TEENAGE KICKS: PAUL ANTHONY NELSON'S TOP 20 FILMS OF THE TWENTY-TEENS (2010s)

Happy New Year, Viscerals!!

2020. Wow. Genuinely sounds like "the future", doesn't it? At some point soon-ish, I'd like to write an entry on just what this decade has meant to Pez and I -- and have her contribute her half for her own perspective -- but we just don't have the time right now. As years often do nowadays, this one sees us hit the ground running.

In lieu of that, which will be more personal and about what the first 10 years of Cinema Viscera has meant to us, changed us, challenged us and propelled us into the 2020s and our little production company's second decade, here is a quick snapshot of my Top 20 films of the 2010s.

SPECIAL MENTION: Despite being written, financed and directed as an 18-hour film to be released in installments, Twin Peaks: The Return (2017, David Lynch) was released via a cable TV network in weekly episodes, is the extension of a TV show and plays with the tropes and structure of that medium brilliantly, so while history will likely consider it a work for television, it belongs right here with every one of these as one of the "cinematic" works of the decade that meant the most to me.

As this weird, turbulent, tumultuous decade draws to a close, these 20 films (including two cinematic collages) are the ones that have meant more to me than any other:

#20: TERROR NULLIUS
(Directors: Soda_Jerk, aka Dominique & Dan Angeloro)

Could this be the definitive remix/re-evaluation of — and challenge to — 20th/early 21st century Australian culture? Packs a staggering amount of social commentary into its 55 minutes, with a ferocious zeal. In a lot of ways, this felt like the direct progeny of Joe Dante’s The Movie Orgy (1968), surely Patient Zero for this kind of work; political, playful and prone to a callback, using our collective pop-cultural absorption to savage the political class and voters’ wilful indifference. The sheer physical feat of getting this kind of thing assembled is impressive, so the fact that the experience winds up being so hilarious, terrifying and, ultimately, mournful is a testament to Soda_Jerk as mixmasters, mischief makers, filmmakers and conscientious agitators.

#19: THE MASTER
(Director: Paul Thomas Anderson)

A beautiful, enigmatic, platonic love story between two men, through the prism of belief, control and personal freedom. Phoenix, Hoffman and Adams give career-high performances (especially Phoenix, whose work here is next level), Mihai Malaimare Jr’s cinematography is astonishing and Anderson’s directorial control is at its most precise, yet, also, finds him at his most searching. This is a film interested in the notion of our natural, often misguided impulse to control and somehow reshape those we love — a theme PTA would revisit again (see film #16)...

#18: THE STRANGE COLOUR OF YOUR BODY'S TEARS
(Directors: Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani)

What if somebody made the best, most formally audacious horror film of the 2010s and nobody noticed? Crafted with surgical precision and an undeniable enthusiasm for the genre (particularly its giallo subset), directors Cattet and Forzani deploy image, montage and sound with the playful inventiveness of experimental cinema — playing with truth, identity, time, the past’s relation to the present and the very way storytelling is delivered — while also managing to draw us into its bizarro, persona-shifting murder plot, mining maximum suspense and building some truly intense sequences of violence and murder — often involving straight razors — luxuriating in their thematic and sensual pleasures while subverting and critiquing the film history these directors adore. A dark, devious, even pervy pleasure, ripe for rediscovery.

#17: KILLING THEM SOFTLY
(Director: Andrew Dominik)

An arrestingly visceral, acidic take on our failed global economy, substituting a institutionalised government with middle-level organised crime. It isn't always subtle, but I respect a gritty crime flick that’s politically angry and unafraid to say it, thrilling with career-best-level acting from all concerned and bracing style. From one of the most gut-wrenching beatings I’ve seen onscreen to one of the very best closing lines of recent decades, Andrew Dominik's downbeat but darkly funny adaptation of George V. Higgins' novel Cogan's Trade came at a time when it felt like a well-placed hollow-point bullet to the head of America’s increasingly homogenised, tentpole-obsessed cinema.

#16: PHANTOM THREAD
(Director: Paul Thomas Anderson)

The second PTA film on this list, his play of shifting power dynamics between a petulant artist and his complex muse is hypnotic, exquisite, beautifully layered, wildly unpredictable, shockingly funny — and always FASCINATING. Vicky Krieps is a revelation, Lesley Manville is a gift, Julia Davis is brilliantly deployed and it’s almost *too* perfect a role for DDL to bow out with. (And PTA shot this himself?! Whoa.) Just as bewitching, engrossing, luscious, and even funnier, on repeat viewing, Phantom Thread slowly and surgically dismantling the image of the fussy, exacting, egotistical male creator while examining the true, darker nature of what it's really like to share your life with someone. One of the most unpredictable screen stories, and one of the most fascinating central relationships, I've seen in 21st century cinema thus far.

#15: THE ACT OF KILLING
(Directors: Joshua Oppenheimer, Cynthia Cynn, Anonymous)

In a land where the mass genocide of over one million communists in 1965-66 is still celebrated and victims are still silent (hence the 'Anonymous' co-directing credit, like so many others listed on the crew), co-directors Joshua Oppenheimer and Christine Cynn found the main executors, former gangsters and those beneath them, all-too-willing to boast loudly about their war crimes. (Imagine a world where the Nazis won WWII, the Hitler Youth continue to hold rallies and Hermann Goering appears on morning talk shows to chat about what a service he did by killing the Jews. That's what this is.) So the directors gave cameras, extras and only the most limited assistance to these gangsters and paramilitary stand-over men -- all big movie fans -- to re-enact their crimes in the idiom of classic movie genres. Watching this startling, weirdly-amusing-despite-itself, fundamentally distressing footage is as confronting and conflicted as anything you’ll see and will leave you pondering all manner of ethical questions.... but something amazing happens toward the end of the film. I won’t say what, but it will stay with me forever. Singularly horrific, fascinating and important, a landmark look at the absurdly human face of true horror.

#14: THE CLOCK
(Director: Christian Marclay)

The mere four hours I saw of this (8:40pm-12:40am) felt like two, just rocketing by. Christian Marclay's astonishing 24-hour supercut of cinematic scenes where time is shown or mentioned, syncing up perfectly with the time in the real world (so the film is both a tribute to the notion of time in cinema and a functioning clock in itself!) is an endlessly entertaining masterclass in editing and propulsion, even without a narrative. The connective tissue around scenes and waiting for each particular minute to be represented keeps one alert and interested (I still find it mind-boggling that the vast majority of the 1,440 minutes of the day show up on screen in film and TV somewhere) and the constant presence of time does give it all a ticking-clock momentum. It’s only when the occasional scene is allowed to languidly play out that one becomes aware of time passing, the rest is a sensory rush. I hope to run into it again one day, to see more.

#13: FIRST REFORMED
(Director: Paul Schrader)

“Can God forgive us for what we’ve done to this world?” Writer/director Paul Schrader returned with a vengeance with his most urgent and resonant film in years (while subtly tipping the hat to another of his greatest works) crafting a slow-burn character study, personified by Ethan Hawke in quiet, career-best form, that perfectly expresses the rage and powerlessness of our troubled times. Whether you're an atheist, believer or agnostic, the conversations Schrader digs into here are essential: faith's place in a world that all too often feels like it's hurtling toward self-inflicted extinction, the confused mix of anger and complicity we all share about this state, the possibility of finding a purpose in all of it, reaching the point where "thoughts and prayers" seem pointless and action is required, and the impotence and despair we can't help but feel when we realise it all may be too little, too late. Genuinely daring, unsettling, darkly funny and haunting, I'm dying to see it again.

#11 (tie): ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD and PARASITE
(Directors: Quentin Tarantino and Bong Joon-Ho)

The twin towers of 2019, closing out the decade in scintillating style.

Class conflict and wealth disparity have been explored in a lot of films this year, but no film has nailed it quite as cogently or entertainingly as Parasite. As brilliantly assembled like a Swiss clock and stacked with outstanding performances (Song Kang-Ho is a Korean national treasure at this point), Bong Joon-Ho's hilarious, poignant, wholly unpredictable and deeply furious film is essential viewing and his best picture to date. From its knockabout, cheeky setup, the delightfully improbable but insanely skilful way the family insinuate themselves into this rich family's home is hilarious, satirical fun to watch... And then they find a secret door. Nothing will prepare you for what happens next, or where it goes, no where it ends up. Sublimely crafted from top to toe (shout out to Lee Ha-jun and Mo So-ra, whose production design choices are exquisite) and sure to be frequently rewatchable. It's all too rare nowadays, but I found myself weeping tears of joy at the end, instantly convinced I'd just seen a masterpiece. 

Perhaps the most soulful, open-hearted and affectionate work of Quentin Tarantino's career, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood sees the filmmaker reckoning with death, mortality and the unique power of cinema (and TV) to stave it off, however briefly. For him, the moving image is the best form of immortality we have. The film is a memoryscape, a fairytale, an exhumation and a fever dream all at once -- perhaps this is why the film seems to hold a kind of hypnotic power. How much of this is happening? How much is anecdotal? How much is nostalgia, and how much is playing with the notions and fallacies of nostalgia? It reckons with the past and beckons to the future, often by presenting the world of 1969 Hollywood without judgement, letting the viewer to come to their own conclusions, whilst presenting a level of detail and minutiae a viewer can get lost in. (There's no doubt that a working knowledge of the Manson Family murder case is key to appreciating this film, especially during its turbulent final act. Without it, I can't imagine the final shot packing the emotional wallop it gives me every time.) An unmitigated joy.

#10: BLUE VALENTINE
(Director: Derek Cianfrance)

This film hurt my heart. The triumph of this stunning portrait of a dying marriage is to seem so achingly intimate, so effortlessly real, that anyone who's been in a relationship will be powerfully affected by some aspect of the story. Everything is geared toward creating a tangible reality, echoed by Andrij Parekh's stunning, often hand-held cinematography that powerfully evokes family photos (the present-day is shot on RED digital, the past on Super 16mm film), the mostly subtle musical score from indie band Grizzly Bear and the heartbreaking performances of Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams. Both characters elicit your sympathies, and who you'll relate to more is purely predicated upon your own personal experiences. It's this kind of emotional truth, unflinching observation and non-judgmental outlook that makes you want to hug the filmmakers for treating the subject matter with such respect, and ultimately reminds us that, sadly, more often than not, this is how our universal dream of love with another turns out.

#9: THE WORK
(Directors: Jairus McLeary, Gethin Aldous)

Twice a year, California's Folsom State Prison opens up its doors to the public to observe and participate in four-day group therapy sessions with "Level Four" inmates, who are murderers, rapists, notorious gang leaders, all inside for interminable stretches. As the sessions get underway, we see that these kind of patients employ a form of brutal sensitivity, as the cons shout, clutch, cajole, shove and scream their way through some dark, desolate, deeply wounded emotional landscapes. Along with the convicts, the three civilians we follow in learn confronting, important things about themselves. Undoubtedly one of the most heartbreaking, potent documentaries I've ever seen (tears were streaming down my face just 30 minutes in), it should be compulsory viewing -- particularly for men, young and old, who battle with the spectre of inherited, toxic behaviour every day: you don't have to give in to it. You can confront it and yourself and heal. You'll see even the baddest of badasses can cry... because, more often than not, they're the ones who need to do so the most.

#8: IT'S SUCH A BEAUTIFUL DAY
(Director: Don Hertzfeldt)

By following Bill, a man whose perception of reality and memory is becoming increasingly blurred and untethered, if there's a better, more deeply felt film about hopes, dreams, dealing with mental illness and just struggling through day-to-day life, I've yet to see it. Pretty incredible when you consider it's a film populated entirely by stick figures. A minor miracle and absolutely one of the great works of the 2010s.

#7: MANCHESTER BY THE SEA
(Director: Kenneth Lonergan)

This film tore me in two. Using small observations of people struggling through enormous personal tragedy, Kenneth Lonergan teamed with his peerless cast to burrow deep into these primal truths. Casey Affleck deeply inhabits this bereft, permanently broken man, almost unbearably open-nerved with self-immolating guilt. Michelle Williams makes a nuclear impact with relatively little screen time, Kyle Chandler is a damn near angelic presence and Lucas Hedges is so assured and just about perfect. Rather than wallow in grief, the film taps into the ebbs and flows of life, the everyday joys and fuck-ups and wins and losses and loads and struggles and dumb baggage and macho bullshit and compromises and passion and indignities and loves and bruises of the whole damn thing. For a film that made me collapse into tears, it also features some of the laugh-out-loud funniest, and most warmly affectionate, moments I saw all decade. Because that's the way life is. You never see it coming. But when it does, you will be unprepared. It may even destroy you. But we've got a hell of a better chance of getting through it together. An American masterpiece.

#6: MOMMY
(Director: Xavier Dolan)

In an astonishing decade for one of the world's youngest working feature filmmakers, for a while there Xavier Dolan seemed to improve and expand his cinematic gravitas with each film, and Mommy saw his signature blend of lived-in social realism, perceptive melodrama, bold cinematic flourish and sensitive direction drawing stunning performances all swell to a perfect storm -- not to mention his pinpoint use of popular music to punctuate his characters' journeys -- fashioning a shattering experience that roars to a conclusion that left me astounded and emotionally spent. Climbing out from behind homage and precocious traits (however few), this is where Dolan stamped himself as a major force.

#5: INSIDE OUT
(Directors: Pete Docter & Ronnie del Carmen)

Lovely, perceptive and remarkably complex examination of emotion and experience, through a supreme family entertainment. Key viewing for kids and adults, mining the most primal of human experiences to show us why all emotions, even sadness, are not only useful, but essential. Pixar's greatest magic trick to date and their best film in years hits raw nerves, earning its crushing, mass-sob-inducing finale. Beautifully designed with a retro flavour and perfectly voice-cast, too. (One last word: Bingbong.)

#4: MAD MAX: FURY ROAD
(Director: George Miller)

Astoundingly visceral, (70 year old?!) George Miller's return to the Mad Max universe saw next-level practical stunts and choreographed action meet insanely detailed, almost surreal design (it felt to me like Jodorowsky on all the crack at times) and sinewy, locomotive scripting. From Junkie XL's stirring, percussive blast of a score, to John Seale's kinetic, seemingly-positioned-everywhere cinematography, to Charlize Theron heisting the film in broad daylight from an already terrific Tom Hardy with her already-classic one-armed super-heroine Furiosa, to the wonderfully powerful feminist subtext laid throughout, Miller created perhaps the first definitive action epic of the new millennium.

#3: THE HATEFUL EIGHT
(Director: Quentin Tarantino)

The first film I saw in 2016 was also the one to most accurately frame the violently toxic, tumultuous socio-political landscape to come. Not only Tarantino's purest spaghetti western yet, but also his most political film to date: a gleefully nasty, unflinchingly nihilistic mirror to a racist, misogynistic United States of America. It's a beautifully bilateral film: both thrillingly entertaining -- bursting with witty scripting and indelible, complex characters -- and teeth-baringly vicious, out to leave a deep and painful mark. But it's no tract: The Hateful Eight is a big, blasting, booming cinematic tableau writ large -- like, 168-minute-plus-15-minute-interval, 2.76:1 aspect ratio, Ultra Panavision 70mm film large! -- with career-high work from its cast (particularly Jennifer Jason Leigh, Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell and Walton Goggins) and il maestro Ennio Morricone, who delivered a thrilling, bone-chilling score worthy of a horror movie.

#2: MELANCHOLIA
(Director: Lars von Trier)

A stunning film in every department, redolent with powerful metaphor, remarkable control and unfathomable grace, this tale of the great scourge of our generation – Depression – serves as a damn near definitive treatise on the subject. The first half, even while wittily exploring a family dynamic as cringe-worthy as any episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, is a literal look at how the condition slowly, insidiously wreaks havoc upon someone and those close to them, while the second half uses its science-fiction trappings to explore depression metaphorically, through a perfect synonym of a dark, raging, unknowable planetary force, irresistibly elemental in its gravitational pull. Written by von Trier after emerging from depression’s grip, he and Dunst (also a sufferer) bring a startling reality to the piece, and not a second of Justine’s journey seems forced or artificial. As honest a depiction of the Black Dog as I’ve seen, von Trier has never shown a surer hand, from the film’s mesmerising opening sequence (with one of the decade’s best opening shots) till the heart-stopping, soul-crushing finale (also the year’s best closing shot), it will absorb, enthrall and crush you.

#1: INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS
(Directors: Joel & Ethan Coen)

All decade, there's not a character I related to more than Llewyn Davis, for better or worse. Following belligerent, bereaved folk singer Llewyn Davis over one particularly awful week as his life and career continue to unravel, it struck me as one of the best films ever made about the psychology of an artist. In the Coens' customarily clever, caustic, quirky way, it asks all the big questions that keep artists of all stripes up at night: Are you as talented as you think you are? Does the world really want to hear what you have to offer and, if they don't care, does it all even matter? What if you're the right person in the wrong time? Is your integrity and unwillingness to "sell out" helping or hurting you? Are you selfish and/or your own worst enemy? Watching Llewyn, sad, sarcastic and beat down (a phenomenal performance from Oscar Isaac), using and losing the last friends he has left, trying to get by day-to-day and struggling to hold on to what remains of his dignity, is both darkly hilarious and a moving, humbling experience. Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel shoots through a cold, ghostly sheen that gives '60s Greenwich Village a spectral quality, like we're witness to a culture that's already dead but doesn't know it yet. With every new film, it feels like the Coen Brothers' entire career will end up looking like the Great American Novel on film, as they so perfectly capture the foibles, follies and futility of humanity, spanning so many timeframes through experiences that seem so uniquely American yet, somehow, hit us all right where it matters.

Love and cinema,
PAN
xx