..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..R.J. Matson
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Michael Wilmington

The Eye of the Navel 2004

Three years ago I made a liberating decision. I had sat down to begin the ritual process of making out a top 10 list for the year. It's not terribly complicated.

1) I make a copy of the film releases of the year
2) I go down the list and delete titles that won't figure into my favorites.
3) I whittle the list down to 10.

I can't exactly recall my mood or condition at the time (as I write this I might best be described as exhausted). What I do recall is that it seemed quite obvious as I was scrolling and deleting that I'd be hard pressed to find a minion. It seems to me that I might have also been thinking that I should only include films that I felt would have some enduring worth. I didn't want to be reminded of some snap judgment inclusion of a movie that struck an immediate chord and soured as it echoed off in the distance.

Then it struck me like a bolt of lightning.

It didn't have to be a top 10. If there were only five titles, why not simply focus on them. It seemed to me that in years past I'd managed to shoehorn in 11 or 12 movies using some convenient rationale. So, that year and in 2002 and 2003, the list comprised seven or eight titles.

As I went through the process once again a few days ago, I chuckled, as the thought of the tally loomed larger. And something quite extraordinary happened after the completion of a second pass. There in front of me were 14 titles. I looked at the list once again just to be sure there was no repetition or a spill over title from the prior year. And as I checked title by title, it crossed my mind that I couldn't recall a single instance since January 1st where I, or anyone else, had observed in conversation that it had been a better than average movie going year.

I looked at the list one more time attempting to discern whether I had gone soft in the head. But it was useless. If I had lost my grip, it was far to late to pull myself from the abyss. So, in no particular order other than alphabetical I will lay my cards on the table.

Ae Fond Kiss. An unusually potent tale of racial and religious intolerance that centers on the romantic relationship between a young Pakistani Muslim and a transplanted Irish Catholic school teacher in contemporary Glasgow. Ken Loach is to the Scottish city what Barry Levinson is to Baltimore and this film and the immediate prior Sweet Sixteen show the veteran filmmaker in top form. Some of his past films have tended to be blatantly doctrinaire to the detriment of the drama but Ae Fond Kiss is defiantly humanistic and begins on such a light hearted note (the very title suggests something slightly frothy) that when the true colors of his family and her bosses emerge it is like a cold slap on the face.

The Aviator. Of all this year's choices, this is the selection that makes me most anxious. The early years of flyer/filmmaker/entrepreneur Howard Hughes as seen by Martin Scorsese is unquestionably uneven storytelling. There's little sense of intent during its first half hour, characters weave in and out; sometimes without purpose and several storylines involving the rich and famous are just plain banal. Still, it's beautifully directed and Leonardo DiCaprio provides a singular performance as the charismatic, driven and off kilter Hughes. It is a giddy journey that ultimately is compelling, moving and heartfelt in a way that suggests Scorsese may indeed have a couple more rabbits in his hat.

Distant. This Turkish film won several awards at Cannes 2003 and it's easy to see why this uncompromising look at modern alienation was embraced critically rather than commercially. The yarn begins with the arrival of a country cousin to the home of his photographer relative in Ankara. He talks a good game but it turns out he's incapable of following through on even the most trivial promises. The photographer is also blocked but in a darker, psychological morass. What's remarkable about this little gem is how little transpires on the surface. It has an icy veneer and you can feel the pent up emotional eruption brewing if it could only find an outlet.

Hotel Rwanda. The civil war and genocide that occurred in the African nation back in 1994 was one of the darkest chapters of the past century. The film by Terry George, while unstinting in conveying the horror, elects to remember one man that made a difference and the similarities to Schindler's List do not go unnoticed. Paul Rusesenbagina manages a four star hotel in Kingali and when the hostilities break out and the European executives flee, he find himself in charge. In an exceptionally riveting performance, Don Cheadle portrays the real life personality as someone that will not look away and turns the hotel into a refuge camp, defending its several hundred occupants by guile, suasion and whatever other assets he can muster to the task.

Maria Full of Grace. This first feature by Joshua Marston is a stunning debut. The title character is a young woman in Columbia who becomes a drug mule after losing her job. It's a harrowing odyssey that graphically depicts the ruthlessness of the trade and her journey to America where the disorientation of entering an alien environment is more frightening than any splatter sequel. It seems genuine and authentic and - if one hadn't been bombarded by press coverage - the work of a South American with full knowledge of the milieu.

The Motorcycle Diaries. In a year overflowing with biopics, this chronicle of the life of Ernesto Guevara before he was "Che" rests at the top of the heap. In 1952, he and a buddy climbed aboard a vintage Norton 500 with plans to traverse the continent South to North. They are a couple of aimless, well-heeled youths and initially the film, adapted by Jose Rivera, appears to be no more than a series of antics loosely basted and set against some extraordinary travelogue footage. Director Walter Salles never rushes his story or pushes his points. It was a life transforming experience etched in the faces of common folk who lived along the Andes. Of all the 2004 releases, this is the one whose images remain the most vivid and haunting in my memory.

The Phantom of the Opera. The choice apt to give me the greatest amount of grief. But it had me from "hello," so to speak. I loved it on stage, I'm exceptionally fond of the 1942 film and it remains one of the great dramas of unrequited love. In adapting Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical to screen, director Joel Schumacher opts to pour it on visually and emotionally. One can quibble about starting on a high note but this is one story that can sustain such trenchant passion. Gerard Butler doesn't quite have the chops as an interpretive singer but he's more than up to the task of getting across The Phantom's ardor, anger and pathos and Emmy Rossum provides a deft balance of courage and vulnerability as the object of desire. It is spectacular spectacle.

The Return. The Russian cinema has been in disarray since Glasnost but this drama about an estranged father and son reunited for a car trip of mysterious purpose bodes well for the future. Strikingly unsentimental it evolves as an apt metaphor for a society in transition. Both characters (and another son) eye the other with suspicion, trying to decipher the truth beneath postures that cannot possibly be credible. This first feature by Andrei Zvyagintsev has a ragged quality that allows for many side trips along the route and a shocking conclusion I'm certain is forever branded in my mind.

The Sea Inside. There were a number of memorable performances in last year's crop of movies, but Javier Bardem's work in this Spanish drama - based on a true story - was the stand out of 2004 in my book. Playing the quadriplegic writer Ramon Sampedro, he gives a startlingly effective turn that mostly registers in his eyes (a couple of brief flashbacks recall his youth prior to the crippling accident). The screen Sampedro is charismatic, sexy, funny, acerbic, passionate and especially determined. He has reached a point in his life where he can see no future and would like to end it with dignity but the courts and the church aren't about to let him go into that good night (the theme also surfaces in Million Dollar Baby). It's a starting about turn for director Alejandro Amenabar's last outing, the Gothicly stylish The Others, and suggests an amazing versatility few of his contemporaries can match.

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter … and Spring. In the unlikely event that you've been napping for the past three years, the emerging national cinema of note is located in South Korea. Emerging isn't exactly correct for the Koreans have produced a steady stream of quality films (as well as local popular comedies) for at least two decades but it's really only recently that the world has caught up to the unusual array of films from the Asian nation. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter … and Spring is atypical of the country's predilection for genre movies and searing social exposes. It is truly Zen-like with the cycle of life tied to changing seasons. In this instance a young boy arrives at a remote temple and is taken under the wing of an elderly monk. The seasons are not consecutive, so the boy evolves quickly into his teens and early twenties and with the passage of time finds himself questioning the old ways and leaving the fold. It's both an elegy to traditional values and an affirmation of the resilience of the human spirit.

- by Leonard Klady