Left Field Cinema

(10) Fish Tank

Realism with twinges of lyricism. This is possibly the most accurate way I can summarise the work of Andrea Arnold, she’s not Ken Loach, she’s not Mike Leigh, she is her own woman with her own style and is arguably the best British female writer director working today. Following on from her Academy Award Winning short film and her critically acclaimed feature debut Red Road, Arnold’s sophomore effort is a kinetic and energetic story of a teenage girl, Mia, from the wrong side of the tracks who aspires to be a dancer and wants to escape from her uncaring promiscuous mother and socially dire circumstances but along the way falls for an older man (her mother’s new boyfriend Connor) whose intentions we’re not entirely sure about. The cliché’s are out in force but Arnold manages the rather nifty trick of concealing the failings of her story with an uncompromisingly brutal reality, a sharp sense of humour, stunning performances, perfectly built tension, excellent choice of music and beautiful photography. But whenever the magic of cinema threatens to overwhelm our better judgement (be it through moments of delicately balanced slow motion, or the use of Wong Kar Wai favourite track “California Dreaminin’” which coupled with the Christopher Doyle-esque photography neatly reminds us of Chungking Express and other Wong Kar Wai films) Arnold suddenly plunges us back into reality and reminds us that roses have thorns. The central performance of newcomer Katie Jarvis is extraordinary (although as a non-professional actor whom Arnold discovered when she witnessed her having a heated argument with her boyfriend in a train station, one wonders if the character of Mia is the be all and end all of her dramatic range – only time will tell.) With Michael Fassbinder in supporting duties (playing Connor) it’s hard to fault this film from a performance perspective, indeed the quiet moments between the two aforementioned performers make up some of the best scenes of the year, an uncomfortably erotic seduction sequence is the culmination of palpable sexual tension, an earlier scene see Conner carrying a sleepy Mia to her bed, he gently undresses her and we watch from Mia’s perspective as she pretends to be asleep, the father figure and the lover are mixed with complex results. Later as Connor begins asking if his manhood is bigger than that of another teenage lad Mia is involved with, the reality of the situation is pulled into sharp focus and we’re reminded of the complexities of the situation, for where there was previously romance and potentially love, now there is nothing but an older man lusting after a barely legal teenager. It’s the swiftness of this manoeuvre this is so impressive, Arnold gives the audience a sweet and naive love affair and then remorselessly contorts it into something sinister. Fish Tank isn’t perfect, a rather laboured horse metaphor becomes a tad tiresome in the last act, the point is continually rammed home to the point where its symbolic concealment becomes null and void. Sentimentality begins to override the proceedings in the last movement of the film with a painfully obvious final shot (how this was not excised during the films editing is beyond me). However these momentary lapses in creative judgement do not spoil the overall film, a film which stands proudly as the best British drama of the year.

(9) Delta

Kornel Mudruczo’s Hungarian feature film has been the victim of numerous critical attacks for being a superficial film with aspirations to be something greater than the sum of its parts. A very sudden rape scene is viewed as nothing more than an attempt at sensationalism (even though rape has long since lost its cinematic shock value and these days even homosexual incestuous necrophilia wouldn’t make the average cinema-goer blink), the films eclectic soundtrack is viewed as pitiful attempts to invoke a sense of importance for a film that has none and the directors style is considered too derivative. Sight and Sound were particularly harsh on what they saw as an entirely superficial film which took so much from others that it was hard to see any originality at all. I find this particular criticism to be the most invalid for although you can see moments of Bela Tarr and Werner Herzog to be sure, the film does not look or sound like the works of either director. Herzog’s films were never this elegant, and Tarr’s were rarely mindful of colour. In most cases the reviewers seem to have missed the point of Delta, of course this is just my own opinion as always, but to me Mudruczo’s film was a darkened fairytale, in the truer sense of traditional fairytales rather than the Disney approach. The story follows formally estranged half brother and sister as they move away from their mother and her aggressive new lover and build a house together on the titular delta. Soon their newly formed relationship gets negative attention from the local male population and murderous plans begin to form. The film runs at a meditative pace for some ninety odd minutes, in which time the landscape and community come to life and we witness an impressive series of set pieces which illustrate the bizarrely paradoxical value systems at play. One rather ornate sequence in particular shows an impressive funeral procession for a local drunk as all the community take his body down the river in a huge collection of small rowing boats (aided by Popol Vuh’s track “On the Way” from Herzog’s Nosferatu soundtrack). This dedication is not to the lower member of the community, but to the conformist, the man who drank himself to death but still remained “one of them”. The brother and sister may be seeking happiness together away from violence and stifling surroundings, but it doesn’t matter to the community, for they are breaking the rules and refusing to conform which makes them a threat, in some ways it reminds most of Aditya Assarat’s ironically titled film Wonderful Town (also released this year) which followed a similar story line and eventual conclusion, although Wonderful Town was beautifully shot it was less impactful than Delta. All the characters in Delta are mercilessly sombre, and the whole film has a loveless attitude about it, something which again on the surface invites mocking responses. But it’s initially adolescent presentation begins to carve out its own misanthropic atmosphere as individuality is relentlessly crushed by the masses. There is no hope, no pity, no salvation to be found. The delta is death. To love is to commit oneself to pain and only very strongest and bravest will commit to taking that step.

(8) A Serious Man

The Coen Brothers are back on form after squandering the comic potential of their previous film Burn After Reading (although they’ve not quite returned to the dizzy heights of No Country For Old Men). This is their fourteenth film to date, and in a decade which has seen arguably their three weakest films released it is a pleasant surprise to end this portion of their careers on a high note. A Serious Man is a re-working of the Hebrew Bible Story of Job – which addresses the problem of reconciling a world where innocent people continually suffer and a world with an all-powerful God – into a 1960’s Jewish community in the United States of America. This ambitious concept is exploited for both comic and dramatic purposes, it reminds most of their 1991 feature film Barton Fink which had similarly varying range of tones. Whilst A Serious Man never reaches the darkness of Barton Fink, nor is Barton Fink as funny as A Serious Man – the comparison is valid as both films feel somewhat slight in their content, not frivolous and not without interpretative possibilities but with a very simple concept married-up to moments of ambiguity, and dire consequences for the most innocuous or innocent of actions, or no action whatsoever in this case. It is another bizarre world The Coen Brothers have created with the help of the legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins, with some of his most experimental and brave cinematography to date, highly shallow focus pulls and darkened imagery; Carter Burwell’s sinister and elegant score which adds to much of the films dramatic weight; and of course the cast of talented performers most of whom the Coen’s haven’t worked with previously, highlights include Michael Stuhlbarg as the hapless protagonist Larry Gopnik (another passive hero the Coen’s enjoy tormenting so much), Richard Kind as unstable and possibly genius Uncle Arther, Fred Melamed as the sensitive yet domineering wife stealing neighbour, and first time film actor David Kang as potentially dangerous Korean physics student Clive. The film is both frustrating and painful to watch as Larry continues to submit and give in to the inequities that life throws his way, at all points we the audience are praying and hoping that he will take control of the situation, stand-up for himself or at least tell everyone to “shut-up” at least once, but just as we think Larry has had enough he continues to take more punishment. If you’re not a fan of painful comedies like the BBC series The Office or HBO’s Curb Your Enthusiasm then this is one film you should probably avoid. A Serious Man is also arguably a huge mess of a film, from a seemingly unrelated pre-title sequence as a husband and wife face a potentially evil visitor in an unspecified pre 20th Century time-period (bizarrely shot in an aspect ratio of 4:3) to a story Larry’s second Rabbi tells him about a message from God discovered by a dentist scratched into the back of a clients teeth, a story which leads no where and has no point, to frequent dream sequences which elaborately offer hope and violent catharsis in the same breath, to the unexpected, somewhat anti-climatic and sharp conclusion to the story which feels like the Coen’s ripped the last ten pages of their script out before shooting commenced. But this is the genius of the film, for its flow or lack of flow of events, its random structure and haphazard attempts to construct meaning are as meaningless, unflowing, structure less and haphazard as life itself. Random suffering prevails because there is no God, or alternatively, random suffering is God, life is random and painful because that’s how God likes it.

(7) In the Loop

Politics has been satirised in cinema since the days of the silent film, but never before has a political satire been so damning, so naturalistically presented or so hilariously constructed. Based on the BBC television series The Thick of It (think Yes, Minister meets The Office and your not far wrong) and utilising many of the same cast members (although frustratingly often in slightly differing roles making this only a semi-spin-off of the series). UK and US politics collide as war in the Middle East looms, inept politician Simon Foster (Tom Hollander) accidentally fails to follow the party line by stating to the press that “war is unforeseeable” and then later contradicting this by stating that “sometimes it’s necessary to climb the mountain of conflict”. His two contradicting statements make him the ideal ‘meat-puppet’ for both politicians with pro and anti-war agendas on the other side of the Atlantic. What ensues is a first class deconstruction of political language (and its numerous perils and pitfalls) and a reconstruction of the language of comedy by the series creator Armando Iannucci. His ambitious feature film debut is quite possibly the best comedy of the decade, I’ve seen the film three times now and each time is better than the time before, each time more gags seem to appear which I missed on previous viewings, this is the most rapid fire comedy since Leo McCarey’s Duck Soup. The film is not perfect; it so completely recreates the souless world of international politics it also means the film lacks soul as well. As a weekly broadcast television sitcom The Thick of It works because characters in sitcoms never change, they continue to make the same mistakes over and over again, there is no need for character development as the very nature of sitcoms preclude it. However within the confines of a feature film the characters are expected to develop in some form or another and it is in this sense that the change in medium is not entirely successful. The climax does not deliver enough of an impact in either narrative or character and leaves you hungry for more. Despite this flaw In the Loop still manages to be the best British film of the year, a testament to the quality of the work Iannucci and company have done. To be perfectly honest it’s too damn funny to hold a grudge against it, it’s too clever to not to respect, it’s too bold in it technique to dismiss. And make no mistake, this is a bold comedy: comprised almost entirely of hand held and predatory photography more commonly found in modern U.S and more recently U.K. drama series, boasting almost contradictorily beautiful musical score which is at complete odds with the films content, featuring the foulest language imaginable and the most creative use of expletives you are ever likely to hear. Beyond all of this however is the films biggest selling point, Peter Capaldi’s blisteringly vicious performance as the UK communications director Malcolm Tucker. Tucker is one of the great anti-hero’s of all time (and I mean anti-hero in the truest sense of the term), how Capaldi manages to make the audience root for his vile morally unscrupulous political bully is perhaps this year’s biggest cinematic miracle. Capaldi is simply mesmerising to watch, anytime he’s off screen you’re waiting for him to return, he doesn’t always get the best lines but he delivers them with such a sadistic vitriol that you can’t help but find hilarious. You have to see it to believe it.

(6) Pontypool

Perhaps 2009’s biggest surprise was Bruce McDonald’s darkly comic Canadian horror movie. This is a difficult film to gage at times, it is undoubtedly a horror movie but it is relatively light on the horror front, certainly there are horrific moments and some tense sequences, but nothing to make you leap out of your chair or scream “make it stop! I can’t take it anymore!” Instead we have a curious genre blender, for what horror there is, there is the same amount of comedy and intellectual stimulation – it is the latter which makes this film so truly memorable. Could this be the smartest horror movie ever made? Quite possibly. Set in a Canadian radio station during a snow storm, recently down trodden and relegated shock-jock Grant Mazzy (played with considerable charisma by the gristly voiced Stephen McHattie), his new producer and assistant are alone with him and in conflict because Mazzy won’t tone down his antics for the small town folks who make up the stations listenership. Soon reports come in of disturbing events in the town, civil unrest that sounds suspiciously like Zombification of the population, but we never cut outside the station and none of this can be confirmed on the wire. The tension builds as one phone call after another reveals horrific details of what is going on around them, but the more we hear the more uncertain we become – could this all be a hoax or is there a virus that is transmitted via language (specifically the English language). Pontypool’s central premise is so bizarre that it’s impossible to ignore or forget (indeed it’s no surprise that the film is based on a book as it is a very literary concept). The deadly infection is spread when a person doesn’t understand a word that is spoken, playing as a brilliant metaphor for the media’s infectious nature when they inform the public that a falsehood is the truth, causing violence and despair through language is literally presented on screen here - the confusion and violence the media create when we no longer know who to believe. A word spoken can destroy a life, as the tagline brilliantly surmises “shut-up or die”. Pontypool is the single most bizarre movie experience you’re likely to have all year, a testament to the director and the writers’ skills that they managed to balance this films dichotomy of tones and styles so well right up to the deliriously hilarious climax. Pontypool is never as funny as this years other great horror comedy Drag Me to Hell, but where Drag Me to Hell is a ghost train ride, Pontypool is something entirely different - a cerebral nightmare comedy! If I were to find a fault with Pontypool it is that some of action based sequences are a tad sloppy in delivery and as with many other horror movies the implied and invisible threat is far more terrifying than its physical manifestation. Had McDonald known how to handle the horror as well as he handles the tension, comedy and philosophy then this would surely be a masterpiece. However as it stands Pontypool’s flaws are forgiven by this reviewer because of how intelligent its central premise proved itself to be.

(5) Synecdoche, New York

A theatre director Caden (played brilliantly by the ever consistent Philip Seymore Hoffman) is obsessed with reality and bringing reality to the stage, and as he is plagued by the many troubles in his love life he perseveres until his art has completely consumed both him and everyone around him. Although Charlie Kauffman’s directorial debut did find itself as one of the critics darlings of 2009, I was somewhat confused by the over emphasis on the first half of the film being the superior to the second, usually this comment has been centred around the films moments of comedy, however from my view the second half was funnier and more sophisticated than the first as the play mutates and grows and all the essential players are surrounded by duplicates and triplicates of themselves and their increasing interactions make the proceedings comically confusing. This is most assuredly a Kauffman film, to date he’s been primarily known as a screenwriter, and to his credit he’s one of the few screenwriters to retain a distinct authorial voice (where other writers fall prey to endless re-writes and script doctors). Some critics commented that without the likes of Spike Jones, George Clooney or Michael Gondry in the directors chair the balance of weirdness and humanity would be lost and the weirdness would prevail; from one view they’re correct the film is easily the most bizarre of Kauffman’s work today but I do not see this as negative. The only negative for this film is its restlessness (I find restlessness one of the most unappealing of cinematic qualities) but in this case it fit the character and the story and it was soon quashed by the layers of post modern sophistication that Kauffman endowed his film with. The emphasis is clearly on all the strange and wonderful details, the central character of Caden creates gigantic piece of theatre which eventually replicates an entire city, whilst in contrast the woman he’s lost (and obsesses over) does microscopic art that requires special glasses to see; Caden also may well be a woman (at one point a woman takes his part in the play, he never has any facial hair, and someone even comments that it’s like he’s menstruating). Is Caden already dead? The re-occurring motif of suicide is potent and in one stand-out scene his therapist asks him “why did you commit suicide” only to correct herself and say “why would you commit suicide” raising the hairs on the back of your neck in the process. Such questions as you might have gathered are not completed answered by the film. But despite the intricate, complex and unreal nature of events the film is profoundly honest and open. Behind all the weirdness and interpretive possibilities is a clear central character with a clear central goal. Kauffman has managed (once again) to balance his personal peculiarities with pure humanity. Some feel it’s too long, but I honestly don’t know what I would cut without pulling the heart out of the film. The films masterful ending solidified this point, for much of the second half I was wondering how on earth Kauffman was going to conclude the story and the way he did was absolutely perfect and left a huge smile on my face as I left the cinema.

(4) Let the Right One In

Tomas Alfredson’s Swedish vampire film is a new high water mark for films of its genre, gently breaking all the rules and getting away with it. With its wider interpretive possibilities, stunning photography, brilliant performances from it two central child performers and a macabre sense of humour, its place in this years top ten films was guaranteed (to it’s credit it even managed to be selected for Sight and Sounds top ten films of 2008 and 2009 as well getting the top spot on numerous other critics and news outlets top films lists including Mark Kermode, Uncut, and Empire). For my own in-depth analysis on Let the Right One In you can listen to the Left Field Cinema episode which was released in July and is available on the feed.

(3) Anvil! The Story of Anvil

British director Sacha Gervasi’s debut in the world of documentary film making was one of the biggest surprises of 2009, and one which has generally been adored by critics and viewers alike. The film centres around the trials and tribulations of a Canadian rock band - the titular Anvil! Our protagonists Lips and Rob Reiner formed the band when they were fourteen, they’re being praised by Heavy Metal legends like Mettalica as a key influence for the Metal genre, one interviewee openly admits that everyone ripped them off and left them in their wake and since that time they’ve never made it to successful heights of their peers. Despite this Anvil continues, Lips and Rob are now in their fifties but they’ve never given up on that one dream – to be a successful band. First I must clarify, that although I did once dabble in heavy metal music when I was in my teens (you might have even caught me moshing at a Rage Against the Machine concert in the 1990’s), but I’ve since left it behind, my musical tastes have changed quite radically over the years and whilst I might still play the odd Sevendust or Nine Inch Nails track, I do not consider myself a metal fan. This factor is irrelevant when it comes to appreciating this film, for the film is not about the music, it’s not about technique, it’s not about the history of Metal – it’s about perseverance and dedication, it’s about the definition of success and struggle against overwhelming odds. You don’t need to be a metal fan to appreciate the deeply human and humane story of Lips and Rob, they sometimes play gigs to crowds of less than ten people (as occurs at one point during the documentary) but nothing deters them or damages their ferocious sprit for long, the anger and humiliation they feel during these moments of embarrassing failure only spur them onwards. Lips, Rob, the rest of the gang are immediately endearing characters who we invest in deeply as the film progresses; their adventure is filled with drama and comedy, tears and laughter, although they bicker and argue you’re never in any doubt that these two men love each other like brothers and will stick with it till the bitter end. The strong sense of humour that runs through Anvil! The Story of Anvil is based on the human interaction rather than toe-curling cringing at sad old men playing “Rock N’ Roll” a cruel X-Factor-eque ritual humiliation of talentless wannabe’s this is not, Gervasi never has anything less than total respect for his subjects and exposes their inner vulnerabilities as well as their long standing ambitions. This is a film I’d recommend to any aspiring artist sees; if you want to be a film maker, an actor, a musician, a painter, a writer, whatever your ambition is in life, there will come a time when you doubt your abilities, when you doubt the journey, when you feel like packing it all in and giving up forever. When that time comes, my advice is simple: watch Anvil! The Story of Anvil, their entire attitude towards the craft, their attitude towards their career, their attitude towards their audience (no matter how small) and most importantly their attitude and definition of success will inspire you for years to come. There is a moment when Lips honestly states to the camera that his new album is a success already and it doesn’t matter if they actually sell any copies, with this sort of attitude towards their work – how can they possibly fail. Financial reward is one motivator, but ultimately the work is its own reward. Rob and Lips fall out, make up, laugh, cry, sing and dance. As they do, we do the same – truly the journey is more important than the destination.

(2) Tony Manero

In recent memory there has never been such a successfully bizarre combination in cinema as Tony Manero. An audacious study of a killer and thief obsessed with John Travolta’s character from Saturday Night Fever and living in 1970’s Chile under the Pinochet dictatorship. It is at once a brutal thriller with a deeply unlikable but fascinating character at its heart, a surreal comedy, a social commentary on the nature of celebrity idolatry and the dangers involved in the desire to be famous; as well as the consequences of brutalising the population of a country to the point where the individual views life as cheaply as the state does. In a land of oppressed people the sociopath is unchecked and thus thrives. All of this is presented in a social realist fashion with hand-held camera work throughout, mucky and brown colour pallets, frequent, deliberate and total dropping of optical focus and complete lack non-diegetic sound, in style it is comparable to the works of The Dardenne Brothers (even down to how the camera only follows our protagonists actions and rarely diverts from him), but with out the peachiness, the optimism or the humanism the Dardenne Brothers are also known for. Tony Manero is a Pablo Larrain’s second feature film as director is such an uncontrovertible oddity in cinema that it’s unique position is enough to make it a praise worthy venture, without the added bonus of highly compelling performances from the leading actors, the lead actor Alfredo Castro in particular being absolutely magnetic in the part, you dare not take your eyes off of him for a second for fear of missing what he might do next, he single handily captures the character of Raul’s rampant contradictions, petty vindictiveness, total selfishness and projections of sexual confidence which amazingly those around him buy into, which is comparable to the ways in which the entire population buy into the dictatorships current line of martial law and submit to the torment and poverty that has been thrust upon them. The bigger and more convincing the lie, the more people believe it! The film has been chastised for not featuring a single likeable character and that worse still that Raul is so despicable a character that the audience switches off and is uninterested in his journey. I did not sympathise with Raul, but I found him fascinating to watch, it’s a falsely that you have to sympathise or empathise with a central character in order to enjoy a film, in fact those who you have nothing in common with and often disgust you can be more enjoyable to watch than any noble or humane protagonist. The film is filled with memorable scenes, that can often be both hilarious and terrifying in the same instance, in one stand out scene our antagonistic anti-hero goes to the cinema to watch John Badham’s Saturday Night Fever again, the cinema is the only way he can watch the film, but when he gets there he finds it has been replaced by Randal Kleiser’s Grease, after watching five minutes of the film and seeing how John Travolta’s character is pitifully unmanly and family friendly, Raul decides to take matters into his own hands heading up to the projection room and killing projectionist by slamming his head against the projector itself. This is total over reaction to the film changing is disturbing but hilarious because of how deeply Grease offends him (something that some viewers, myself included, can relate to), but then the switches tact’s as the projectionist’s wife also enters the room and her murder to cover up the crime he’s just committed is sinisterly implied but never seen. But this but one of many chilling and often disgusting sequences in the film that is balanced by a black sense of humour, for the world of Tony Manero is as frightening as it is funny, as repulsive as it is immersive.

(1) The White Ribbon

Michael Haneke returns to form after the debacle that was shot for shot remake of an earlier film Funny Games U.S, patronising English speaking audiences across the world. Returning to Europe and winning at this years Canne Film Festival, Haneke has restored his fans faith in him to deliver a truly compelling cinema experience. A series of mysterious and violent events plague a small German town and as the story unfold the lives of the town folk are disturbed by these perplexing and unsolved assaults on person or property, a doctor’s horse is tripped over by an invisible wire whilst the doctor is still riding the animal, a lord’s son is brutally assaulted, a barn is set on fire etc. Each time no lasting suspects are caught, and no answers can be found. The White Ribbon represents arguably Michael Haneke’s greatest film, interestingly though The White Ribbon also represents his biggest departure from his cinematic signatures: the film is shot in startling monochrome (and as such is easily his visually stunning film to date), the film features a voice over narration (but even in this area Haneke manages to deliver something different), it also has a higher number of shots per scene than the average Haneke film. But most importantly it is a period drama (almost all other Haneke films were set in the present). The latter point is of greater significance as the films setting of the years leading up to World War I distinguishes it from his other works entirely. Whatever time period his films are set, Haneke is never without a point to make and on this occasion the wider interpretation most critics have taken is that the film is an exploration of the causes of fascism within Germany, I do not entirely subscribe to this reading of the film, instead I take a wider view of the films content; violence begets violence, and one generation learns violence from previous generation, be it systematic abuse or occasional outbursts of anger, the violence continues and mutates into something even more dreadful. In short – violence is a contagious disease. The placement of this film historically means that a statement about ‘the beginning of fascism’ is easily read, but a counter argument would be that the films content dictates that the film can not be placed within a contemporary setting as the abuse the children suffer is (and has to be) considered normal behaviour within the community, which of course it would not be if set in the present day. The White Ribbon is a mystery, as the unknown perpetrator of the violence remains completely obscured from view, red herrings and false conclusions are presented in the subtlest of fashions and without an Agatha Christie style investigator to wraps up the proceedings, we are left to fend for ourselves and decide what is the truth of the situation, even our seemingly good willed narrator proves himself to be biased in his accounts of events and not entirely trust worthy, recounting the story from many years hence with gristly older voice we may even question the accuracy of his memory as well. As the film progresses through a series of seemingly unrelated but beautifully structured and performed snap shots of the various members of this faltering community, we are slowly distracted by life and all its complications, although the films atmosphere and lack of diegetic score might cause some viewers to complain that Haneke is a soulless, remote and cold hearted craftsman - the content begs to differ. Moments of tenderness, exposing the frailty of the human heart, and the power of gestures of good will are surprisingly prominent within the proceedings but never to the point of diminishing the films sinister tone. The sense of hopelessness which pervade Haneke’s other films like Time of the Wolf, Funny Games and Hidden is here often dispelled and replaced with moment of love and surprising connections between human beings. As a result the films mystery is delicately infused and blended into these fragmented plot strands and comes together in the films powerful final act. The White Ribbon represents a something of change in Haneke’s cinematic outlook, not so drastic that we can no longer see the author at work in the production, but enough for it to surprise his devoted fans. It’s as if Funny Games U.S. marked the end of an era for his cinema, and with this in mind I now eagerly await his next film.

Conclusion: There were many excellent and exciting films released in 2009, amongst the films that didn’t quite make my top ten are the likes of Park Chan Wook’s macabre erotic vampire film Thirst which was easily his best film since Oldboy, JJ Abrams’ Star Trek which re-invented the franchise once again (you can hear more about that film in my Comparative Analysis of Star Trek: The Motion Picture and Star Trek which is available on the Left Field Cinema feed.) Darren Aronofsky finally learnt the difference between style and substance this year with his heart-felt character piece The Wrestler, Paolo Sorrentino explored the dark side of Italian politics in Il Divo, one of the most visually extraordinary films of the year. Werner Herzog mesmerised me with his Antarctic-set documentary Encounters at the End of the World. Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s morality tale Three Monkeys was as haunting as it was beautifully shot, Steven Soderbergs relentless Che Part 2 was infinitely better than it’s messy predecessor. Michael Winterbottom’s delicate and personal ghost story Genova is moving and harrowing and Michael Mann’s Public Enemies was easily his best work since The Insider (although I completely understand why many did not warm to the film). As for my top ten it is nice to see a return to form for American cinema after a complete absence in 2008, with both Charlie Kaufman and The Coen Brothers contributing two of the best films.

Of course this list is designed to start debates rather than end them, so if you want to add your top ten of the year and compare it with mine you can do so on the Left Field Cinema forum, I look forward to reading them.

M.Dawson