5. The Lighthouse
As hilarious as it is tense, The Lighthouse made a spiral into madness look great in monochrome. The mundane of island life for two seamen grows into mind-bending horror, unlike anything we saw this year. Robert Eggers’ follow-up to The Witch shows a filmmaker whose style continues to expand and mystify audiences. Grimace-worthy images follow enticing and beautiful cinematography, shocking audiences in just the right moments. Along with the mastery of the film, the performances from Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are some of the most dynamic and impressive of the year. (Emily Kubincanek)
4. Portrait of a Lady on Fire
Each shot is a masterpiece in Céline Sciamma’s love story, Portrait of a Lady on Fire — it’s as if the director herself dipped a brush into oils and took to the canvas of cinema, with the help of brilliant cinematographer Claire Mathon. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a daunting romance focused on the gaze between the artist and the muse; however, Sciamma expertly diverts this normally masculine gaze into a feminine one. In the late-1700s, painter Marianne (Noémie Merlant) and her subject Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) become smitten with one another. The companions show their beautiful chemistry as they argue over Orpheus and Eurydice, stroll along the windy oceanside, and peer at one another as Marianne completes a portrait of her lover. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a wholly feminine film — with almost no lines given to men — which allows for a new type of gaze to be fleshed out and painted. Haenel and Merlant deliver heart-wrenching performances as they fall in love with one another. As the winner of Best Screenplay at Cannes, Sciamma’s film stands as one of the most stunning lesbian romances, and among the best films of the year. (Fletcher Peters)
3. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
There’s a brief montage in Once Upon A Time… In Hollywood that, in only a few frames, demonstrates what makes this film so magical and singular. It’s the simplest of things: a handful of shots that show neon signs being turned on as the sun sets over Los Angeles. The Rolling Stones’ “Out of Time” plays over the soundtrack, articulating the nostalgic yearning at the heart of Quentin Tarantino’s latest. The signs themselves are nothing special — a movie theater here, a Taco Bell there — and they don’t inform the narrative. In fact, these shots could have been left on the cutting room floor and it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.
But, my God, am I glad those shots are there. This sequence is beautiful in ways that floor me completely even after seven viewings. It’s a testament to iconography that is at once simplistic and meaningful when we recognize that it’s been lost to time — the benefit and burden of hindsight, of missing what was, at the time, blasé. The light at golden hour is special in LA and this montage captures it perfectly, entwining the artificial with the natural, the mundane with the extraordinary. We, of course, know that the sun setting on August 8, 1969, means one thing for Sharon Tate in real life, but in the briefest of sequences, we’re able to hold onto the moments before tragedy becomes fact. If there’s one thing Tarantino’s revisionist histories have done, they allow us to wonder how small differences could have changed everything and to imagine what possibilities lurk outside of what we consider inevitable. To quote from another Brad Pitt film that could just as easily be applied here: “Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.” These brief neon signs are not inherently remarkable, but in context and when captured so stunningly, they feel incredibly integral to a story about mourning the everyday beauty of a lost era. It’s hard to predict where meaning will come from until it’s found. Tarantino clearly found it here. (Anna Swanson)
2. Uncut Gems
Following their 2017 crime thriller Good Time, the Safdie brothers returned to the underbelly of New York— this time taking their manic filmmaking sensibilities to the often seedy dealings of the diamond district. Our gateway into this world is Howard (a career-best Adam Sandler), constantly jumping from bet to bet, deal to deal, ill-formed money-making scheme to ill-formed money-making scheme. While it’s clear that the Safdies love making life as hard as possible for their protagonist, it’s also clear that they have a certain affection for Howie; in their film, he’s impossible not to love even for an audience who knows better. His fast-talking, expletive-laden manner grows on you from the second he hits the screen, aided, no doubt, by Sandler’s indescribable star power. But he’s far from alone in this film, which boasts incredible performances from Lakeith Stanfield, Kevin Garnett and an introduction to the stellar Julia Fox. Fundamentally, Uncut Gems is simply superb filmmaking, with these top of the line performances, wonderfully frantic cinematography, a strikingly emotive score, incredibly tight editing, and a remarkable screenplay all guiding us through the madness. It all makes for a film that’s anxiety-inducing, sure, but also thrilling and often hilarious. It’s a reminder of why the Safdies and filmmaking are a perfect match (not that we needed a reminder): in their hands, you’re simply along for a gripping ride that, by its end, will have you letting out a long breath, looking to your neighbor and saying “man, what a rush!” (Aliya Jones)
1. Parasite
Parasite is a truly irresistible piece of art. The film is a thrilling race of a narrative where the broke-ass Kim family worms its way into the carefree extravagance of the Park family. Once inside, both parties reveal themselves as the desperate humans they are, hungry to devour the security of wealth. Neither clan is vilified or championed. Both are victims of an invisible creature that chomps on everyone’s guts daily. Bong Joon-ho flays the global state of capitalism, sparking pangs of relatable misery but does so while delivering a masterfully intrinsic work of Hitchcockian dread. The suspense of Parasite is carefully layered, building to a climax impossible to predict during act one, but perfectly formed from each stage in the plotting. The monster we meet at the end is a mirror, and one we will never escape until every human on this planet gets access to one of those Star Trek replicators. Walking out of Parasite is like exiting a fine dining experience where the chef spiked the soufflé with a shattered lightbulb. Taste so good, but your insides are bleeding. (Brad Gullickson)
Don’t forget to check out the rest of our 2019 Rewind.
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