Charlie Kaufman's screenplays are intensely interior: they're all about the uncharted, dangerous territory between our ears. That can create a challenge for directors looking to give visual expression to such subjective, symbolically-loaded material. Michel Gondry's homemade special effects trickery and ceaselessly moving camera deftly express the Kaufman's vision. And it's a damn amazing vision, brimming with comedy, sadness and an unblinking examination of the perils and rewards of love. Nothing beat that amazing ending, after the memories have been wiped, the connections have been severed, and all Clementine and Joel know is that their love was so traumatizing that it drove them to experimental memory erasure...and they still want to give it another go.
2. Shaun of the Dead
It's almost impossible to make a fully successful parody. You either drop the ball on the comedy, or you drop the ball on making a cohesive, compelling film. Unless, of course, you're Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg. Then, you're able to consistently send up genres while simultaneously delivering the authentic pleasures that the genres have to offer. I probably can't judge Shaun of the Dead objectively, since I'm a huge mark for all things zombie, but when you consider that this is not only one of the funnier films of the decade, but also one of the very best non-George Romero zombie films ever, I think I'm in the ballpark here.
3. Kill Bill Volume 2
This movie marked the beginning of Quentin Tarantino's run as a master of the cinematic bait-and-switch. After busting out two hours of non-stop bloodletting in Kill Bill Volume 1, setting up his audience for an epic explosion of badassery, Tarantino's sequel spends the bulk of its running time on talky digressions. It' s not just a bit of audience-punking, though. The operatic violence of Kill Bill 1 was criticized by some for being an empty exercise in style, but Volume 2, in addition to featuring style to burn, gives shades and depth to its characters that give retroactive meaning to all that arterial spray.
4. Sideways
Like his earlier film About Schmidt, Alexander Payne's Sideways is a bout a confused, angry man adrift in a sterile, passionless world. Unlike Warren Schmidt, Paul Giamatti's Miles is achingly, punishingly, brutally aware of every way in which the world and his own carbuncular personality prevent him from finding happiness. And yet...it doesn't do a bit of good, because the self-loathing that bubbles up like black tar in Miles' soul can only be soothed by the sweet elixir of alcohol. But if it's fancy wine, it doesn't count as alcoholism! So Miles and his best friend (who, in a great touch, he doesn't really seem to like) Thomas Hayden Church tear up wine country in search of transient pleasures. There's a bit more redemption at the end of this one than About Schmidt, and it comes courtesy of Miles' ability to express his pain artistically. Just like Harvey Pekar. This movie clinched Paul Giamatti's status as Schlub of the Decade.
5. Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy
Will Ferrell was probably the biggest comedy star of the 00's, and this is easily his best movie. It's the most effortless mixture of parody, character work and flat-out absurdism to be found in the decade. There wasn't a funnier sequence in film during the aughts than the news team fight scene and post-fight conversation in Anchorman. It starts with an amusing conceit: rival newscasters rumble West Side Story-style. Then, during the rumble, the absurdism explodes with the introduction of horses, nets and, of course, tridents. Everything comes to a delirious head in the next scene, when Ron's crew dissects the fight and, instead of leaving the super-over-the-top violence as a bit of throw-away wackiness, they bring everything back down to earth, starting with the immortal line "Brick killed a guy." There's an unwritten rule that when a comedy turns the absurdity knob up for one scene, it won't effect the rest of the movie, and Anchorman's decision to abandon that convention made for transcendent comedy.
Horrible movie that forever tarnished the cinematic reputation of the Milwaukee Brewers: Mr. 3000. C'mon, man, can't we retroactively get Major League, please?
"Modern Classic" I just can't get behind/Oscar-winning, universally-beloved movie that isn't that great: Million Dollar Baby. At his best, Clint Eastwood movies feel strangely airless and mannered, and the cliche-filled, cartoonishly-dark subject matter of this movie plays to all of Eastwood's worst habits as a director.
Great scene in an otherwise-crummy film: Adrian Brody stabbing Joaquin Phoenix in The Village. When he feels like it, M. Night Shyamalan can control the frame like nobody's business, and that mastery serves him well in an expertly paced, genuinely shocking sequence.
Best dinner-table scene: I Heart Huckabees. This movie is not without it's faults, but it also brims with considerable virtues, the most richly rewarding of which is the clash of ideologies at Richard Jenkins' dinner table. Jason Schwartzman's fervid idealism meets a hostile reaction in the defiant complacency of a family of suburban Christians. What happens when you stand in a meadow at dusk? Nothing and everything.
Most frustratingly great scene: the opening scene in Dawn of the Dead. For all of it's bloody delights, Zack Snyder's remake of the George Romero classic features a number of missed opportunities, none more agonizing than the failure to carry the sense of apocalyptic frenzy that powers the magnificent first ten minutes into the rest of the film.
Best use of Tom Cruise's innate creepiness: Collateral. Seriously, how come more director's don't see that Cruise's laser-eyes and wolf's grin are a natural fit for villainy?
Line of the Year: "America, FUCK YEAH!" --Team America: World Police
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