At a primal level, movies serve as a way to escape reality, and let's face it--the reality of America in 2017 was often so utterly depressing that the need to escape it, even if just for two-hour chunks here and there, was more urgent than ever. First among those who made the year so unusually grueling to endure is, of course, Donald Trump, who approached his first year as President of the United States with bungling incompetence, spiteful cruelty, alienating arrogance, and hideously undiluted racism. And as brave victims of sexual harassment and assault in the film industry have come forward to share their stories, many men who possess far more talent and intellect than Trump have been proven to be nearly as slimy. Even those of us who generally find it very easy to separate the art from the artist can see the necessity of purging certain predators who use the workplace as an arena for groping (or worse). All of this meant that keeping up with the daily news in 2017 amounted to an invitation to non-stop wincing.
So it takes nothing away from the best films of the year to say that every theatrical release in this period felt like a life saver to desperately cling to. (I didn't see The Emoji Movie, but surely it's not as torturous as checking in on the latest Trump tweets.) And it's noteworthy that many of the year's cinematic highlights offered a treasured quality that feels like it's in short supply: hope. Whether via women fighting back with magical lassos and roadside signs, soldiers taking on Nazis in WWII, or journalists exposing the U.S. government's deceit, these films provided much-needed optimism. So here are the best movies of 2017:
1. The Lost City of Z (James Gray). The brilliant neo-classicist behind Two Lovers and The Immigrant, Gray gets his biggest canvas to date with The Lost City of Z, resulting in a transporting, wondrous adventure epic. The true story of British explorer Percy Fawcett (Charlie Hunnam) discovering evidence of an advanced, now-extinct civilization in the Amazonian jungle in the early 20th century is filled with beauty and peril, captured with screen-filling grandeur by Gray and director of photography Darius Khondji. Underneath this sumptuous surface is a haunting, resonant study of pushing against limits--those of English society, which refuses to believe Fawcett's findings of alleged "primitives" who made pioneering advances the British empire previously laid claim to, as well as the limits of obsession, which overtakes Fawcett's entire being as he searches for the Amazonian lost city, leaving his wife (Sienna Miller, who, like Hunnam, does career-best work here) and family in the dust. That makes this an old-fashioned yarn with a troubled, modern soul as deep as the Amazon itself.
2. The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected) (Noah Baumbach). When Danny Meyerowitz (Adam Sandler, proving how intuitive an actor he can be with the right material) gives a drug-fueled speech at an event honoring his sculptor father, Harold (Dustin Hoffman), he bluntly questions his dad's legacy, musing, "If he wasn't a great artist, that means he was just a prick." Due to aforementioned reveals of sexual predators in Hollywood, we now know that Hoffman, the actor playing Harold, is both a great artist and something of a prick. It's a coincidence that, in a weird way, speaks to the bittersweet human complexity at the heart of The Meyerowitz Stories. Harold and his sons, Danny and Matthew (Ben Stiller), can be arrogant, selfish, and needlessly competitive with each other, but writer-director Baumbach generously embraces their just-as-evident virtues. He is perhaps most affectionate towards the women stuck in the Meyerowitz family, particularly Harold's sardonic daughter, Jean (Elizabeth Marvel, priceless), and free-spirited current wife, Maureen (Emma Thompson). With dense, singularly witty dialogue and an ingenious structure that uses recurring motifs to connect isolated chapters, Baumbach has created a family portrait of beautiful specificity.
3. Wonder Woman (Patty Jenkins). There are plenty of qualities that mark Wonder Woman as a throwback within the growing world of comic-book movies--its World War I period setting; the showmanship and earnest but light tone that director Jenkins, making an astounding segue from indie to big-budget studio fare, effortlessly pulls off; the snappy, Ninotchka-esque verbal back-and-forth between Diana (Gal Gadot), the mighty princess of Themyscira, and Steve Trevor (Chris Pine), the American fighter pilot who serves as her guide through Earth's less exalted realms, which gives the film a sincere human core. But as the audience cheers that greeted the sight of Diana confidently striding into No Man's Land can attest, Wonder Woman is also a rousingly zeitgeist-tapping genre treat. There's a cathartic feminist kick in seeing Diana stand up to male warmongers, and the movie is also ingenious in using Diana's belief that Ares, the god of war, has corrupted mankind as a metaphor for reckoning with the dark side of humanity. Through Diana's alien eyes, we get to experience the anger at man's capacity for evil anew, and in Gadot's fierce, star-making performance, we get to celebrate the ability to confront it.
4. Brawl in Cell Block 99 (S. Craig Zahler). The difference between poetry and prose in ultraviolent B-movies is beautifully illustrated by how leisurely and flavorful writer-director Zahler makes the journey leading up to when drug-runner-with-a-code-of-honor protagonist Bradley (Vince Vaughn) enters the titular cell block. Zahler similarly took his sweet time with his Western debut Bone Tomahawk, and in this audacious sophomore outing, his patience allows the viewer to savor his precise, colorful dialogue and the nuances and brutish charisma of Vaughn's career-best performance, as well as to become invested in Bradley's dedication to his flinty wife, Lauren (a feral Jennifer Carpenter). So when Bradley is incarcerated and goons threaten Lauren to force Bradley to carry out a mission in the prison's maximum-security cell block, the deliberate set-up pays off in elevating Bradley's arc to the realm of powerful B-movie myth--he's a brawling Orpheus descending into ever-gnarlier pits of hell for the woman he loves. And for those who treasure prison movies as eloquent as they are vicious, Brawl in Cell Block 99 is some kind of heaven.
5. Star Wars: The Last Jedi (Rian Johnson). Given the narrative zig-zagging of writer-director Johnson's previous work, like the con artist caper The Brothers Bloom and the sci-fi thriller Looper, it's not surprising that the filmmaker has freshened up this beloved franchise of space operas with a few well-placed curveballs. While some of his subversions--like making one-time Jedi warrior Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill, exhibiting stronger gravity and control as an actor with age) a bitter recluse, and having Rebel pilot Poe (Oscar Isaac), who possesses a Skywalker-esque fearlessness in an X-wing, chastised (by a no-nonsense Laura Dern, no less!) for practicing the same kind of hot-dogging heroism that made Luke a savior--angered certain fanboys, they helped make this the richest, most surprising series entry since The Empire Strikes Back, as well as the one with the strongest, most touching sense of the power of political rebellion. Johnson's aesthetic flair (the color red here is showcased to a Powell-and-Pressburger-esque degree) and command of spectacle honors the cinematic traditions of a series that he refreshingly goes his own narrative way with.
6. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (Martin McDonagh). When Mildred (Frances McDormand, peerless at digging into the souls of stubborn hard-asses) rents out a trio of billboards to bluntly confront the local police force for failing to pursue any suspects in the tragic case of her daughter's murder, she becomes a surrogate for all Americans who have felt betrayed by the institutions intended to protect them. This doesn't mean that McDonagh, the profanely witty playwright whose previous film triumphs In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths established his gift for despairing dark comedy, wants to position Mildred as an entirely virtuous heroine. Nor does he settle for relegating Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell, in a role that showcases his vast range), the oafish, racist cop who has allowed Mildred's daughter's case file to gather dust, to a stock villain role. In McDonagh's world, the characters are all like the beetle helplessly wriggling on its back glimpsed in the billboard office early in the film--creatures persevering in the face of a universe that has cruelly knocked them down. McDonagh quietly sympathizes with that act of defiant perseverance, while simultaneously finding a bracing, vinegary blast of humor in its futility.
7. Dunkirk (Christopher Nolan). In telling how Allied troops under constant attack from the Germans in World War II were evacuated from the beaches of Dunkirk, visionary filmmaker Nolan boldly eschews conventional approaches to narrative and characterization, opting instead for full sensory immersion and an intricate time-nesting structure. Aided by the churning intensity of composer Hans Zimmer's score and the IMAX-screen-filling grandeur of Hoyte van Hoytema's cinematography, Nolan has reconfigured the war movie as an abstract symphony of sand, water, fire, metal, and bodies in near-constant motion. By the time the film's heroes--and, by extension, the overwhelmed audience--are finally able to evade enemy attacks and take a breath, the film reveals itself as a wartime hymn to those who live long enough to fight another day. That Dunkirk arrives at this inspiring purpose through strictly cinematic means of expression is a testament to the medium that Nolan has always championed with a justifiably monk-like dedication.
8. Coco (Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina). The imaginative wizards at Pixar Animation Studios have transported viewers to the secret societies that toys, fish, and monsters form behind humans' backs, but they aren't usually as interested in the diversity of the everyday world in front of us. One of the low-key delights of their incredibly moving latest adventure Coco is how young aspiring musician Miguel's (voiced by Anthony Gonzalez) family life in Mexico is rendered with such affectionate authenticity; the representational focus on south-of-the-border culture and traditions breathes fresh life into the animation giant. As it happens, the dance between life and death is a major theme of the film, which takes Miguel into the Land of the Dead--a colorful, visually rapturous take on the underworld--to discover the origins of his family's strict no-music ban. Miguel's journey is filled with ingenious twists, and the eventual emotional payoff is devastating. As culturally specific as Coco is, its celebration of our bonds to family members we have lost will resonate with everyone.
9. After the Storm (Hirokazu Kore-eda). Caught in a pattern of failure, Ryota (Hiroshi Abe), the protagonist of Kore-eda's remarkably wise and perceptive drama, can't overcome the crippling writer's block that's preventing him from penning a follow-up to his acclaimed first novel, and he ends up gambling away the money he makes from moonlighting as a private eye. That means he often scrambles to pay child support to his ex-wife (Yoko Maki), though he desperately wants to live with her and their son (Taiyo Yoshizawa) as the family they once were. When the three of them seek shelter from a rainstorm, they find themselves again under the same roof, and Kore-eda captures the melancholy of yearning to recapture something that may be gone forever. But, as the writer-director conveys with gentle humor, compassionate warmth, and the help of an excellent cast (Kirin Kiki as Ryota's mother is a particular highlight), everyone's daily battle to be his or her best self goes on in spite of the past glories that have been lost to the sands of time.
10. Call Me By Your Name (Luca Guadagnino). In the hugely cathartic father/son talk that comes near the end of Guadagnino's sensual tale of young love and that has quickly become its most beloved scene, Mr. Perlman (Michael Stuhlbarg, incredibly touching) assures teenage Elio (Timothee Chalamet, nailing the roiling emotional currents of his character down to the most minimalist nuance) that Elio's romantic connection with Oliver (Armie Hammer) has "everything and nothing to do with intelligence." The film bears this observation out in its very form. While the pleasingly erudite screenplay by James Ivory ensures that Elio and Oliver's discussions carry the right intellectual charge, director Guadagnino, as well as the intimacy of Chalamet and Hammer's performances, capture the physical and chemical nature of the two young men's infatuation with each other--in other words, the part of it that has nothing to do with intelligence. The duo's swimming, dancing, bike riding, and playful roughhousing acquire the suggestive heat of foreplay. And Guadagnino surrounds them with beautiful relics--classical music, the statues that Mr. Perlman uncovers--to drive home the point that love affairs like this have been human achievements for all of history.
And here are the next ten runners-up:
11. Logan Lucky (Steven Soderbergh). Thank goodness that director Soderbergh didn't stick to his stated goal to retire from making movies, because he's made a hell of an entertaining one with Logan Lucky. It's a heist movie whose narrative turns and stylistic control superficially resemble Soderbergh's Ocean's trilogy, but its Southern milieu--portrayed by the filmmaker with both sincere affection and gentle mockery--gives it a scruffy, laid-back identity all its own. Its left-field pleasures include Daniel Craig goofing it up as an explosives expert named Joe Bang, a gang of prison inmates infuriated at writer George R.R. Martin's lack of productivity, and a school talent show performance of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads" that may bring a tear to your eye.
12. The Big Sick (Michael Showalter). One of the many things that make The Big Sick an uncommonly smart and satisfying romantic comedy is that the obstacles keeping comedian Kumail (Kumail Nanjiani, who co-wrote the autobiographical script with wife Emily V. Gordon) and psychiatric student Emily (Zoe Kazan) apart opt for real-world gravity instead of lazy contrivance. They're divided first by cultural expectations (Kumail's parents demand that he marry within the Muslim faith), and then by medical emergency once Emily falls into a coma. This singular journey to "happily ever after" is marked by big laughs and rendered with palpable emotional authenticity. Ray Romano and the wonderful Holly Hunter add to the plausibility with perfectly lived-in turns as Emily's parents.
13. mother! (Darren Aronofsky). With wicked imagination and formal assurance, the one-of-a-kind allegory mother! charts an egomaniacal artist's (Javier Bardem) careless destruction of his long-suffering muse (Jennifer Lawrence, fearless)--and that's just one layer of this open-to-interpretation, boldly abstract auteur curio. Lawrence's character has been viewed by others as a stand-in for Mother Earth, yelling in anguish as countless people leave her home in ruins. And it's just as possible to walk away with a more superficial reading of the film as a portrait of how annoying unwanted houseguests can be. Either way, Aronofsky's film pulses with a nightmarish intensity that's hard to shake off.
14. Detroit (Kathryn Bigelow). Action specialist Bigelow has always been an aggressively physical director, one whose control of space, texture, and movement has a visceral effect on the viewer. Watching the incendiary docudrama Detroit, the viewer is bound to want to escape when Bigelow focuses in on the Algiers Motel, where a face-off between white cops and innocent black men ends in unwarranted violence. This is a purposefully abrasive cinematic experience, but its power, energy, anger, and clarity about racial power dynamics in America can be cleansing for those open to its toughness. A frightening Will Poulter as the most sadistic cop and Algee Smith, touching as a victimized singer, stand out in a woefully underrated ensemble cast.
15. The Square (Ruben Ostlund). The world of contemporary art is an ideal playground for Ostlund, the Swedish provocateur whose precise compositional control is balanced with a cynical, mischievous sense of satiric humor. He skewers the pretensions of gallery culture as amusingly as expected in The Square, but what elevates the movie to greatness is its probing, open-ended inquiry into the difficulty (or is that impossibility?) of doing one's part to transform urban society into an idealized utopia. Ostlund's most electrifying set piece exploring this occurs when a wild ape-man performer (Terry Notary) terrorizes a banquet hall full of gallery patrons without any heroic interference to obstruct him. It's a scene so vibrant and unpredictable it feels like it's unfolding live, and it points to why Ostlund has emerged as such a vital talent on the international scene.
16. Wonder (Stephen Chbosky). It goes without saying that a family film about a boy born with facial deformities (Jacob Tremblay, proving his Room performance was no fluke) braving public elementary school for the first time carries with it a high probability for sappiness. But Chbosky, the onetime novelist improving on his already striking debut The Perks of Being a Wallflower, possesses the intelligence and empathy necessary to sidestep the premise's potential for mush, and delivers an emotional powerhouse that earns every tear shed. With a novelistic structure that gives vividly drawn supporting characters each a chance to shine, Wonder smartly addresses that the cruelty of kid society, much like that of the adult world, is a result of everyone fighting an unseen battle. So it's best, as the movie says, to "choose kind"--a motto that's profound in its simplicity and daring in its sincerity.
17. Phantom Thread (Paul Thomas Anderson). Compared to auteur Anderson's mammoth epics like Magnolia and There Will Be Blood, a period chamber drama about a fastidious fashion designer (Daniel Day-Lewis, as chameleonic as ever) and the headstrong waitress (Vicky Krieps) who challenges his routine existence feels minor at first glance. But on second viewing, Phantom Thread reveals itself to be uniquely insinuating and resonant--a love story that uses specific quirks (it's delightful to see that .gifs have been made of the Day-Lewis character's odd tantrums) to arrive at universal truths about long-term relationships. The film nails how what's exasperating about love is inextricable from what's intoxicating about it, as well as detailing the initial difficulty and eventual contentment of compromise.
18. The Killing of a Sacred Deer (Yorgos Lanthimos). A dark comedy of sinister elegance, The Killing of a Sacred Deer opens with a close-up of a chest cavity being operated on, which is an apt curtain-raiser for a dissection of how the instinct for self-preservation reduces us all to quivering flesh and blood. The basic premise of a mysterious teenager (Barry Keoghan, in a chilling breakthrough performance) terrorizing a wealthy surgeon's (Colin Farrell, as perfect a deadpan match for director Lanthimos as he was in The Lobster) family sounds like stalker-thriller material, but luckily, Lanthimos is far more interested in mining queasy laughs from tangents focusing on the frailty of the human body. By the time Farrell's doctor is shouting maniacally at his wife (Nicole Kidman, game as ever) about magical pubic hairs, the audacity of the film's morbid absurdity becomes something to cherish.
19. Atomic Blonde (David Leitch). This year proved that the co-directors of 2014's sublime action movie John Wick are each just as formidable when working alone. Chad Stahelski's John Wick: Chapter 2, which (spoiler alert for the end of this blog entry!) placed right outside my top 20, delivers in a way sequels rarely do. And Leitch's Atomic Blonde is a kick-ass Cold War spy movie with its own unique sensibility. The Berlin Wall serves as not just a key setting in the film, but as its organizing principle--the divide between the weary cynicism of the double-crossing characters onscreen and the exuberant pop surface of glistening neon lights and '80s New Wave soundtrack cuts that Leitch creates is just as pronounced. At the center of it all is the mighty Charlize Theron as badass spy Lorraine Broughton. A hypothetical team-up movie with her and Wick would melt all the faces in all the world.
20. Raw (Julia Ducournau). Making a remarkably assured debut, writer-director Ducournau merges horror and coming-of-age genre tropes to create a strange hybrid that's simultaneously lyrical and savage. When teenage vegetarian Justine (Garance Marillier) embarks on her first year at veterinary college, she soon discovers that she has an appetite for a kind of meat that's strictly taboo, and that she may not be the only one in her family who does. Ducournau bites into the central metaphor of awkwardly trying to form your own self once you leave home behind with as much relish as Justine feasts on flesh. The ample gore is imaginatively rendered, and complemented by beautifully expressive filmmaking, occasional gallows humor, and insight into the struggles of young adulthood.
And here are seven more 2017 standouts:
21. A Cure For Wellness (Gore Verbinski).
22. The Post (Steven Spielberg).
23. The Disaster Artist (James Franco).
24. John Wick: Chapter 2 (Chad Stahelski).
25. The Florida Project (Sean Baker).
26. Song to Song (Terrence Malick).
27. Stronger (David Gordon Green).
Special Recognition for Non-Eligible Work: It's essentially a no-brainer that this goes to Twin Peaks: The Return (David Lynch), a TV event with such formidable cinematic chops that some critics and cinephiles have gone ahead and labeled it an 18-hour-long film so that it would be eligible for their year-end lists. No matter what medium you think it belongs to, superlatives like "stunning" and "breathtaking" feel almost insufficient in describing Lynch's constantly surprising, immaculately crafted achievement. Ever since it's left the air, I've missed the sensation of getting in front of the TV every Sunday and having absolutely no clue what kind of mad genius Lynch was gonna throw at me.
As Yet Unseen: Faces Places, Loveless, Girls Trip, Jane, Hostiles, Lady Macbeth, Princess Cyd, Ex Libris, Foxtrot, Beatriz at Dinner, Dawson City: Frozen Time.
