they don't bring in the cash. Green's next project... another comedy.

Directors of the Decade: Gus Van Sant

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. Most of the directors I’ve written about have been either newcomers or have taken their earlier success and continued it into the aughts. Not many have reinvented themselves for this decade. But today’s man did: Gus Van Sant

Number of Films: Six
Modern Masterpieces: Oh who’s to say. I don’t expect this to be echoed but I’m going with Gerry.
Total Disasters: No. Psycho was last decade.
Better than you remember: All three entries in the death trilogy have gotten somewhat of a bad rep.
Awards: Nominated for Best Director for Milk and the Palme D’or for Elephant
Box Office: With over 51 mil, Finding Forrester understandably tops the more experimental fare.
Critical Consensus: With a Rotten Tomatoes score over 90%, Milk understandably tops the more experimental fare.
Favorite Actor: Matt Damon in two movies (even though one was a cameo)

Let’s talk about:
Death. Not that anyone wants to talk about death. But Gus Van Sant directed the “death trilogy” this decade so we don’t have much of a choice. But first we should dispense of Finding Forrester. Forrester is a fine movie but as a part of Van Sant's filmography it's mostly a leftover from the late 90's. Mostly it suggested that Van Sant was headed toward prestige picture hell, destined for a career in predictable Oscar-bait despite his early art house hits. Luckily for all of us, Van Sant quickly decided it was time to turn a corner. Van Sant’s desired a return to the simplicity of film making (both financially and narratively). Naturally, it lead him to minimalism.

When taken separately, the films that make up the "death trilogy", Gerry, Elephant and Last Days are unique, ponderous and fascinating movies. When taken together as a trilogy, you’ll find even more layers. Remember those basic conflicts you learned in school? Man vs. nature, man vs. man, man vs. himself? Well Van Sant presents us with minimalist, unbiased death in three ways: lost in the desert, at the hands of murderers and suicide. Nature, man, himself; Gerry, Elephant, Last Days. And what does it mean? It all fits in perfectly with Van Sant’s career-long exploration of youths out of place in the world. We watch them wander and die… too young. But if they’d lived full lives would they have ever done more than wander and die?

Gus Van Sant

However, the trilogy isn’t just a thematic statement. Van Sant is making a cinematic statement about amount of context needed to frame these characters and their lives (and deaths). There’s little in the form of written scripts here. Yet where there’s no text there’s usually plenty of subtext. Van Sant is demonstrating that the camera, lighting and aesthetics can tell us all we need to know about the characters’ lives in order to contextualize their deaths. And he credits the work of John Cassavetes and Bela Tarr with bringing him to this new understanding.

Now we’re up to Paranoid Park, a film that shares much in common with the preceding three but also has a more direct narrative. It continues Van Sant’s interest in the young and death plays a big role indeed, but there may be something else going on. Some have suggested that the film is a metaphor for a young man’s first gay experience (an interpretation that Van Sant has not rejected). But more so it seems to encompass the entirety of the confusion, ambivalence and guilt that comes with being a teenager.

And after all that we come to T.S. Eliot. "the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” Gus Van Sant returned to prestige pictures with Milk and his time spent wandering in the desert, studying at school and channeling his inner conflict allowed him to create one of the most thoughtful, honest biopics of the current biopic craze. And chances are Van Sant’s films will continue to benefit from the experiences he gained by returning to indie-dom in the aughts. His next (as yet untitled) film is described on IMDb with one sentence “A tale of a two young people who share a preoccupation with mortality.” Fantastic, where do I buy my ticket?
*

Directors of the Decade: Andrew Stanton

Robert here, still going through the directors who shaped the past decade.  I admit I wondered if it was too much dedicate multiple spots on this list to the Pixar guys.  But more than any other films this decade, the Pixar ones managed to find the perfect combination of art and entertainment, of sincerity and profit.  Oh others have come close (The Lord of the Rings and some of the comic book films) but nothing like Pixar.  A big ago we discussed the intricacies of Brad Bird (Mr. Complexity).  Today we’ll talk about the other Pixar guy on my list, birthday boy Andrew Stanton

Number of Films: Two.
Modern Masterpieces: Two.  Yes both.
Total Disasters: Not possible
Better than you remember: If you think either of these could be better, you should probably just stop reading now..
Awards: Best Animated film Oscar for Finding Nemo and WALL-E.  As many Best Picture nominations as Brad Bird.
Box Office: Finding Nemo takes in over 330 mil, WALL-E gets over 220 mil.
Critical Consensus: Raved and raved.
Favorite Actor: Jon Ratzenberger as expected.

Let’s talk about:
Simplicity.  But please don’t take that to be a pejorative term.  Just as Bird’s films are essentially complex, Stanton’s films are the perfect possible versions of their simple selves.  Finding Nemo, his first film of the decade, I've always seen as something akin to The Bicycle Thief with fish.  Even if it's not an exact twin of the DeSica film in form, there's a lot in common in spirit.  Both films are simple quests and both explore the unbreakable father/son bond even as the son comes to learn that his father can't protect him in all situations (though in Finding Nemo the quest is for the son, not with the son).  Finding Nemo marks a small turning point for Pixar.  Before this the studio was responsible for the dependably good Toy Story films, the somewhat minor A Bugs Life and the high-concept but decidedly kiddy Monsters Inc.  Finding Nemo was really their first fully realized film.  I recall my film professor at the time touting it as the best film of the year and finding it strange that he'd give that distinction to an animated film (I hadn't seen it yet).  So there's no great complexity to Finding Nemo, but there is a severe emotional pull perhaps made more devastating thanks to the film's simplicity.  There is little question in any of these films of a happy ending, but Finding Nemo and WALL-E come closest to inflicting us (or at least this writer) with the anxiety felt by the characters that there may not be.

Stanton, happy and talented

Speaking of WALL-E, Stanton's second film of the decade is quite simply the best Pixar has offered.  WALL-E is a fantastic character and Stanton's ability to make him lovable while combating the restraints of his silence and his being a robot (robot = cold, shouldn't it?) is as good an argument for his ability to garner an emotional reaction through the strategic use of simplicity as any for his talent for the understated.  As the film moves from earth to space, the narrative gets more madcap.  But don't confuse this for complexity.  It's still a very simple quest film where characters don't need inner conflict or to question their motives.

Two other things that set Stanton apart from other Pixar directors.  He is most likely to infuse his films with direct cinematic references.  Yes I know the Pixar films are always cross-referencing each other and other films.  But Stanton's stand out, whether it's the "mine" seagulls designed as an homage to Aardman Studios, the name of Bruce the Shark, an homage to Monty Python, the HAL-infused villian of WALL-E or the Chaplin heavy mannerisms of the title robot in that same movie, there are direct, design-influenced references that signify Stanton as a student and lover of great cinema aesthetic.  Stanton's second unique quality is how he can manipulate his films' action to incorporate fantastic sequences that would otherwise be seen as distractions or diversions.  I'm thinking here of the space dancing in WALL-E or the sea turtle ride from Finding Nemo.  Sequences that could easily stall the plot and come across as unneccesary become essential and again exemplify Stanton's wonderful aesthetics

Andrew Stanton, Mr. Simplicity.  Second from Left.

There is another reason to highlight Bird and Stanton as great directors of this decade, particularly of animated film.  Both are branching out into the world of live-action, and may not return to animation for quite some time.  Stanton's next project is John Carter of Mars and (like Bird's) isn't slated for release for several years.   Pixar will undoubtedly prevail and Stanton and Bird's upcoming films should be on the radar of any serious film fan.  And, of course, the two men continue to have a home at Pixar and will most likely return.  Still they combined this decade to make an upstart, promising studio into the strongest force for consistent quality in moviedom today.

Directors of the Decade: Lars von Trier

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. I know I promised another Pixar guy last week and we’ll get to him soon. But since everyone just finished celebrating the ultimate American holiday, I thought I’d appropriately take a look at one of the country’s greatest cinematic cheerleaders. A man who has never been to America but makes so many films about it, it's obvious he really loves the place. Lars von Trier

Number of Films: Six (or Five and a half, considering a co-director credit)
Modern Masterpieces: Probably none. I feel like I’ve been overly generous with this term since I denied it to Scorsese back in entry #1. Still the film that comes closest is Dogville
Total Disasters: No total disasters but several partial ones.
Better than you remember: None. Actually all of Von Trier’s films this decade have been pretty accurately received.
Awards: Had four films shown at Cannes and won the Palme d’Or for Dancer in the Dark. And did you know Lars is an Oscar (and Golden Globe) nominee? That would be for co-writing Dancer in the Dark’s Best Original Song entry “I Have Seen it All”
Box Office: Dogville’s gross topped a million. Thank Nicole Kidman for her status.
Critical Consensus: Highest rated is The Five Obstructions. Highest rated non-documentary would be The Boss of it All (more on why this is weird later).
Favorite Actor: Udo Kier of course… you knew that.

Let’s talk about:
Mischief. Sure that seems like a bit of an understatement considering the fury and misery that Von Trier’s latest film is inspiring. But “mischief” I think is the perfect term. Von Trier considers himself a provocateur, an artist whose inspiration comes not from real life, love, poetry or truth but his desire to get under people’s skin. I don’t think Von Trier considers himself much more than a rascal. Take The Five Obstructions. One of his most telling films, simply because we get to see him on camera talking, explaining his thought process and motives. Each time director Jorgen Leth successfully meets Von Trier’s challenges, Lars reformulates his plan while openly admitting his goal of making Leth experience a real psychological disturbance, all the while laughing and smiling. Lars von Trier doesn’t really take himself too seriously but he makes films that are serious, brutal and intentionally offensive. As art, sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Dancer in the Dark, his first film of the decade (not counting The Idiots which was finished and released in Europe in 99 but America in 00) is a good example of Lars’s inconsistency. In fact his entire “Sacred Heart Trilogy” demonstrates how Lars is a great technician, able to work well with actors (here Björk is fantastic) and evoke genuine emotional involvement from his audience. But the path he takes to provoke the audience isn’t always as successful. Lars’s “sacred heart” females must be so insistently innocent (almost unrealistically unwilling to defend themselves against adversity) to prove his point about society’s evils that this point gets lost in the mix. When his protagonists display less manufactured naïveté, such as Nicole Kidman’s Grace in Dogville, his movies fare much better. Kidman’s performance and a plot that turns up the shock and awe naturally combine to make Dogville Lars’s most successful film of this decade. Oh sure, critical reaction was mixed, but for Lars von Trier, critical acclaim will never equal great success, since critical acclaim requires making a lot of people happy.

Welcome to Dogville

This is why The Boss of it All, Lars’s most critically acclaimed film may, in fact, be his greatest failure. After the disastrous Manderlay, in which Lars hits us with so many racial offenses (including lazy and ignorant slaves, preachy white guilt, an interracial sex scene featuring a submissive white woman and aggressive black man, and yes, even blackface) and is so blatant in its attempt to offend that it can’t possibly succeed, it wouldn’t surprise me if Lars was absolutely spent. So with The Boss of it All he tried a different, non-thematic provocation. Automavision allowed a computer to decide what pans tilts and movements the camera would make. So was Lars suggesting that the director or the cinematographer was no longer necessary, that a computer could do just as good a job? No one seemed to care. The resulting film was a successful comedy and the process offended no one. Great reviews. Lars could not have been happy.

For the past half-year, Lars has been getting his revenge, torturing critics and audiences with Antichrist. It’s another well constructed, well acted film with content so determined to provoke it’s success can only be partial. But provoke it has, and stir discussion it has. Lars may not have a great piece of art on his hands but he’s certainly cemented his status as one of cinema’s greatest provocateurs. And that is noteworthy. In an age of torture-porn teen flicks, realty TV trash, instant internet hardcore, and non-stop phony political outrage it’s not easy to genuinely provoke people anymore. Von Trier isn’t always successful and his lack of consistency may preclude him from being among the greatest directors of the decade. But he’s successful enough to be one of the most important and interesting directors of the decade. He’s in tune with the zeitgeist… just enough to know how to poke it in the eye, with a wink and a smile.

Directors of the Decade: Brad Bird

Robert here. My initial thought for my series on the directors who shaped the past decade was to combine the Pixar guys into one big entry. Five minutes later I was filled with great shame. How dare I think that just because these men make animated films, they don’t deserve their own entries. It was ghettoization all over again! Sure, Pixar films all tend to have similar themes but that doesn’t mean that the great Pixar directors are interchangeable. Over the next few weeks we’ll take a look at them and see what makes them the same and different. First up: Brad Bird.

Number of Films: Two.
Modern Masterpieces: One. With my apologies to The Incredibles, which is an incredible film, the masterpiece is Ratatouille.
Total Disasters: Not even close.
Better than you remember: If you think either of these could be better, you should probably just stop reading now.
Awards: Best Animated Film Oscar for The Incredibles and Ratatouille. Best Picture nomination for.... oh yeah, nevermind.
Box Office: Both films topped 200 mil. The one without the french name topped 260 mil.
Critical Consensus: Beloved and beloved.
Favorite Actor: John Ratzenberger’s name will likely show up for all the Pixar guys.

Let’s talk about:
Complexity. First off complex relationships. Even more specifically complex family relationships. Now we’re getting somewhere. The difference between Brad Bird films and the other Pixar guys’ films is that the families (or “families”) involved don’t just have to work together to save the day, they have to work together to save themselves. Bird’s films both feature families that are, to one extent or another, broken. So it inevitably follows that the relationships between members of these families would be a frequent topic for the director. But the broken bonds go well beyond the simple you might expect from kiddie fare (which is unfair to say since we know that great animated films aren't just for kids, but in a way it took Pixar to remind us of that this decade) . Sure we want Remy’s father to respect him as an artist, yet he makes good points via the safety of the community. Yes we can empathize with Mr. Incredible’s desire to do superhero work again, but it’s still wrong of him to betray his wife, who herself is thankfully presented as reasonable and not villainous (I’m looking at you American Beauty).

Peter O'Toole provides the voice, Brad Bird provides the perspective

But complexity isn't just limited the relationships. It's everywhere in Bird’s work. Look at his directorial style. Bird throws more camera angles, movements and tricks at his films than his compatriots, all of them purposeful and brilliantly conceived. Bird’s direction isn’t just complexity for its own sake. His camera always empathizes with his characters without drawing any undue attention to itself (Please don’t take this to mean that I consider certain more simplicity-inclined Pixar directors to be inferior. Quite the contrary, I love all of these Pixar movies and find them to be perfect versions of themselves). In fact, Bird’s films require complex direction more than others at work at Pixar Studios. Whereas other films may give us an A, B and possible C storyline, Bird’s just keep piling up the conflict layer upon layer upon layer. So we don’t just get father fish looking for son fish (A story) as son fish tries to get home (B story), we get rat yearns to cook (A) while getting displaced from family (B) while meeting human who needs job (C) and teams up with rat to cook (D) as he develops a romantic relationship with co-worker (E) and may be the rightful heir to a restaurant (F) while rat tries to reconnect with family by potentially sabotaging human (G). All the while a grumpy critic waits and waits for a life-changing dish of ratatouille. Layers. Seriously.

Brad Bird, Mr. Complexity. First on Left.

In another sign of his fascination with complexity, Bird has a greater desire to explore the artistic process within his films than the other Pixar directors. The Incredibles puts its entire story on hold several times as we visit costume-design artist extraordinaire Edna Mode who gives us the lowdown on her own genius. And Ratatouille, which is naturally filled with ruminations on the art of cooking, goes even farther, visualizing the concept of taste and combination of taste in a way that no other film has. Bird loves the mind of the artist, and it shows.

So Brad Bird is Mr. Complexity. And where did this come from? A long history in animation. For most of us Bird entered our radar just this decade with The Incredibles. For the lucky few of us, self not included, who weren’t frightened or off put by the thought of a non-Disney animated film, the introduction was by way of The Iron Giant. But even that was in 1999, just on the cusp of this modern decade. Still if you find yourself watching old episodes of The Simpsons or The Critic (I’m not the only one who still watches old episodes of The Critic am I?) You’ll see his name. He's been doing this for a while. The relentlessly talented Brad Bird finally finding a home at the ever-brilliant Pixar is in retrospect both incredibly obvious and one of the finest developments of the decade. As for the next decade, Bird is working on the live-action earthquake film 1906. due out in 2 years. It’s exciting to see Bird spread his wings and take on something new, but waiting until 2012 for it seems like a bit of cruelty worthy of Syndrome himself.

Directors of the Decade: Tsai Ming-liang

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. It’s difficult approaching a director whose work has gotten little mainstream American exposure, especially when such lack of exposure is understandable. Still, lack of exposure does not negate importance. And some of the most important directors of the past decade are ones that are minimally distributed here in the States. I intend on giving these directors their due, especially when they’ve shaped the decade’s cinematic landscape as much as this weeks subject: Tsai Ming-liang

Number of Films: Five.
Modern Masterpieces: One. What Time is it There (though your humble author admits not seeing his latest film Face, as it may not open here in the Midwest for years. Very sad.)
Total Disasters: None.
Better than you remember: The Wayward Cloud is an interesting film that was unfairly dismissed. If you’ve seen it, it’s probably better than you remember.
Awards: Has won awards at Berlin for The Wayward Cloud, at Venice for Goodbye, Dragon Inn, and has been featured in Cannes and several other international film festivals. Naturally nothing near Oscar’s radar.
Box Office: What Time is it There had the most successful theatrical run, almost hitting $200,000.
Critical Consensus: All of his films are regularly celebrated (with the exception of the mixed reactions for The Wayward Cloud and Face)
Favorite Actor: Lee Kang-sheng has been in every film directed by Tsai, this decade or otherwise.

Let’s talk about:
Missed connections. Southeast Asia is going through a time of significant social and economic change. And just like generations of Asian filmmakers before them, the continent's current crop of cinematic voices are exploring what it’s like to live during such a turbulent time. Some directors are taking a geographical approach, exploring the changing landscape. Others are making films that tell the same story multiple times (both in the past and present). Tsai Ming-liang’s main concern is a human one. He wants to know how we’re surviving in a world where we’re constantly missing out on human connections. In a region with a population over five-hundred-million (this is your Social Studies lesson for the day kids) it's not difficult to imagine how easily one can look into the crowd and wonder: which among these faces could be special to me… and how easy would it be to overlook them?

In this mindset it’s simple to understand how the French-film-loving street vendor from What Time is it There becomes so quickly obsessed with the Paris-bound woman he encounters. Their bond is tenuous and seemingly insignificant but in their world, it may be all there is. Since his obsession manifests itself far too late to catch her, he instead adjusts all the clocks he sees to Paris time. Their connection is minor yet still better than nothing. But don't go thinking all of Tsai’s movies aren’t as narratively obvious as this. If you're looking for visual metaphor you won't be let down. Heck they’re filled with gorgeously photographed visual metaphor. Characters routinely wander down empty narrow hallways in search of life. The surrounding world is always in some state of semi-decay and never-ending water shortages threaten Tsai's characters' unquenchable thirsts. Long languorous takes tell of an existence that meanders by while people wait for something, anything significant to happen (be forewarned, if you don’t like long languorous takes, Tsai ming-liang is not the man for you. But if you do, you’re already a fan and you didn’t know it!).

Tsai ming-Liang

But please don’t take all of this to mean I’ve been sitting here singing the praises of one of the most boring filmmakers of the past ten years. Slow, yes. Boring, never. Things do happen in Tsai Ming-liang movies… sometimes unexpected things. Ghosts haunt buildings; spirits return to possess pet fish, Jean-Pierre Leaud shows up without warning, bisexual love triangles develop around people in comas. Tsai has even been known to throw in an anomalous musical number or two (though in only one film this decade: The Wayward Cloud. For more musical numbers see his 1998 film The Hole (but we mustn’t discuss the 90s!)). And then of course there’s the sex. Because when you’ve given up on finding meaningful connections, there’s always sex. Although by now you’ve probably realized out that movies about immense longing don’t typically feature hot romps in the sack. So if you’re going into Tsai Ming-liang movies for your T&A fix, you may be disappointed (unless you’ve often pondered the unique ways of utilizing watermelon).

Tsai Ming-liang’s films have been garnering critical notice since the early 90’s. And it’s unfair to suggest he’s a new voice or even just now getting his due considering he won Venice's Golden Lion back in 1994 . But his status has been increasing with each new film this decade: What Time is it There? Goodbye, Dragon Inn, The Wayward Cloud, I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone. His most recent, Face, which premiered at Cannes last year, was commissioned by the Louvre and despite mixed reviews will hopefully be coming soon to a theater near you soon. Still if you’ve not yet discovered Tsai Ming-Liang don’t wait, especially if you feel like you live in a world of empty buildings, strange landscapes, unexpected happenings, and just barely missed connections.

Directors of the Decade: Darren Aronofsky

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. Last week I wrote about a “love him” or “hate him” director that turned out to be mostly loved. So having promised such a man I feel like I let you down. I think I can do better with this week’s subject: Darren Aronofsky

Number of Films: Three.
Modern Masterpieces: Two. Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain (this is called baiting the hook.)
Total Disasters: None.
Better than you remember: Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain if applicable.
Awards: Requiem and The Wrestler receive Oscar Nominations for acting. The Wrestler gets the Spirit Award for Best Picture. The Fountain goes mostly overlooked (because The Academy has no idea what a good movie score sounds like).
Box Office: The Wrestler is tops with over 23 mil. The Fountain tops 10 mil. Requiem in very limited release (thank you NC-17) does 2 and a half mil.
Critical Consensus: The Wrestler is clearly his most praised film. Requiem gets mostly good notices though some critics are split. The Fountain confuses everyone.
Favorite Actor: Mark Margolis, who you might recognize as the pawn shop owner, the priest, and the landlord (respectively)

Let’s talk about:
Desperate obsession. Though I suppose you can make an argument that most great films are about desperate obsession. Isn’t Dorothy desperately obsessed with getting home? Isn’t Charles Kane desperately obsessed with being loved? Isn’t Rick desperately obsessed with Ilsa? Maybe… it depends on your definition of “desperate” and “obsessed.” For the sake of Darren Aronofsky’s films, we can agree that the desperate obsession of his characters is defined at the highest extreme possible. And perhaps that’s his biggest shortcoming (I feel the need to level a criticism early since the rest of this post will be complimentary, and a bit defensive). His films’ insights don’t seem to extend much further than: “desperate obsession leads to very bad things.” And thematically, each successive film doesn’t seem to tread any ground beyond this.

Darren Aronofsky is, however, a great director of actors. I mention this now because it's largely the performances by his actors that successfully counter-balance any troubles had by his films. Another criticism of Aronofsky’s films (though not by me) is that they posses a sense of stylistic overkill. “Style over substance” they say. To which I often respond that those criticizing a piece of art would be wise not to employ a phrase that’s cliché (please also refrain from describing a film as “the emperor has no clothes” thank you). There is no doubt that the director’s films are stylishly bold and often aggressive. But how does one make a film about mental collapse such as Requiem for a Dream without utilizing such an uncompromising subjective camera? And how can one suggest that the style and storytelling of The Fountain isn’t absolutely necessary to explore the minds of its characters (depending on your interpretation of course). Aronofsky’s films are certainly high style but they don’t suffer from it. They are, in fact, among the most inventive movies being made today.

Aronofsky and Rourke. Blurry.

And still it all comes back to the acting. Even if Aronofsky’s films are stylistically excessive (including brilliant contributions from talent such as Matthew Libatique and Clint Mansell) they are always saved by the acting. After all, these movies are really about people and how their inability to find joy in the mundane, mediocre world around them fuels their desperate obsessions for that which is ultimately unattainable; whether it be respect, love, saving a spouse or fitting into a red dress. And the portrayals of actors such as Ellen Burstyn, Jennifer Connelly, Hugh Jackman and Mickey Rourke are not just human and moving but often crushing. These are performances that easily counteract any possible stylistic distraction and become the emotional heart of each film. It takes great actors to steal the spotlight from Aronofsky’s audacious aesthetics. Yet they do, every time.

Heading into this decade, Aronofsky was the hot new thing, coming off the indie success of Pi. Requiem for a Dream was something of a companion piece, continuing the (as Aronofsky calls it) “hip hop montage” device of its predecessor. Seemingly a continuation of his winning streak, the film had few detractors (not including stoned college dorm-mates who dismissed it as a mere modern Reefer Madness). But eight years later when The Wrestler opened to much acclaim, more voices than I expected invoked memory of the director’s “last two disasters.” That second disaster was The Fountain, a passion project that collapsed and had to be completely re-thought with a smaller cast and budget. Too many critics savaged it as incomprehensible. Yet I couldn’t understand why reviewers could praise the opaque work of Lynch or Buñuel but find nothing worthwhile in this powerful film (which, quite frankly shouldn't require 100% comprehension to be enjoyed). Thankfully, the critical and commercial failure of The Fountain did not slow down Aronofsky.

I'm happy to see that, thanks to The Wrestler, Aronofsky has regained a place of high cinematic respect (though it’s no small shame that his least demanding picture should be his most highly praised). Hopefully he will not take it as a sign to shrug off his audaciousness moving into the future (which soon includes the ballerina picture Black Swan and a possible RoboCop remake). To quote Nathaniel: “Auteurs should all go for broke.” To quote myself: “If great movies always show us something we’ve never seen before, then it's awfully hard to make a case against Darren Aronofsky.”

Directors of the Decade: David Lynch

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years (Enjoy the first two installments on Scorsese and Bahrani) . The most important directors of the past 10 years aren’t always the most prolific, though this series will require a director to have released at least 2 films. Not to mention some of those featured here may be love ‘em or hate ‘em choices. Something tells me, this weeks entry is one such man: David Lynch.

Number of Films: Two.
Modern Masterpieces: I’m going to go ahead and suggest that both Mulholland Dr. and Inland Empire qualify.
Total Disasters: Though you may feel that both Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire fall here.
Better than you remember: And if you do think that, may I suggest you place them here.
Awards: Nominated for a Best Director Oscar for Mulholland Drive. Won Best Director in Cannes for that same film.
Box Office: Mulholland Drive grosses over 7 mil, easily topping Inland Empire. That’s what lesbians get you.
Critical Consensus: Mulholland Drive receives high praise (some suggesting it’s his best). Inland Empire confuses the bejesus out of people, gets mostly good notices.
Favorite Actor: Justin Theroux stars in both films and the remaining principle cast of Mulholland Drive returns for Inland Empire to do the voices in a rabbit sitcom (taken from his short film Rabbits).


Let’s talk about:
Dreams. I’ve long believed that the “it’s all a dream” gimmick isn’t necessarily cinematic suicide as long as you stick to one important rule… if your story is “all a dream” please don’t tell the audience. Just leave it be. Films mired in dream-logic have an unfortunate tendency to break down and explain everything to the audience almost as if they don’t trust the viewer to accept a world not based in logic-logic (I’m looking at you Vanilla Sky). Such films give up standing as art, or even entertainment in favor of being a puzzle, a riddle, a trick, the main point of which is solving the shallow mystery. It does a great disservice to the story and to the viewer.

Are David Lynch’s movies dreams? We don’t know precisely because he avoids any artificial third act reveal. Lynch’s movies may be dreams and they may be puzzles, but it’s clear that he doesn’t see them that way. He’s not interested in presenting the audience with a trick. Odd as it may seem, he’s interested in presenting them with a truth.

Lynch... and Beatles

Even if Lynch’s movies aren’t dreams, it’s obvious that the man himself is a believer in the genuine honesty of dream-logic. Dream-logic is unhindered by restrictions of consistency or reality. And since restrictions and hindrances only get in the way of truth, dream logic can more quickly lead the way to honesty. Though Lynch's goal isn’t intellectual honesty (even though most people spend their time watching a Lynch straining their brains) as much as it is emotional honesty. David Lynch doesn’t want you to think. David Lynch wants you to feel. Unlike most directors, he seems to believe that the medium of film has more in common with music than literature. He’s relived himself of the burden of clear narrative (so necessary for literature) and instead focused on the type of moods that few things other than a piece of music can give. When watching a David Lynch film, ignore the frustrations perplexing you and simply sit back, allowing it to envelop your being... like a dream.

All of this is worth noting, since Lynch’s two films this decade are among the most abstract in his filmography and his current career trajectory points inevitably in the same direction. After riding high in the 80’s (except for Dune which I contend has a charm all its own) and owning the cult TV market in the early 90’s, Lynch was at something of a crossroads heading into our current decade. Coming off an uneven Lost Highway (which now feels mostly like a warm up for his films of the aughts) and an uncharacteristic (though brilliant, if I may say) The Straight Story, Lynch probably wasn’t hoping for a soundly rejected TV pilot. But after a little re-tooling, Mulholland Drive became a phenom (scoring a Globe nomination for Best Motion Picture Drama) that was labeled by more than a few critics as his “masterpiece.” His follow up, Inland Empire, pitched as the story of “a woman in trouble” seemed like it would be more of the same. But it was anything but. Inland Empire is most likely not to be the last film made by Lynch, but it brings his career beautifully full circle. His most experimental (and terrifying) since Eraserhead, Inland Empire is rooted deeply in the subconscious, low-budget, unlike-anything-you’ve-seen-before territory of his first film, except with the added bonus of everything he’s learned in the thirty years between.

Heading into the future, Lynch seems content to play the American eccentric in a way that’s self-aware without being disingenuous. And he’s continually adding to the definition of who he is, extending his identity beyond cinema to include: coffee proprietor, transcendental meditation advocate, annual event host (in Fairfield, Iowa naturally), internet meme star, singer/songwriter/collaborator, and, of course, weatherman.
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Directors of the Decade: Ramin Bahrani

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years. Glad to see the first installment generated lots of conversation and debate. Sticking with my promise to feature young talent along with legends, this weeks subject is Ramin Bahrani.

Number of Films: Three.
Modern Masterpieces: You could make a case for any of them and I’d be inclined to agree with you.For my money, Chop Shop is the winner.
Total Disasters: None.The term “disaster” seems so intertwined with excesses.
Better than you remember: none, unless you remember any as being bad.
Awards: A handful of awards from small film festivals and a little Independent Spirit recognition.
Box Office: Keeps improving though don’t expect any of his films to make a lot of money.Goodbye Solo is the current champ with just over $800,000
Critical Consensus: Critics love him.Chop Shop and Goodbye Solo duke it out for his best reviewed.
Favorite Actor: Ahmad Razvi from Man Push Cart showing up in Chop Shop (in support) is the only overlap.


Let's talk about:
The American Dream. Ramin Bahrani seems like a fitting director to discuss following Martin Scorsese, as the two have a lot in common.Both are first-generation Americans whose directorial sensibilities are deeply rooted in the classic cinema of their heritage. And while their films aren’t always about the “immigrant experience,” they deal regularly in the lives of outsiders, those with seemingly no place in the world. But here’s where the similarities end: Scorsese loves his outsiders conflicted, alienated, angry. Bahrani’s outsiders are well meaning, hard working, and headed directly for the brick wall of reality. Which brings us back to the “American Dream,” which despite being a cliché and a loaded term, still has enough people aiming for it, that it’s worth exploring. And Bahrani’s films never feel cliché, contrived, or even manipulative. Starting with Man Push Cart, we know relatively soon that Ahmad’s future won’t be bright and joyous. It seems like such a natural assumption, even though it’s based off little else other than the fact that he seems like a nice guy (oh cinematic nice guys, neorealist films be your doom).

Ramin Bahrani

Ahmad is literally an immigrant though Ale, the boy at the center of Chop Shop, may not be (it hardly matters). Ale is far further out of place among the slums of New York’s Iron Triangle (more than a few critics noted how closely it resembles a third-world country). Here Bahrani seems further intent on drawing a line between the hope, represented by Ale who’s saving up money to buy a food cart, and the sad practicality (Ale’s teenage sister, who’s method of making money is more fatalistic) of the American Dream. Their ability, or inability to coexist takes us into another realm of the dream (it’s not all economics, you know), love, familial, or otherwise. It’s almost too much to ask: love and money. But don’t despair. Even though we spend the film hopelessly rooting for Ale and sister Isamar, it’s not a masochistic endeavor.

Finally with Goodbye Solo, Bahrani again separates the hope and despair, this time represented by immigrant Senegalese cab driver Solo and disgruntled senior William who strike up a unique friendship (doesn’t that just sound Hollywood-esque… it’s not). Solo’s future looks brighter than any Bahrani character thus far but he’s naturally headed up against a brick wall, courtesy end-of-his-rope William. Solo is a great character, optimistic, full of life. When, half way through the film, something goes well for him, you might find yourself shocked (considering Bahrani’s record). But as he comes the recognize the inevitable existence of impossible demons near the end of the film, I couldn’t help but ponder how much William represents Solo plus time. Now there’s a depressing thought.

I don’t want to end on a depressing thought, so here’s some good news for you: There’s this young director named Ramin Bahrani who proves that the future of cinema isn’t as bleak as you’re led to believe. Roger Ebert calls him “the new great American director.” He’s right.

Oh and a quick pet peeve. When researching this article, I came across the phrase “Iranian director” more than a few times. Though there’s little doubt that Bahrani has been influenced by the great Iranian New Wave films of Kiarostami and Makhmalbaf (who in turn were influenced by the great Neorealists of Italy who, of course were vital in shaping the work of that other great American director, Martin Scorsese) Mr. Bahrani was born in North Carolina.
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