Dear David and Elvis,
What a fun honor it is to swap opinions with you both, not to mention Roger Ebert tomorrow. I liked your entries and agree about a lot–I’ll have more feedback tomorrow, but first I should explain why I didn’t really find it useful to rank this year’s crop. Many of the really ambitious efforts of 1999, the ones we will look back on as turning points, also suffer from some real limitations, and in a few cases some serious, stinkeroo flaws. I want to salute those films that were onto something new, while recognizing that in places they were kind of dodgy, and not necessarily the best-made of the year. I quite liked Being John Malkovich (inspired metaphysical conceit, unforgettable crazy dance by Malkovich, another go-for-broke performance by Cameron Diaz). But did you notice the long stretches of tin-ear dialogue for Mary Kay Place; the amateurish quality of the setups (often you can see a microphone dipping and swaying at the top of the screen); and, last but not least, the 10th-grade misogyny? Another instance: The Limey was a delicate, stylish piece of work, saturated with love of movies past; but once a year there is a similar and–not quite as good, but nearly as good–imported British mystery on PBS. Compared with The Limey, Run Lola Run was clumsy, a chunk of bratwurst. Yet of the two, it seems fresher to me.
I agree with you both that we’re at a turning point, although except in the case of David O. Russell, I’m not sure how much Godard has to do with it. The easiest place to look for this new creativity is technology: the special effects in The Matrix and Toy Story 2, the hypertext plot of Run Lola Run. But you could also see it in the style of acting. This was the first year since practically forever that I didn’t long for more genuine movie stars. This was the year when the indie ensemble aesthetic–actors humbly serving a specific function, rather than being their charismatic selves–really came into its own. Witness the number of big names turning in shrewd, non-hammy, anti-Robin Williams performances in animated films; witness Bruce Willis reviving his career by ceasing to be Bruce Willis; witness the reigning stardom of Gwyneth Paltrow, who is not the Audrey Hepburn supernova she’s cracked up to be, but, to her credit, a chameleon character actress who happens to lovely. Witness the death throes of the once-great Harrison Ford’s career. (Or was Ford, he of the simmering stare and pained, narrow grin, ever really that great? Probably, but that’s the kind of assumption this year’s films have started to call into question.)
My list of movies that felt fresh and creative but were far from perfect, and sometimes not even so likable, is: the ensemble gem Election, The Sixth Sense, Being John Malkovich, Boys Don’t Cry, Toy Story 2, Three Kings, Run Lola Run, and Dogma. And, maybe, you’ve both convinced me, Iron Giant.
Now let the exchange begin. Potential disagreements: I like Three Kings, but not as much as either of you–it drags, and at times operates in bad faith. I’ll make a case for The Sixth Sense, which I think was seriously underrated by most critics. And South Park? I did laugh (hard, I admit) at the shocking parts–the first few musical numbers and the Terrence & Philip farting/violent death routines are hilarious and creatively drawn. But the rest of it is hateful, and witless in a very predictable way. There’s no grace in the construction of the film, and though there may be echoes of the early National Lampoon (which hasn’t always dated well, I might add), unlike in the Lampoon there’s not much news about the culture that you don’t already know. The Marx Brothers, Swift? It struck me, pardon the language, as an uncle-f—–’ con game, and boring to boot.
Until tomorrow,
Sarah
