The Worst Films of the Decade: 20 - 11

This list features the very worst films that I endured during the past decade. Some of them are here because they are simply incompetent on every level, while others are bad films made by talented people. It took me a long time to settle on this group, and films that just about escaped my final condemnation include: National Security; Hannibal; Baise Moi; Blindness; Tideland; Alexander; Pearl Harbour; The Life of David Gale; The Rules of Attraction; Northfork; Pay it Forward; The Cell; Dreamcatcher; Get Rich or Die Tryin'; It's All About Love; 15 Minutes. A special mention should also go to a film called Crack Willow, which is one of the worst films I have ever seen. It escapes the list because it has not yet received distribution, and if sanity prevails, it never will.

Now, let's take a look at what I really hated in the past ten years.

20 – Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008)

So we begin our countdown with the most successful film in British box-office history; I have rarely felt so out of touch with the whims of the mass cinema audience. I don't really care if a film I dislike makes a huge amount of money, but I do care when a film as horribly made as Mamma Mia! succeeds. The picture is an embarrassment, featuring actors who can't sing (Pierce Brosnan's scenes are painful), a slapdash storyline that only exists as an excuse to showcase ABBA tunes, dreadful dance sequences, and utterly inept direction from Phyllida Lloyd. She has never made a film before, and it shows. Lloyd can't even match the lighting from one shot to the next – we're talking about basic levels of competence here. Does the audience for Mamma Mia! care, though? They flocked to it again and again, seemingly unbothered by the lack of professionalism on show. I just don't understand it.

19 – The Wicker Man (Neil Labute, 2006)

The world didn't need a remake of The Wicker Man, and when the world saw Neil Labute's misguided version, they needed it even less. This being a Labute film, the island at the centre of the mystery is now a matriarchy run by Sister Summerisle (Ellen Burstyn), which gives Edward Malus (Nicolas Cage) ample opportunity to call them all bitches and punch them in the face – nice one, Neil! Actually, the one advantage The Wicker Man has over most of the films on this list is its undeniable entertainment value. Labute's ludicrous script is partly responsible for that, but Nicolas Cage is the man who takes this terrible film into the realm of high farce. From hilarious line readings like "Killing me won't bring back your God damn honey!" or "How'd it get burned? How'd it get burned?" to the surreal sight of Cage running through the forest dressed as a bear; this is a bad performance for the ages.

18 – The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions (Andy and Larry Wachowski, 2003)

When it first appeared in 1999, The Matrix appeared to mark the Wachowski brothers – who had made their debut with the impressive Bound – as filmmakers to watch. Ten years and three films later, it's hard to know what to make of them. 2003 was the "Year of The Matrix", with two sequels being released within months of each other, but while The Matrix was such a tight, clever and inventive movie, these sequels are bloated beyond recognition. Everything is too big and overextended (why have Neo fight one Agent Smith when he can fight 100?), and the script is weighed down by a great deal of pompous philosophising and incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo. No attention is paid to the characterisations or the clarity of the plotting, and the films get louder and less interesting as they drag themselves towards the massively anticlimactic ending. Plenty of other sequels in this decade mistook scale and a hefty visual effects budget for quality, but the sense of rich potential being squandered is what earns this hellish double-bill a place on the list.

17 – Love Actually (Richard Curtis, 2003)

There's only one person involved in Love Actually who comes out of the dismal project with reputation intact. As the wife of a straying husband, Emma Thompson gives a performance of great sensitivity that deserves to be part of a better movie. Her scenes are the only ones in Love Actually that feel real – everything else reeks of calculation. In his directorial debut, Richard Curtis has obviously set out to make the ultimate Christmas romantic comedy. Just throw in some awkward banter here, a touch of empty pathos there, a bit of Hugh Grant dancing, a dash of Bill Nighy being Bill Nighy, a few celebrity cameos – and voila! – a soulless Christmas package that barely contains a single honest moment. Essentially, Love Actually has eight or nine different stories jostling for the spotlight, and Curtis can't find an easy balance to his picture, clumsily cutting from one moment of contrived uplift to one of unearned emotion, and ending up with an overlong, unbalanced mess. Still, at least it's upfront about its intentions; "This is shit, isn't it" an aged rocker says to his manager, "Yep, solid gold shit, maestro" the beaming manager replies.

16 – Ma mère (Christophe Honoré, 2004)

This is the kind of pretentious, prurient nonsense that gives French cinema a bad name. Christophe Honoré's depiction of an overly close relationship between a mother (Isabelle Huppert) and son (Louis Garrel) is so desperate to shock us, but its attempts to do so just feel childish and tiresome. The film as a whole is a desperately dull slog, peopled by hollow characters who seem to lack any convincing inner life. The dialogue is laughable ("I don't want your love unless you know I am repulsive" the mother tells her son) and some scenes, like Garrel masturbating over his mother's corpse, are beyond absurd. I felt sorry for Huppert, who throws herself into the role with her customary conviction for scant reward. She has appeared in a few dodgy films over the years, but surely she felt some kind of nadir was being reached when she was sticking her finger up Garrel's arse and sniffing the results.

15 – The Cat in the Hat (Bo Welch, 2003)

Hollywood has long struggled with the problem of Dr Seuss. How do you translate the whimsical magic of his books to the screen? Following the tepid mess that was How The Grinch Stole Christmas, they should have been aware that covering a comic in a ton of makeup and asking him to overact wildly wasn't the answer to that particular conundrum, but they didn't learn, and so we have The Cat in the Hat. It is an abomination, almost unwatchable, with some of the most garish production design you'll ever seen and a screenplay that drains the charm from its source material to replace it with dull slapstick and innuendo. But the chief culprit here is Mike Myers, whose performance as The Cat is a colossal misjudgement from top to bottom, with his grating accent, sneering attitude and jokes that are either cripplingly unfunny or completely inappropriate (mostly both). Often it feels as if he's simply spouting one-liners that failed to make the cut in his Austin Powers films, and in every respect, his Cat is the most repellent character imaginable for a children's film. Myers had a very bad decade in front of the camera, and this truly horrible movie just about edges out The Love Guru for a spot on the list, although there's not much between them.

14 – Outlaw (Nick Love, 2007)

If his amusingly deluded DVD commentary is anything to go by, Nick Love believes that this film marked his maturation as a filmmaker. No longer was he simply making inconsequential films about cockney geezers; this was his state of the nation picture, it had "stories in there and stuff", and it failed because "people who go to these cinemas these days don't wanna fink". Sorry to break it to you, Nick, but Outlaw is a failure because it's every bit as shoddy, unrealistic and empty as your previous films. It is the story of ordinary men who decide to take justice into their own hands when they feel the police and government are no longer protecting them, and while it makes a gesture towards condemning their actions, it actually revels in the violence the characters get mixed up in. Love's direction is all over the place, his visuals are murky and his script is riddled with banality and clichés, but it's the moral ugliness of the film that leaves a nasty taste in the mouth. One wonders what the capable cast (with the exception of the incapable Danny Dyer) were thinking when they signed up for this garbage. Love may have a point about the failings of the police force and the dangers the public face every day, but films like Outlaw really don't help matters.

13 – Freddy Got Fingered (Tom Green, 2001)

Tom Green's brief flirtation with cinema was thankfully ended with this baffling gross-out comedy. He plays unappealing man-child Gord, whose attempts to move out of the parental home and find a job lead him into all manner of odd scenarios. These include sticking bits of meat to his face, cutting a newborn's umbilical cord with his teeth and swinging it around the room, wearing the bloody carcass of a deer, and wanking an elephant that then ejaculates all over Rip Torn. The problem with all of these set-pieces is not that they are offensive or immature; it's simply the fact that Green is not a very funny performer. Everything he does is pitched at the same manic level, as if he's shouting "Look at me!" in every scene, and you just sit there waiting for each interminable scene to end so he can go off an do some other stupid thing. As Green is also the director of Freddy Got Fingered, there's nobody around to keep Green the performer in check, and so he continues to indulge himself for ninety long minutes at our expense.

12 – The Spirit (Frank Miller, 2008)

The work of Frank Miller has made a huge impact on cinema in this decade, with adaptations of his Sin City and 300 being major hits, and his work on the Batman comic books being a huge influence on Christopher Nolan's acclaimed films. Unfortunately, the respect Hollywood had for him was enough to persuade somebody that he should be allowed to direct his own feature, and hopefully the person who made that decision is currently looking for a new line of work. Miller's adaptation of Will Eisner's The Spirit is one of the most amateurishly directed mainstream films I've ever seen. He has no sense of timing, composition, lighting or movement; he directs a number of actors to the worst performances of their careers (Samuel L Jackson) while others stand around with little purpose (most of the female cast). The film makes no sense on any level and it is an astonishingly ugly creation, using a similar technique to Robert Rodriguez's Sin City but making every shot look messy and unfocused. Frankly, it's amazing that nobody stepped in at any point to wrestle the camera from Miller's grasp, and to spare us all this irredeemable film.

11 – Norbit (Brian Robbins, 2007)

Every couple of years Eddie Murphy makes a film choice that seems to be motivated by something more than a paycheque, and us fans of this hugely talented comic are briefly allowed to hope that he's about to turn his career around. Murphy ended the 90's with Steve Martin's terrific Bowfinger, which was exactly the role he needed at that time, but his great performance in that film only made the following years (Dr Dolittle 2, Pluto Nash, Showtime, The Haunted Mansion) even harder to bear. In 2006, Murphy made Dreamgirls, which was far from a great film, but it did contain a great role, and Murphy earned an Oscar nomination for it. Even as the ceremony approached, however, another self-destructive Murphy disaster was already appearing on the horizon. In Norbit, Murphy plays the nerdish title character, his repulsive wife, and an elderly Chinese man, which gives him plenty of opportunities to indulge his passions; covering himself in latex, and making lots of lazy, racist jokes. Rick Baker's makeup work is – as ever – extraordinary, but to what purpose? Norbit is a criminally awful affair, shot in a crude fashion and never aiming higher than the most base levels of humour. Murphy may yet find another worthy role that will lift his career out of its current rut, but what would he follow it with? Trying to second-guess the thought process of a man who can sign up for Dreamgirls and Norbit simultaneously has become an impossible task.

The Best Films of the Decade: 20 - 11

This was hard. In compiling a list of the decade's best film, I set myself the rule of having only one picture per director, but even that didn't make it any easier, and I ended up losing a lot of films that would have certainly merited a place among such a collection. Here are a few that came very close to making it: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World; Atanarjuat; Yi Yi; The House of Mirth; Silent Light; Miami Vice; Ghost World; Far From Heaven; Lantana; The Aviator; Bloody Sunday; Springtime in a Small Town; The Return; Time Out; Y tu mamá también; Ten.

That's a pretty good selection of films, but they ultimately weren't quite good enough, and here are the ones that did make the cut.

20 – Before Sunset (Richard Linklater, 2004)

This is the best sequel of the decade. Nine years after they shared a brief encounter in Before Sunrise, Ethan Hawke's Jesse and Julie Delpy's Celine were reunited in Paris for this perfectly judged film. Unfolding in something close to real time, the film follows the two characters as they walk and talk, discussing that night in Vienna, cursing the time they have lost, and wondering if this chance encounter means they really do belong together. Linklater's direction is fluid and unintrusive, allowing Hawke and Delpy to carry the picture, with both actors being entirely comfortable in their characters' skin. Their unforced performances and tangible chemistry is the film's engine, and the conversation they share is witty, touching and true. At just 80 minutes, there isn't a wasted moment, and it grows unexpectedly compelling as the end draws near – will they finally take this opportunity to be together, or will they allow fate to dictate their futures once more? There is scope for a third Sunset film, but it's impossible to imagine how Linklater, Hawke and Delpy could improve on this film's perfect ending.

19 – Memories of Murder (Bong Joon-ho, 2003)

Given that it is based on the grisly true story of South Korea's first serial killer, it's not surprising that Memories of Murder is a dark, violent and twisted tale, but it's also really funny. That's the miracle of Bong Joon-ho, the young Korean filmmaker who has shown a peerless ability to blend disparate styles and tones into a single satisfying whole. Memories of Murder follows the ultimately futile investigation led by Detective Park (Song Kang-ho), a local cop facing his first big case, and Detective Seo (Kim Sang-kyung), who has been despatched from Seoul to lend his assistance. The characters are richly drawn – not brilliant detectives, not bumbling clowns, but something in between, something more real – and despite the foregone conclusion of the investigation's failure, Bong manages to develop a powerful sense of tension, which he occasionally deflates with some well-timed slapstick. It is effective as a thriller, as a comedy, as a social satire, and finally – most powerfully – as a study of ordinary people driven by an obsession that can never be satisfied; an obsession that is beautifully encapsulated in the film's haunting final shot.

18 – The Heart of the World (Guy Maddin, 2000)

The longest film on this list is almost three hours long, while the shortest is a mere six minutes. Guy Maddin made The Heart of the World for the 2000 Toronto Film Festival, as a short to play before the main features, but when the festival was over, his film had made a bigger impact than most of the full-length works that followed it. A marvellously inventive tribute to Soviet silent cinema, the film is densely packed with incident from first frame to last, as state scientist Anna (Leslie Bais) discovers the world is dying of heart failure, leading to outbreaks of orgiastic hysteria, and prompting two brothers (Caelum Vatnsdal and Shaun Balbar) to fight for her love while there's still time. Maddin orchestrates all of this in his usual frenetic fashion, and it's hard to resist the flow of amazing imagery as he builds towards a genuinely rousing finale – Kino! Kino! Kino! I could have selected any of half a dozen Maddin films for a place on this list, but The Heart of the World is just such an exhilarating work, and it feels like the purest concentration of the Guy Maddin experience.

17 – Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Ang Lee, 2000)

Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon takes a little while to get going, but when it takes off, it really takes off. The first time a fight sequence is interrupted by one of the participants leaping up a wall and dancing across the rooftops is a truly majestic moment, and throughout the film, Lee's direction is as light and clever as his characters' footwork. His film is anchored by strong central performances from Chow Yun-fat, Michelle Yeoh and Zhang Ziyi (her breakthrough role, and she's never been better), and by two parallel love stories, and that solid centre allows him to adorn the story with a series of breathtaking action scenes. Lee's handling of the film's action has not been matched by anything that came afterwards; it is simultaneously thrilling and graceful, and each encounter plays a part in shaping our understanding of the characters and the story. It is a truly wonderful piece of filmmaking.

16 – Belleville Rendez-vous (Sylvain Chomet, 2003)

I spent some time trying to decide which of Pixar's many fine films should earn a place on this list, but then I remembered Sylvain Chomet's magnificent French oddity, which instantly leapfrogged the animated competition. Years before Pixar cast grouchy old Carl as the lead character in Up, Chomet built his story around a little old lady with a clubfoot; a most unlikely hero for a most unusual tale. As she embarks upon an epic quest to rescue her kidnapped son, Chomet dazzles us with his unique and beautiful visual style, his deadpan humour, and a macabre streak that adds a real sense of danger to the plot (one scene is quite horrifying). The film is mostly silent, but Chomet compensates with a hugely expressive visual style and a catchy soundtrack, while his animation of the main characters is wonderful. The tiny old lady, her faithful fat dog, the horse-like son, the oblong mafia – these figures are painted in broad strokes, but we are instantly fascinated by them, and we quickly begin to care deeply about their adventure.

15 – The Man Who Wasn't There (Joel and Ethan Coen, 2001)

The Coen brothers' tribute to post-war film noir features a group of talented craftsmen working at the very peak of their powers. As Ed Crane, the barber who finds himself mixed up in murder, Billy Bob Thornton gives a performance of remarkable understatement, barely displaying a flicker of emotion and yet remaining a fascinating protagonist. Behind the camera we have Roger Deakins, the great cinematographer, whose black-and-white work here is staggering, making brilliant use of light and shadows, and turning every shot into a singular work of art. But the greatest talent on show here, of course, is that of the Coen brothers, who produced an amazingly eclectic body of work in this decade. The Man Who Wasn't There is my favourite of these films for its rich atmosphere, the hilarious deadpan humour, the wonderfully eccentric supporting performances (Tony Shalhoub and Jon Polito) and the surprising emotional undertow that reveals itself towards the film's climax. Quite simply, it displays everything I love about their work.

14 – 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu, 2007)

The most gripping thriller of the decade, Cristian Mungiu's film brilliantly evokes the paranoid, claustrophobic atmosphere of life in Ceauşescu's Romania. Mungiu involves us in the drama immediately, as the arrangements made by Gabita (Laura Vasiliu) and Otilia (Anamaria Marinca) for Gabita's abortion begin to go awry, and he never loosens his grasp on the film's unremitting tension. It is a technically superb piece of filmmaking, with the director crafting his film through a series of expertly composed, beautifully paced long takes. The film is responsible for one of the decade's most memorable villains in Mr Bebe (Vlad Ivanov), who pounces on the girls' first signs of weakness and indecision to exert his power over them, but the acting honours are taken by Anamaria Marinca. She makes us feel every emotion that her character experiences, from the agony of a protracted dinner party to the overwhelming fear of a late-night dash through the dark, threatening streets.

13 – Dogville (Lars von Trier, 2003)

A three-hour film that takes place on a single soundstage, with the sets only existing as markings on the floor. It shouldn't work as cinema, and yet Lars von Trier's bizarre experiment turned out to be one of this mercurial director's greatest achievements. Divided into chapters and narrated by a droll John Hurt, Dogville tells the story of Grace (Nicole Kidman), a young woman who arrives in the eponymous town and asks for shelter. She is initially taken into the community, but her innate goodness is eventually exploited in a vicious fashion by the townspeople, and this is where the point of von Trier's unusual set design comes into play. As Grace is raped behind an invisible wall, it becomes a metaphor for the way people willingly turn a blind eye to those in need around them, and Dogville becomes an incisive study of human nature. Many critics derided this first instalment of von Trier's USA trilogy as an anti-American piece of work, and while his more specific follow-up Manderlay was a mistake, I believe Dogville is far more universal in its outlook. The film is superbly directed, with von Trier making great use of his surroundings and staging a number of hugely imaginative sequences, and the performances from the ensemble couldn't be better, with Kidman giving one of the many great acting displays she provided in this decade.

12 – Nobody Knows (Hirokazu Kore-Eda, 2004)

Nobody Knows views the world through the eyes of the children at the centre of its story. The four siblings are abandoned by their irresponsible mother early in the film and left to fend for themselves. Why did she leave? We don't know, because they don't know. For a while, they manage to get by on the money they were left with and the strength of the eldest Akira (Yûya Yagira), who takes control of the situation as best he can. Kore-Eda's direction is leisurely and the film has an unusual rhythm to it, in tune with the way the children's experience changes over time. There are moments of humour and sunny playfulness in the first half of the movie, but then it transpires that there is to be no happy ending for this family, and we are watching their slow slide into destitution, as the money runs out, the water and electricity is cut off, and food supplies begin to diminish. It is unbearably sad to watch, but completely compelling and full of humanity. Kore-Eda's keen eye for detail and observational style is perfectly matched to this material, and he gets heartbreakingly authentic performances from his young actors, especially Yagira, who won Best Actor at Cannes for this film.

11 – The Son (Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, 2002)

Throughout much of The Son, the camera is perched just behind Olivier Gourmet's shoulder, peeking around his ear, and it stays there as he goes about his business. Olivier is a carpenter, who has taken a particular interest in Francis (Morgan Marinne), a young offender who has been sent there for rehabilitation. The relationship that exists between these two characters is gradually revealed over the course of the Dardenne brothers' masterpiece, and by the end of the film, we feel like we know Olivier, and we can understand all of the conflicting emotions he has been through. This is a serious study of guilt, sadness and the thirst for revenge, and the film's deep emotional complexity is handled by the Dardennes with masterful subtlety. Their typically direct approach draws us into Olivier's life, to the point where we are almost breathless with anxiety about the course of action he is going to take at the film's close. Few filmmakers deal with weighty themes with the adroitness of the Dardennes, and they are aided here by performances that are so natural and believable that you simply forget you're watching actors at work. An amazing piece of art, and a profoundly moving achievement.

That Was The Decade That Was

The first decade of the 21st century has almost elapsed, and yet it feels like no time at all has passed since we were looking into the new millennium with hope and expectation. For cinephiles, the end of the 1990's had offered plenty of reasons to expect great things from the ten years that lay ahead, with 1999 being one of the most thrilling periods – certainly in terms of American film – for many years. Fight Club, Being John Malkovich, Boys Don't Cry, Magnolia, The Limey, The Virgin Suicides, The Insider, Election, The Iron Giant and The Talented Mr Ripley were among the films that impressed this year; and with a number of them being the work of young filmmakers, many suspected we may be on the verge of a golden age similar to that which occurred in the 1970's. Some of these directors subsequently went on to even greater things (Paul Thomas Anderson), some went backwards (Sofia Coppola), while others simply disappeared from view for years (Kimberley Pierce), and for one reason or another, the anticipated age of plenty didn't occur.


Actually, I suppose very little about the last ten years has developed as we expected it to. Whatever we thought we might be in store for in the noughties (aughties, zeroes, whatever you want to call them), everything changed on September 11th 2001, the day that defined the decade. Movies suddenly seemed unimportant in the immediate aftermath of that terrible event, but of course, the opposite is actually true. I remember reading a news report that said the most-rented video in the weeks after 9/11 was The Siege, Ed Zwick's 1998 thriller, which depicts a series of terrorist attacks on American soil. We need cinema more than ever in times of hardship and despair, to help us make sense of the world we live in, and much of the following eight years saw numerous filmmakers trying to do exactly that. Films such as United 93, World Trade Centre and the ghastly 11'09''01 were insufficient responses to the tragedy (perhaps 9/11 was too momentous and cinematic in itself for any film depiction to feel sufficient), while dramatic accounts of the subsequent conflicts (Rendition, Lions for Lambs, Stop-Loss, and the rest) were frequently dull and heavy-handed in their sermonising.


So perhaps we shouldn't be surprised that the many of the decade's finest films were documentaries, a genre that prospered magnificently during the past ten years. Michael Moore was the most visible documentarian of the age, but his sloppy films paled in comparison to the intelligent and illuminating fare his contemporaries were producing. Documentaries like Taxi to the Dark Side, Standard Operating Procedure or Iraq in Fragments were the most vital cinematic response to the "War on Terror"; incisive pieces of filmmaking that gave us a new perspective on the conflict. It wasn't just current events that proved a fertile ground for documentary filmmakers, though, as films on a wide variety of topics emerged throughout the decade to frequently stand among the best pictures of any given year. They could be profiles of remarkable individuals (Grizzly Man, The Fog of War, Man on Wire) or examinations of sensitive issues (Lake of Fire, Deliver Us From Evil), and some filmmakers found inspiration in the most unlikely subjects to produce the stuff of high drama (Spellbound, The King of Kong).


When we search for common trends in the rest of American cinema, the results are a little less inspiring. After the success of Peter Jackson's momentous Lord of the Rings adaptation, trilogies and franchises were the order of the day, which is why moderately appealing hits such as The Matrix and Pirates of the Caribbean were each followed by two unnecessary and horrendously bloated sequels. If they like it, the thought process seemed to be, then let's just give them more a bigger, louder version – and mainstream American cinema eventually turned into a conveyer belt of tired sequels and remakes. A few films bucked the trend; Paul Greengrass, for example, can lay claim to being one of the decade's most influential filmmakers, as he practically redefined the form and style of the action movie with his two Bourne films. Elsewhere, some interesting filmmakers were handed the reins on various comic-book blockbusters with mixed results – Sam Raimi scored 2 out of 3 for Spider-Man, Bryan Singer won acclaim for X-Men before underwhelming with Superman Returns, Ang Lee fell flat on his face with Hulk, and Christopher Nolan turned The Dark Knight into a phenomenon.


That Batman sequel marked a rare occasion when the critical community (despite a few dissenting voices, including my own) shared the view of the paying audience. The only other films to regularly achieve this synergy of public and critical adoration were those produced by the amazing artists at Pixar. They are the true success story of the decade, a studio whose cutting-edge technical achievements are complemented by its old-fashioned reliance on storytelling and character. Unlike DreamWorks (their closest rivals, although the gulf in quality is huge), they have generally steered clear of sequels in favour of finding original and often very daring stories to tell. Monsters Inc, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Ratatouille, WALL•E and Up is a body of work that speaks for itself, and it serves as proof that you don't have to sacrifice big ideas, clever writing or emotional sophistication in order to appeal to a wide mainstream audience. If only more filmmakers showed as much care in their work and respect for the public as this studio's pictures routinely do.

Further afield, this decade saw the traditional powerhouses of world cinema – countries like France, Germany and Japan – being outstripped by exciting new films from unexpected quarters. The early years of the 21st century were marked by an explosion of talent from South America, with films like Amores perros, City of God and Y tu mamá también introducing us to directors who (along with fellow Mexican Guillermo del Toro) would go on to make a big impact on cinema in subsequent years. Iranian cinema carried its strong form from the late 1990's into this decade – Abbas Kiarostami's work became increasingly experimental, but there were strong showings from filmmakers such as Jafar Panahi and Samira Makhmalbaf – while later in the decade, Romanian cinema attracted the world's attention with a couple of outstanding features; the brilliant The Death of Mr Lazarescu and Cristian Mungiu's stunning 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. But the source of the most exciting new wave of the decade was Korea, thanks to a group of gifted and incredibly adventurous directors. Kim Ki-duk made The Isle, 3-Iron and the mesmerising Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter...and Spring, although much of his recent output has failed to get UK distribution. Park Chan-wook has won plenty of fans for his irresistible stylistic flair (even if his work occasionally feels like style over substance), but for my money, Bong Joon-ho is the Korean auteur to watch. With Memories of Murder, The Host and his remarkable Mother, he has proven himself as a natural born filmmaker, and I can't wait to see what he does next.


In early 2010, there are some great films in store from Greece (the brilliant Dogtooth) and China (the incredible war film City of Life and Death), but what about Britain? Where do we stand at the end of the decade? I'd suggest we're in a much better place than we were at the start of it. Throughout the first few years of the decade we had to wade knee-high through utterly worthless shit such as Rancid Aluminium, Love, Honour and Obey, High Heels and Low Lives, Sex Lives of the Potato Men, Honest, Maybe Baby, Kevin and Perry Go Large and...Oh, it was such a depressing time. Things have improved, though, with filmmakers such as Mike Leigh and Ken Loach remaining the standard-bearers for personal, uncompromised cinema, while younger talents such as Shane Meadows, Steve McQueen and Andrea Arnold have displayed an exciting and distinctive voice. What filmmakers of this calibre need is proper support, but this has not always been one of the British film industry's strongest attributes; just look at the way Terence Davies has been treated over the past decade. The fact that Nick Love has managed to get five films funded in the past ten years while Davies has barely managed to make two is testament to an industry that need to sort out its priorities.


Of course, how much support any filmmakers can receive will depend largely on how much money is available, and the current state of the world's finances leaves that question in the balance. Another open question as we move into 2010 is; how will we watch films in the future? The past decade has seen huge developments in the way movies are distributed and consumed, with digital technology and internet downloads becoming faster and more efficient with every passing year, but seeing a great film at the cinema remains an incomparable high. This year I had two wonderful cinematic experiences; one was a 3D IMAX screening of James Cameron's Avatar, while the other involved Powell and Pressburger's The Red Shoes, presented in a breathtaking new restoration. Sixty years separated these filmmakers, and the tools they used couldn't be more different, but they shared exactly the same goal – to dazzle us, to transport us, to show us something new, and to tell us a story in the most innovative and involving way imaginable. That's why cinema still matters, and why it will always matter, because there's nothing quite like sitting in front of a huge screen with a crowd of strangers, sharing your excitement, fear and laughter in the dark. In the coming decade, which is sure to be as turbulent and uncertain as the last, we may need experiences like that more than ever.

The Best and Worst of 2009

In previous years, I haven't done my best and worst list until the very end of December, but I've decided to call time on 2009 a little early this time around. I've also decided not to do my customary review of the year and to go straight to the Best Of lists, and this is because my review of the decade is just around the corner. Between now and the end of the year, I'm going to be looking back at everything that has happened on screen since the year 2000, and listing my own personal favourites, as well as announcing my take on the very worst the decade had to offer. Until then, consider this my final word on 2009.

Best Film


1 – Antichrist
A staggering work of art
2 – Love Exposure
Love Exposure may be twice as long as the average movie, but it's also twice as good
3 – Up
It is, quite simply, an astounding filmmaking achievement
4 – The Hurt Locker
Kathryn Bigelow takes control of this material and plays it out it in a masterly fashion
5 – The Class
There's hardly a single moment in The Class that doesn't feel completely authentic and organic
6 – A Christmas Tale
A Christmas Tale is bursting with ideas, incident and feeling
7 – Avatar
Avatar is a stunning film, and it deserves to be huge
8 – Wendy and Lucy
Everything about Wendy and Lucy feels natural and true
9 - The White Ribbon
Even by this filmmaker's intimidating standards, this is a stunningly well-made film
10 – Sugar
So superior to Boden and Fleck's previous effort, it's hard to believe that we're talking about the same filmmakers


Honourable Mentions
35 Shots of Rum
Bright Star
Fish Tank
Il Divo
In the Loop
Milk
Moon
Public Enemies
A Serious Man
Two Lovers

Worst Film


1 – The Spirit
The Spirit is empty of any logic, feeling or intelligence; it is visually and morally ugly
2 – The Reader
This is crass, manipulative bullshit
3 – The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
This is, by any measure, rubbish
4 – Crank: High Voltage
A sequel few people really wanted, and nobody really needed
5 – The Taking of Pelham, 123
How bereft of imagination this boring, unpleasant film is
6 – Rage
A silly and self-indulgent cinematic experiment
7 – Observe and Report
Nothing more than an empty provocation
8 – Paper Heart
A horribly twee faux-documentary starring the irritating Charlyne Yi
9 – Hannah Takes the Stairs
Unremarkable and faintly tedious
10 – Watchmen
Watchmen is so concerned with matching the look and feel of the comic, it has no life of its own

Dishonourable Mentions
Bronson
Fuck
Helen
Just Another Love Story
Monsters v Aliens
Rachel Getting Married
Revolutionary Road
Sherlock Holmes
Tony Manero
Where the Wild Things Are

Best Director


James Cameron – Avatar
Lars von Trier – Antichrist
Kathryn Bigelow – The Hurt Locker
Pete Docter and Bob Peterson – Up
Arnaud Desplechin – A Christmas Tale

Best Actor


Jeremy Renner – The Hurt Locker
Sam Rockwell – Moon
Willem Dafoe – Antichrist
Christoph Waltz – Inglourious Basterds
Peter Capaldi – In the Loop

Best Actress


Charlotte Gainsbourg – Antichrist
Hikari Mitsushima – Love Exposure
Michelle Williams – Wendy and Lucy
Kim Ok-bin – Thirst
Abbie Cornish – Bright Star

Best Supporting Actor


Michael Fassbender – Inglourious Basterds/Fish Tank
Anthony Mackie – The Hurt Locker
Paul Schneider – Bright Star
Stephen Lang – Avatar
Gérard Depardieu – Mesrine: Killer Instinct

Best Supporting Actress


Mélanie Laurent – Inglourious Basterds
Rosemarie Dewitt – Rachel Getting Married
Marion Cotillard – Public Enemies
Sakura Ando – Love Exposure
Marisa Tomei – The Wrestler

Best Original Screenplay


In the Loop
Up
The Hurt Locker
Moon
Bright Star

Best Adapted Screenplay


The Class
Wendy and Lucy
Let the Right One In
The Damned United
Thirst

Best Cinematography


Antichrist
The White Ribbon
A Serious Man
The Hurt Locker
Inglourious Basterds

Best Editing


The Hurt Locker
Up
The White Ribbon
A Serious Man
Shirin

Best Original Score


Moon
Bright Star
Up
Broken Embraces
A Christmas Tale

Best Costume Design


Bright Star
Public Enemies
Milk
A Serious Man
Broken Embraces

Best Production Design


Avatar
A Serious Man
The White Ribbon
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Public Enemies

Best Cinema Experience of 2009

The Red Shoes in a stunning new restoration at the NFT
Avatar in IMAX 3D
Antichrist at a raucous midnight preview screening
Barry Lyndon seen in a new print on the big screen for the first time
Love Exposure as the four hours absolutely flew by

Review - Avatar

It has been almost twelve years since James Cameron brandished his Oscar statuette and declared himself "King of the World". It was a moment of remarkable hubris, but who could deny that the director has earned the right to make such an arrogant gesture? He had staked everything on Titanic, and won. The film looked certain to sink his career as the production ballooned beyond its original budget and schedule, and when it appeared in cinemas in December 1997 – a three-hour romance with no stars and a downbeat ending – it looked like the punchline to a bad joke. $1.8 billion and 11 Oscars later, Cameron had the last laugh. So it should come as no surprise to see Cameron confounding the naysayers once again with Avatar, his years-in-the-making adventure, which has been dogged by wild speculation and predictions of failure in the months leading up to its release. He has gambled and won once again. Avatar is a stunning film, and it deserves to be huge.

The King of the World has now become a creator of worlds, setting Avatar on the alien planet Pandora, which he has brought to life in amazing detail. It is a vividly realised environment unlike anything I have ever seen before, with every aspect of the planet's flora and fauna feeling like it has been clearly thought-out and is a key part of a gorgeous whole. From the floating mountain ranges around which the climactic battle takes place, to the tiny plants that spin into the air and glow when touched, Pandora is a visual feast from top to bottom, and Cameron lets us feel as if we are a part of it too, with the most immersive use of 3D I have ever experienced. You feel like you can reach out and grab what the onscreen characters are touching, and it plays a huge part in drawing the viewer into the story; a story that, despite all of the cutting-edge technology on display, is resolutely old-fashioned.

Pandora is home to the Na'vi, a peaceful race of blue, 10-foot tall creatures whose spiritual lives are deeply intertwined with the natural world around them. Their home is also the sole source of Unobtanium, a precious mineral that may provide the answer to Earth's energy problems, which is why a mining corporation and squadron of gung-ho marines have established a base there. Dr Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver) has developed a programme that involves humans mentally controlling alien avatars, who can travel freely among the native population, learning from their culture and building bridges between the civilisations. This is the programme that paraplegic ex-marine Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) signs up for, but Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang) has other ideas for Jake. The corporation is getting impatient with Grace's diplomatic approach, and Quaritch wants Jake to act as a spy, gaining the Na'vi's trust and reporting back with information that will aid the inevitable attack.

Avatar's backstory is explained in the film's opening twenty minutes, although Cameron has to resort to some dodgy storytelling tricks in order to do so. Poor old Giovanni Ribisi suffers most in this regard, being forced to engage in an exchange with Weaver that acts as a laughably clumsy lump of exposition. Throughout Avatar, Cameron's writing – in terms of his storytelling and his political points – lacks a degree of grace and subtlety, and his penchant for cheesy dialogue is frequently exposed, but in his broad-strokes way he does quickly shape the film into a compelling and surprisingly thoughtful adventure. As soon as Jake makes his first trip to Pandora's surface, the film finds a momentum that Cameron rarely allows to lapse. When he meets Neytiri (Zoë Saldana), the beating heart of Avatar flickers into life, and between them, these two characters give the film an emotional backbone that pays dividends in the final hour.

That's the great thing about Cameron. He has all of this incredible technology at his disposal, some of which he and his team invented during the course of the shoot, but you never feel like he is simply showing off his new toys; every piece of equipment at his disposal is there to serve the narrative. He may be a fairly blunt storyteller, but he is also an absolutely sincere one, who doesn't lose sight of the fact that the characters are the key here, not the effects. The performance-capture technique has been taken to a new level as well, allowing the actors to breathe a real sense of life into the giant blue creatures they portray. Worthington is nicely grounded as Jake, while Saldana is marvellous as Neytiri, appearing to be far more animated here than the real thing was in the recent Star Trek. The strength of these performances and characterisations is vital to help us drop any scepticism we may initially have about their rather outlandish appearance, and to simply buy into the story. Avatar really makes us care about what is happening to the Na'vi and their world, which is an achievement that is beyond mere technology.

What happens to them is a "shock and awe" campaign led by Quaritch, a terrific villain who is played by Lang as a cross between Dr Strangelove's Buck Turgidson and Apocalypse Now's Kilgore. The stage is set for an almighty climactic battle, which once again proves that Cameron knows how to bring a film to a close like few other directors. There are numerous exciting set-pieces in Avatar (Jake's escape from a rampaging beast, or his attempt to tame a flying creature) but they are mere teasers for the extraordinary finale. Quite simply, Cameron is a master at directing action sequences, and his orchestration of Avatar's various battles is magnificent. These sequences are dynamic and thrilling, frequently occurring on multiple planes of action simultaneously, but there is never a hint of confusion in Cameron's work. He directs and edits with absolute clarity and maximum tension. I can't remember the last time I was as excited and involved in a Hollywood blockbuster as I was in the last 45 minutes of this one.

Ultimately, perhaps that's what I love most about Avatar, the fact that it is a massive, effects-heavy blockbuster movie that dares to be different. It is not a sequel or a prequel, it's not a remake or a reboot. This is something new; a genuinely ambitious attempt to push the boundaries of what is possible in cinema while still providing a mass audience with an entertainment that is both action-packed and politically and socially engaged. On almost every level, I'd say Cameron succeeds, and he has instantly set an intimidating new benchmark for blockbuster filmmaking, which few will have the imagination or the sheer audacity to challenge. Will Avatar change the face of cinema? Only time will tell, and right now I just know two things to be true – this is one of the best films of the year, and James Cameron is still King of the World.

Review - Where the Wild Things Are

Can you make a feature film out of a children's book that tells its slim story in less than forty pages, using only ten sentences of dialogue in the process? It's possible, sure, but maybe I should change the first word of that question to Should rather than Can. Not every work of literature needs a cinematic adaptation, and Maurice Sendak's seminal Where the Wild Things Are – which has delighted generations of kids thanks to the simplicity of its storytelling, its dark undertones, and the beauty of its images – has spent almost two decades being pushed and pulled through the Hollywood machine, as various parties tried to find some way of translating the magic to the screen. This poisoned chalice eventually fell to Spike Jonze, who began working with novelist Dave Eggers on the screenplay in 2005. Four years and $100 million later, the film has finally limped into cinemas bearing the scars of a deeply troubled production. There is little magic to be found here; the whole thing just feels so terribly tired.

The deflating disappointment of Where the Wild Things Are rather crept up on me, as the opening sets the scene perfectly. There's a painful honesty to the sight of 10 year-old Max (newcomer Max Records) playing alone in the snow, being ignored by his sister and left in tears when a group of older kids gang up on him. With his intimate, handheld camerawork, Jonze captures the loneliness, the fear, and the need of a parent's embrace that defines so much of our childhood's most emotionally turbulent passages. It's a brilliant and affecting sequence, as is the subsequent scene in which Max is comforted by his mother (Catherine Keener), who is herself struggling under the pressures of work. These moments feel so honest and real that it comes as a genuine shock when Max's pre-dinner tantrum escalates into a physical confrontation with his mother, prompting him to run out of the house and into the night.

Max races away from suburbia, into the woods, and he stumbles upon an abandoned boat, which he uses to explore further. After get lost somewhere in the vast expanse of water he sails into, Max finally locates an island, and clambers towards the mysterious lights and sounds emanating from the island's centre. This, it appears, is where the Wild Things are, and Max initially watches from the shadows as the beasts lumber around arguing and smashing their surroundings. The Wild Things themselves are beautiful creations, and thanks to Jonze's use of puppetry rather than CGI, they have a real physical presence and weight. Jonze and his crew have done a wonderful job of bringing Sendak's creations to cinematic life; I just wish they had made them a little more interesting. The Wild Things all seem to have sprung from different aspects of Max's personality, so Carol (James Gandolfini) represents his destructive nature, KW (Lauren Ambrose) is his compassionate side, Alexander (Paul Dano) is the timid, nervous side of Max, and so on, but they're one-note characterisations, who struggle to hold the viewers' interest.

The other major problem Where the Wild Things Are has is that, for over an hour, nothing happens. Sure, the Wild Things, having appointed Max as their king, spend a lot of time smashing trees and building a fort, before their idyllic existence is undermined by petty squabbles and jealousies, but there simply isn't enough content here for a 90-minute film. The story just plods along down its meandering, repetitive path, and I'm not sure exactly what Jonze and Eggers are trying to say with this oddly alienating picture. They even struggle to keep the film visually stimulating; the sight of Max and Carol strolling through a desert landscape is spectacular when we first see it, but less so on its subsequent appearances. After the superb and potential-filled opening sequence, the only other part of Where the Wild Things Are that truly resonates is its moving climax, but you have to slog through a lot of empty noisiness to reach this point. Where the Wild Things Are is ultimately a hodgepodge of ideas and conflicting agendas; it has been made with real love and care, but it's cripplingly unsure of its own intentions. It may prove to be simultaneously too strange for kids and too simplistic for adults to truly embrace, although I suspect viewers of all ages may find it similarly boring.

Review - Me and Orson Welles

Richard Linklater must have leapt for joy when he laid eyes on Christian McKay. The British actor, who makes his film debut here, is perfect for the part of Orson Welles, and without his remarkable effort Linklater wouldn't have much of a movie. As it stands, he still doesn't have much of a movie, because McKay's pitch-perfect impersonation is rather undermined by some stodgy storytelling and a disappointingly uneven collection of performances. It's the Me part of Me and Orson Welles that is the film's biggest problem, with erstwhile teen idol Zac Efron failing to convince in his step up to more serious roles. He plays theatre-mad Richard, who is wandering through the streets of New York one afternoon when he happens to find a crowd gathering outside the Mercury Theatre. Orson Welles is just about to stage his legendary Julius Caesar, and we get to see how it came together through the eyes of this awestruck 17 year-old.

If Linklater had chosen to focus Me and Orson Welles solely on the Mercury production of Julius Caesar, then I would have been a very happy man indeed. After all, in Eddie Marsan (who plays John Houseman) and James Tupper (Joseph Cotton) he has two actors who are capable of going toe-to-toe with McKay's barnstorming Welles without looking like also-rans, and the story behind the production that helped cement Welles' reputation as a theatrical genius – as with most stories surrounding this man – is a fascinating one. There are times when the film manages to whip up some semblance of backstage magic, and these occasions normally feature McKay's Welles in full flow. As well as looking and sounding uncannily like the great man, McKay beautifully expresses the arrogance, charm, wit and rampaging ego of Welles. We see him capriciously altering stage directions and cutting scenes from the text; we see him telling various cast members that they're "God-created actors" one minute, and threatening to fire them the next. In short, we see him doing whatever it takes to bring his play, his vision, to the stage, and creating in the process an atmosphere of chaos, constantly teetering on the brink of destruction, which appeared to be a state that inspired him like no other.

So we've got Orson Welles directing Julius Caesar – who the hell cares about the romantic longings of a soppy teenager? Yet Me and Orson Welles spends a considerable amount of time following Richard as he woos ambitious theatre assistant Sonja (Claire Danes), before facing the inevitable heartbreak. In the shadow of Welles, this storyline feels so insignificant that I was itching for Linklater to cut back to the main event every minute he spent away from it. Claire Danes is pretty and effective in a slim part, but Efron appears lost and incapable of registering any of the changes his character undergoes. Disappointingly, Linklater seems to take his cue from his young romantic lead rather than McKay, and his direction is uncharacteristically lifeless. Only in the depiction of Julius Caesar's nerve-wracking but triumphant opening night does he inject the film with some verve, and in these scenes the picture briefly captures just a hint of the electricity that must have filled the theatre that night. That's the only time Me and Orson Welles lives up to its subject, though. A potentially great story about burgeoning theatrical genius has been watered down into a dull coming-of-age tale – and dull is something that no film about this man, set during this period, should ever be.

Review - The Road

I started to fear for The Road almost as soon as it started. The film opens with sun-dappled images of content domesticity, which is as far from the post-apocalyptic landscape conjured by Cormac McCarthy as one could imagine, although my fears were largely misplaced. This deceptively upbeat introduction is nothing more than a dream of a life long lost, and the film abruptly cuts back to reality, as a traveller known only as The Man (Viggo Mortensen) awakes into a far more desolate and hostile environment. In truth, The Road is a fairly commendable adaptation of a difficult novel. John Hillcoat and screenwriter Joe Penhall don't try to put a positive spin on the material, they avoid lapsing into sentimentality, they don't attempt to explain the cataclysmic event that lead to this point, and their atmospheric representation of the book's world is remarkable. Aside from the slight expansion of some pre-disaster scenes involving The Man's wife, the filmmakers stick slavishly to the source material, so we are left asking the puzzling question – why does material that was so vivid and engrossing on the page often feel so flat on screen?

The Road is a simple tale of love and survival. A man and his son (Mortensen and the talented newcomer Kodi Smit-McPhee) wander through an ashen world, which has been forever altered by whatever disaster it was that bought mankind to the edge of extinction. All of their possessions can be contained within a single trolley, which they drag behind them as they move from one deserted location to the next, slowly heading southwards, towards the coast. The road they follow is fraught with peril, inhabited as it is by gangs of marauding cannibals, but the pair cling to the tiny sliver of hope that the coast provides, and to their own sense of humanity, in a world that seems to be without it. They're surrounded by darkness, but they're carrying the flame.

As written by McCarthy, The Road it is a harrowing experience, but thanks to the stark poetry of the author's language and the strength of the central relationship, it remains an oddly hopeful one. That core relationship is one thing the film gets unequivocally right, with Mortensen once again inhabiting his character – both physically and emotionally – with utter conviction. Bearded, emaciated and bedraggled, Mortensen plays The Man as a character who has gone past the limits of his endurance, but who is driven ceaselessly forward by the primal urge to protect his son, the only thing in the world he has left. Having been born into this world, The Boy has no knowledge of what came before, and he has retained a sense of innocence and naïveté. He is played in a refreshingly unaffected manner by Smit-McPhee, and between them, the two actors develop a powerfully authentic bond. In particular, Mortensen really makes us feel the unimaginable agony of a father who carries two bullets in his pistol, and who knows he may be forced to use one on his only son, to spare him from an even worse fate.

At one point, The Man holds the barrel of his pistol against The Boy's head and comes agonisingly close to pulling the trigger. This incident occurs during a particularly close shave with a group of cannibals, one of many set-pieces Hillcoat handles with confidence. In his previous film The Proposition, this Australian director proved himself skilled at establishing a richly involving atmosphere and at staging exciting, tense sequences; in fact, The Road is ultimately a collection of impressive standalone sequences. The filmmakers successfully portray The Man's relief when they stumble across a store full of supplies, or The Boy's perplexed delight at tasting a can of Coca-Cola (the first he has ever tasted). Likewise, there are great character turns along the way, with Michael K Williams giving appearing late on as a thief who is revealed to be every bit as desperate and vulnerable as the main protagonist, and Robert Duvall turning in an outstanding cameo as an elderly man they meet on the trail.

I can't help feeling that these moments never really cohere into a wholly satisfying film experience, though. In between those high points, The Road is sluggishly paced, and the flashbacks to The Man's past (in which Charlize Theron gives a perfectly fine, if superfluous, performance as his wife) are ill-advised additions that only serve to disrupt the film's momentum further. Other directorial choice are similarly counter-productive, with Mortensen's voiceover and the disappointing score failing to add anything of note to the package, and they all bear the hallmarks of a film that has struggled to find some way of expressing the depth and meaning of McCarthy's work in a truly filmic way. One always gets the sense that it's unfair to constantly compare a film adaptation to the book it has been adapted from, but what else can you say about a work that has not been made with enough imagination to allow it to take on a cinematic life of its own? It exists as a half-decent facsimile of a great novel, nothing more, and for all of its individually fine moments, Hillcoat's road ultimately leads nowhere.