I had the pleasure of chatting with two Singaporean filmmakers, Jeremy Sing and Leon Cheo, about the local short film finalists at this year’s Singapore International Film Festival over at SINdie, the local indie film blog headed by Jeremy where I also write. The films were screened in one sitting at the Sinema Old School theatre, which can be reached by climbing a flight of over 140 steps from the nearest train station—much like being a prospective disciple to a kung fu master.

I’ve never enjoyed a more promising slate of local short films, which speaks as much to my relative inexperience in this area as it does to the state of our indie film “industry” and the diverse quality of this year’s crop of finalists. You can find my distilled reviews of each film under the jump, or better, read them in context: Part 1 and Part 2 of our conversation.

Que Sera Sera (dir. Ghazi Alqudcy)
What a sweet film, and how cheeky indeed that it achieves this by being as profane and borderline racist as it is! A lot of this can be attributed to the disarming figure of Syahidi, who plays the chubby kid that is the film’s centre; as well as the ever-present voiceover by the director Ghazi himself. Like I noted, the voiceover can be rather profane, at one point even getting into a chant of words I won’t repeat here, while the sanitised subtitles keep swapping between “Dick.” and “Head.” It also tempts charges of racism, despite disclaiming that “I am not racist”, when the kid, late for school, bumps into the Indian discipline master at the school gate. It helps, of course, that I know the actor playing the discipline master is a sporting friend of Ghazi’s. But what saves all this even more is the disparity between the cursing voiceover and the boy’s sweet and natural disposition, which ends up making the former seem more harmlessly amusing.

I also loved that, like Philothea Liau’s Brazil (where the value of an eraser reaches absurd heights), Que Sera Sera manages to evoke nostalgic details of past school days, and appends to that a kid’s perspective on those details. I’m referring here to the discipline master’s punishment, so idiosyncratic to its time and place, and so random and unfitting to the problem; and to the boy’s reaction, never questioning the punishment’s logic, but troubled by an unrelated set of problems that it will cause him.

The only complaint I have is that the film contrives a tummyache just so that the main character will miss his class. This makes sense logistics-wise, since you’d only need to cast the teacher and none of his classmates; and it helps the emotion of the scene where he presents his ambitions to the teacher alone, since it’s no longer a chance to show off to peers but a more intimate reveal of his dreams to someone who seems to care (which prompted another filmmaker during the Q&A to ask Ghazi if he ended up marrying that teacher, heh). Yet since the rest of the autobiographical film feels light and frothily believable, the tummyache could have been better foreshadowed so that it wouldn’t seem like a mere storytelling device. For instance, his voiceover could have mentioned that he eats just about anything (and showed him eating something bad), or he could have been filmed eating just before he was made to run laps around the parade square. A minor point, really, when the rest of the film manages to be so funny, truthful, and above all sincere.

Contained (dir. Harry Zhuang, Henry Zhuang)
Great stop-motion animation nearly always catches me in the throat, just for the sheer technical bravado and patience involved, and Contained managed that early on with its depiction of those plasticine waves sloshing. But despite the breathtaking difficulty of crafting those wide shots of the island, I find that my favourite scenes of the film are those set in the dark, tight confines of the hut interior, where the main character tends to his dying flower. There’s a surprising rage to his attempts to save the mere appearance of the flower’s health, culminating in that sad image of the re-attached petals blowing off the flower, leaving strips of cellophane tape flapping in the wind. I love that, while most films would opt for making a similar character pitifully emo, this film drives him insane instead—and breaks out that madness visually in its memorable final shots.

Sunrise (dir. Platon Theodoris)
The theme of being left alone carried over to Sunrise, about an eldest son who has to care for his younger sisters after their mother leaves them for work. It’s the most “foreign” film among the finalists, filmed and set in Cambodia with the orphans of the Sunrise Children’s Village, which may explain why I found it hard to identify with it… although the languid first half may also be to blame. There’s an approach to observational detail (e.g. a shot of a plastic scoop bobbing in a full bucket) that works when these details are tethered to a narrative throughline, and I don’t think it’s achieved in “Sunrise”. To be fair, I like the scene where the boy heads to the temple with his siblings to arrange his mother’s funeral; it reminded me of Kore-eda Hirokazu’s Nobody Knows (Japan, 2004), which also involves a kid having to step up to being an eldest sibling, an adult, and even a surrogate parent, long before he ever deserves to.

Promises in December (dir. Elgin Ho)
In Singaporean cinema, the taxi driver and the maid are in danger of being far too common character types, the film pairs the two as leads rather fruitfully. I like that it opens with the maid on her phone, shaping her as a person with an imaginable life back at her Indonesian home, without abstracting it into a burden as many migrant films do; and I like that her employer family’s daughter for whom she makes breakfast actually seems appreciative of her work, when so many other filmmakers want to harp on the flashpoint of abuse.

Instead the film makes the taxi driver the worker-class character who is beset with problems. His HDB flat and packet char kway teow are clearly meant to contrast the landed property and pancakes where the maid works, and yet the film does this while skirting past a lot of the cheap oppositions that are one of my pet peeves about local film. I suspect it works because the maid doesn’t actually live there, making the contrast more complicated, and because the film doesn’t demonise either way of life.

This leads to what is absolutely my favourite shot among all the finalist films: when the maid is in the driver’s taxi, he tosses off a comment that she probably wouldn’t want to live in Singapore if it weren’t for the pay, right? As he says this, we get a shot of the maid looking out of the cab window, on which is reflected a row of HDB flats, and she is silent as they drive by. It’s such a profound shot, capturing the perspective of a woman who probably dreams of a life that the man is disavowing, even as we acknowledge that her six years’ work in a landed property would likely misrepresent life as he knows it.

And then the film has to spoil that by contriving an explicit link between them, of all things by invoking the Asian tsunami of 2004, and delivering “justice” to each character. Not only does the link make the whole setup feel artificial, it’s a little unfair to use a senseless tragedy like the tsunami to give fictional characters grief, especially if it’s a fake-out or if it’s to “punish” a character for not being understanding. Promises in December does both, and I haven’t even mentioned the awful closed-captioning on the film, which mars a potentially horrifying tsunami recording over a black screen with the words “[woman screaming]“. (Or that, at an earlier point, reads “[phone vibrates]” even though the onscreen phone isn’t visibly vibrating.)

Life with Ummu (dir. Tanya Lai)
Life with Ummu’s central features are the shots of the autistic Ummu whacking herself, frantically rearranging the pillows on her bed, and screaming for no clear reason. These are easy for unfamiliar viewers to misunderstand, so it helps that we approach her from the perspective of her empathetic parents and younger sister, obvious though this approach may seem. Life with Ummu is an amateurish stickler for talking heads and unneeded voiceovers, which brings up a recurring issue I have with the still-young Singaporean cinema: the divide between fiction filmmakers, who often have great technique; and documentary filmmakers, who often have great content. Of course, there are notable exceptions in both cases, but I still haven’t encountered a Singaporean fiction film with a narrative as urgent, politically and emotionally, as the ones I routinely find in any of our half-decent documentaries. Predictable it may be, but Life with Ummu is no different.

The 25th of Laura (dir. Joshua Simon)
Counter to the film prior, The 25th of Laura struck me as emotionally detached and clichéd in content (a man moping over his muse—meh), but where technique is concerned, its attempts to innovate are evident. I suppose I was somewhat receptive to director Joshua Simon’s willingness to scatter the logic of his film, even though I get that his efforts can be seen as total wankery. Out of the slipstream bits I can still remember a good few: the estranging Korean voiceover, a figure swathed in light on a bare stage, an attempt at suicide gone absurd, a verdant if under-composed heaven sequence, and an afterimage emerging from a mosaic of photos. But I suspect that as time passes, the absent backbone of emotional meaning will quickly blot these images from memory, so I hope Simon follows this up by discovering a worthy story to which he can apply his talents—without, of course, being overwhelmed by the need to show off.

Mu Dan (dir. Lincoln Chia)
It’s apt to discuss these questions about self-indulgence in conjunction with the last film, Mu Dan. This film is also easily charged with wankery, and not just because it features a shot from behind of a man doing that very deed, his buttocks half-exposed, in its opening sequence (an homage to Sun Koh’s Dirty Bitch, last year’s S’pore Short Film Award winner). It’s also because the film calls attention to its surfaces: hostile cant-angled shots of an HDB lift lobby, a curiously empty and dark HDB unit, Chinese actresses exchanging a blonde wig, wafts of cigarette smoke, red peonies as a metaphor for youth.

I haven’t even gotten to how whole scenes are shot voyeuristically, either from behind doors/corners onto unsuspecting characters; or into mirrors, so that we watch the characters’ reflections the whole time. And that’s before the film ends by re-appropriating a lover’s song of heartbreak to the central situation of a divorced mom losing her son to a girlfriend. Cuh-reepy. I can excuse the odd lapses in directorial control, as in the two-person medium shots without any sense of theatrical blocking, because the rest of Mu Dan emanates discipline and oddball imagination at a level unmatched by its fellow nominees, save for maybe Contained.

What’s a blogger writing Against The Hype to do? Well, to start with, I’ll be happy to point out that this year, the Academy did anoint a movie that, aesthetically and politically, couldn’t deserve it more. It’s now enjoying a re-run in local theatres, so catch it while you can!

Review: The Hurt Locker

My two theatrical experiences of this latest Best Picture winner were dramatically different, even opposing. The first time around, having just finished my two-year stint in the army, my sympathies lay with sergeant Sanborn (Anthony Mackie), who is tasked with providing cover against potential snipers and bomb-igniters. Both he and I couldn’t stop being frustrated at the wilful bravado of his new bomb-defusal team leader William James (Jeremy Renner), who strutted through potential killzones, held standoffs against cars, and threw away his comms headset at critical junctures, keeping his entire team in mortal risk. So despite a thoughtful gesture towards Sanborn in the sniper scene, I watched with a chilly disposition as James took a turn for the utterly reckless, imagining himself as some Bourne Supremacy-style renegade in two later scenes. Those two scenes, and the ones right after, are clearly positioned to “teach James a lesson”, so I couldn’t stand that The Hurt Locker’s final scenes seemed eager to regress James into soldierly rock-stardom, with the music to match. Even if this was intended as irony, I felt aggrieved at the thought of siccing James on Sanborn’s wretched successor for a whole year. I left the theatre with mixed feelings, and then came online to discover a baffling ton of buzz for Renner’s performance, compared to almost none for Mackie. What a world!

After it re-opened last month, I returned to The Hurt Locker, eager to tether my perspective to James’ and see if that yielded a response closer to consensus. Lo, I found myself taking quickly to the bugger’s sexual charisma, as he grunted for help in removing the mortar-shield from his window, and flashed that rogue grin. By abandoning any notion of “gritty, realistic soldiering in Iraq” and instead tracing the movie’s eagerness to study James as its action star, I settled into a far more comfortable place from which to watch James dive into each new scenario that arose, and then to follow him down his self-inflicted missions. This time I caught, with full force, James’ sentimental logic and muffled desperation within those missions, or in the box of parts from bombs that almost killed him which he keeps under his bed, or in the world of difference between shoving a handgun into an Iraqi’s temple and racing against inevitability to unshackle another from his cage of bombs. The last shot of James, opaque in his bombsuit, transmuted from outraging to bleakly sad. Unfortunately, this made a casualty of Sanborn, who was clearly demoted from co-lead status, his pragmatism now too uptight for the genre’s demands.

These two Hurt Lockers still mingle in my mind, more dialectical than coherent. But forbid that an action flick or an Iraq anti-war movie should each stake claims on the other’s domain, or that the greatest overlap in those domains should lie in such gripping and diverse episodes of well-edited tension! I know a few people who, sight unseen, believe The Hurt Locker robbed Avatar’s Oscar, but there will be others who will now seek this movie out and wage a fair battle against their preconceptions. I couldn’t be happier.

The Hurt Locker | 2009 | USA | Director: Kathryn Bigelow | Screenplay: Mark Boal | Cast: Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie, Brian Geraghty, Guy Pearce, Ralph Fiennes, Christian Camargo, David Morse, Evangeline Lilly.

I kickstarted this blog on the fifteenth day of the last Chinese New Year with a review of the delightful Oriental-themed Kung Fu Panda. Today, on this blog’s first lunisolar anniversary, I have mahjong on the brain, having played many bouts of it in the earlier days of this festive season.

To mark the occasion, let’s take a closer look at one of Lust, Caution’s most crucial scenes, an exemplar of how the movie uses mahjong to encode meanings, whether among its characters or to the audience. Here, we are treated to the mutual seduction of the two leads, Mrs Mai (Tang Wei) and Mr Yi (Tony Leung), as well as Mrs Yi’s canny reactions to the same.

Prior to the game at hand, Mrs Mai was caught in the rain as she entered the Yi residence, and found herself sheltered under Mr Yi’s umbrella, and offered his handkerchief. It is in the ensuing scene that he plays his first and only game of mahjong in the movie.

At a telling juncture of this game, Mrs Yi claims her husband’s discarded tile with a 碰 pèng (to form a set of three identical tiles), just as Mrs Mai is about to claim it with a 吃 chī (to form a set of three consecutive tiles):

As there are only four of each tile, the 碰 pèng takes precedence, allowing Mrs Yi to thwart Mrs Mai’s ascent to victory. Now that Mrs Yi has claimed three of the one tile that Mrs Mai needs, it is highly unlikely that Mrs Mai will be able to complete that set. This is especially since one can only claim discarded tiles using 吃 chī from the player on one’s left, and Mr Yi has already been alerted that she needs the 七筒 qītǒng tile, thus being able to withhold from discarding that tile if he has it in his hand. Stepping away from the narrative, we might say that Mrs Yi is claiming possession over her husband, in the face of the potential seductress.

So what does Mr Yi do? He discards the same tile again.

Even Mrs Mai is a little stunned by this (or pretends to be) before she claims his discarded tile. With his implied complicity, she now boldly feigns for Mrs Yi to call her when Mr Yi is free to visit her tailor, taking out her notebook and pen. Mrs Yi replies, “Mrs Mai, I already have your phone number.”

It’s a call of Mrs Mai’s bluff, but Joan Chen cleverly subdues Mrs Yi’s voice, and then drops her eyes as she discards her tile. In other words, Mrs Mai hasn’t fooled Mrs Yi, but the latter makes no fuss.  Triumphant, Mrs Mai now claims Mrs Yi’s discarded tile with a 碰 pèng, and sallies on with her plan, hastily scribbling the rest of her “un-needed” phone number before claiming Mrs Yi’s tile:

We have now entered the last round of this game. Mr Yi makes his move, then bends to his right to reach for a snack. Mrs Mai’s phone number is conspicuously in view, and as he looks at it—

“Ah, does this mean I’ve won?” asks Mrs Mai. He looks up to find that she has.

The fourth player, Mrs Xiao, topples Mr Yi’s tiles to check that he has been legitimately discarding tiles to form a good hand, not simply feeding Mrs Mai her winning tiles, and finds that she is unable to accuse him of any foul play (Mr Yi is smarter than that):

Mrs Yi, to Mrs Mai: “You seem to have a fair bit of luck today.” As she says this, she throws a knowing glance at her husband. Not only does this line of hers accuse Mr Yi of having a hand in Mrs Mai’s “luck”, it also non-diegetically refers to Mrs Mai’s larger game of ensnaring Mr Yi. To that accusation, Mr Yi smiles back, his mouth full of snack.

In the next scene, Mrs Mai will receive a call…

I don’t know how many of Lust, Caution’s western critics were familiar with the nuances of mahjong when they saw the film, or if they even managed to get those nuances without any prior knowledge of the game. How do you feel about this scene?

Usually, Pixar wraps its keen observations of human foibles around the plight of their victims: neglected toys in Toy Story, unappreciated superheroes in The Incredibles, maltreated marine life in Finding Nemo, and so forth. But WALL·E’s own abandonment never grows into an issue against the humans here…

So what exactly was I expecting from Pixar? I wouldn’t have known, of all things, that the geek webcomic XKCD would provide the answer:

Randall Munroe, XKCD’s author, writes: “On January 26th, 2213 days into its mission, NASA declared Spirit a ’stationary research station’, expected to stay operational for several more months until the dust buildup on its solar panels forces a final shutdown.”

I haven’t yet parsed (nor could I possibly) all of the mysteries and wonders of David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive after my first enraptured viewing, but how hypnotic is that scene in Club Silencio where Rebekah Del Rio sings “Llorando”, her a capella Spanish cover of Roy Orbison’s “Crying”? Her clear and tremulous voice, that creased forehead and weathered face, captured close-up over a dark background, echo more powerfully as a naked embodiment of desire than almost any musical number across the cinematic decade that followed. (And what are musical numbers meant to be but embodiments of desire?) The scene is wondrous in its simplicity, cutting between close-ups of Del Rio, weeping for a lost love, and of Naomi Watts and Laura Harring, weeping for beauty.

Mulholland Drive sustains its mystery by baring its heart in scenes like this one or Watts’ fabled audition, even when it complicates them with the futile threat of being illusory. What illusion? When Del Rio collapses as her voice plays on, or onlookers clap to Watts’ tear-choked breaths, we aren’t disappointed that “it’s all a sham”—because we remember. And so the magic persists: beyond death, beyond reality.

Mulholland Drive | 2001 | USA | Director: David Lynch | Screenplay: David Lynch | Cast: Naomi Watts, Laura Elena Harring, Rebekah Del Rio, Justin Theroux, Ann Miller

District 9: Bracing as a quasi-documentary on alien immigrants, and as a horror film on unwanted transformations; opaque as an action flick.

Double Indemnity: I just don’t get classic actresses playing hysterics. c.f. Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire, Hepburn in Long Day’s Journey into Night

Fighting: A formula film without the formula’s best parts: the sweat-soaked anticipation, the thrill of the win, or, y’know, the actual fighting.

Funny Girl: Nearly a revue meant to showcase Streisand’s talents at belting and rapid-fire line delivery; Streisand redefines stardom.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Potter fatigue has caught up to me; all of J.K. Rowling’s missed dramatic opportunities keep thwacking me in the face.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade: Sturdy pulp movie, with stars (Ford, Connery, Phoenix) that knew they were stars, and how to act as stars.

Katong Fugue: How is it that celluloid pianos so readily channel their player’s inner desires? (c.f. The Piano)

Moon: “Thoughtful scifi” for beginners: promising premise, predictable plotting.

Paper Heart: Shades of When Harry Met Sally, with clever, disciplined use of the handheld trope.

Paranormal Activity: Oscillates like Julie & Julia between its annoying and gratifying plots, but with demons (actual v boyfriend) not cooks

Public Enemies: Retreads Bonnie and Clyde, laced with the irony that even America’s Most Wanted doesn’t beat its citizens’ self-absorption.

Ratatouille: Anyone (who can reconstruct whole recipes from scratch with just a whiff) can cook.

Silkwood proves that horror movies are scarier when they feel like a part of life, especially one you haven’t the means to escape.

Taken: dooming teenagers worldwide to clampdowns on travel by their paranoid parents, who believe that kidnappers lie at every foreign turn.

There Will Be Blood score is such a keeper: each track is flavorful and distinctive! If it didn’t fit the images, that’s the movie’s fault.

Up: Apart from the vignettes of lifelong marriage… eurgh. Eurgh. Pixar at its most infantile.

The Wedding Banquet: Queer domesticity warms my soft heart.

West Side Story: (Romeo + Juliet’s plot) – (Shakespeare’s poetry) = Awful book scenes. Rita Moreno sets her scene ablaze; other songs nowhere as fiery.

You Can Count on Me: Exactly what the title says.

I’ve moved! My old site name, TinyEpiphanies.com, was a holdover from my younger days when I needed a general label to hold forth on anything I wanted. I’ve since learnt that my favourite writing for this site involves railing against the excessive hype plastered on nearly every awards contender nowadays, and leveling a more nuanced critique of its glories and missteps.

Hence: Against The Hype.

Please update your links and bookmarks to AgainstTheHype.com! For feed readers, please update your feed to http://www.againstthehype.com/feed/. Here’s to a great new year!

I have joined the writing team at SINdie, short for Singapore Independent Films Only, which I think amply covers the scope of the blog. “Independent”, though, is pretty redundant at this point, since we’re long past the short-lived post-war era where Singapore had a thriving studio film industry. For my debut reviews, I attended a night screening of 26 short films from aspiring local filmmakers at the Nanyang Technological University’s School of Art, Design and Media, though I had to bow out after sixteen films to catch a public bus home (not to mention that a consecutive run of about five films before I left made a good case for leaving).

Here’s a snippet from my favourite piece of the lot, a joint review of four of the shorts:

While SINdie’s regular policy is to give each film its own post, I’ve packaged together these four films, which span three languages (English, Mandarin, Tamil), because they suggest a regrettable tendency for local filmmakers to receive their storytelling and scoring influences from charity show montages or social awareness ads.

Sure, After Skool, Shifting Feet, Father and Ananthi differ in the precision of their cinematography, editing and makeup, which are especially strong and steady in those last two films. But they’re all prone to breaking out the “touching” melodies at key moments, and in all their stories, one character commits an unfeeling transgression against another, only to have a later turnaround scene that casts this character in a less stonyhearted light:

After Skool: A bunch of bullies beats a girl bloody (seriously, she’s like marinara) for having an old auntie’s photo in her pendant, only to have one of them soften after she picks up the fallen pendant, realising its significance as she sits by the unconscious girl’s bedside… (Full review)

It’s great at SINdie: not only am I already getting a much better feel of local film in just my first two assigned screenings, we’re also the only Singaporean blog to focus explicitly on homegrown films, which means that the filmmakers themselves often look to our reviews for encouragement and critique (though, given my hard-assed expectations of formal incisiveness, they might often find more of the latter from me).

I’m here to serve!

… not understanding why Sally said the story of her life hadn’t started yet…

… because mine feels like it’s already begun.

Thirty-three years later, here I come!

“God save Illinois.”

Movies I’ve seen so far from these lists (ranked in descending order):

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (‘04): A patchwork quilt of relationship truths and clever scifi, culminating in the wisest romantic insight since Annie Hall
2. The Incredibles (‘04): Deft, rocket-paced flexing of superheroes into crises of identity and family (full review)
3. Erin Brockovich (‘00): Finally, a star vehicle that fully capitalises on Julia Roberts’ prickly edges
4. Julia (‘08): You won’t find a more sober and disciplined director-actor pair playing so drunk, desperate and out-of-control
5. Birth (‘04): Nicole Kidman thrives in close-ups and in being profoundly disturbed; this movie indulges her
6. The Bourne Supremacy (‘04): Whip-smart, breakneck spy thriller that sustains Jason Bourne’s clear-headed urgency while suffused with the pain of his loss
7. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (‘01): Epic worldcrafting, with actors and designers attuned to the demands of old-school myth
8. In the Mood for Love (‘00): Aestheticised within an inch of its life, which fits brilliantly its tale of yearning and suffocation in ’60s Hong Kong
9. Before Sunset (‘04): Sadness and self-absorption jostle in this narrow Parisian sequel to the gloriously expansive and romantic predecessor
10. Synecdoche, New York (‘08): A heartfelt meditation on self-centredness and ageing; relies on your capacity for deadpan humor, sadsack-watching and between-the-lines editing
11. Kill Bill Vol 1 (‘03): Candy-coloured pop fantasia of actresses and Japanese action movies, with a drop in mid-film momentum from Uma’s ineptness with bimbo humour
12. The Hurt Locker (‘09): More realistic, tense sequences of warfare than you’ll find elsewhere, though the soldiers teeter a bit towards broad enigma
13. There Will Be Blood (‘07): Fiery tempests wrought from the earth’s depths, Jonny Greenwood’s alien strings, and Daniel Day-Lewis’ oil baron. But things can get un-illuminatingly loud
14. Memento (‘00): Gimmicky collage of noirish scenes, blank-slate grieving and emotional manipulations held fast by a punchy existential twist
15. Sideways (‘04): Depends on your mileage for sadsacks, especially when they’re insulated by narrative perks, e.g. sex with the luminous Virginia Madsen
16. Adaptation (‘02): Depends on your mileage for sadsacks, especially when they’re insulated by narrative perks, e.g. being fictional
17. No Country for Old Men (‘07): Cleaves too easily into standalone scenes of well-edited tension and recycled caricature-humour to truly earn its mopey “bleak” ending
18. King Kong (‘05): Fanboy-wank remake bloated with CGI, wrapped around a cross-species romantic core that should have ventured beyond mere gestures at empathy
19. Mysterious Skin (‘04): Alternates between its boring and its exploitative plots, though Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s hustler gets a few emotionally raw/tender encounters
20. Hunger (‘08): I’m tired of arthouse exploitation as an excuse for male nudity, or vice versa; hurling shit-stained walls and clichéd police brutality at me doesn’t help

(The movies I have yet to see, or don’t remember enough to write about, can be found after the jump.)

Unseen movies from Tim Robey’s list (ranked in ascending order):

100. Dogville (‘03) 99. A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (‘01) 98. Tropical Malady (‘04) 97. Monster (‘03) 96. The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (‘05) 95. Atanarjuat, the Fast Runner (‘01) 94. Last Resort (‘00) 93. Sugar (‘08) 92. In this World (‘02) 91. The Last Victory (‘04) 90. Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead (‘07) 87. A Time for Drunken Horses (‘00) 86. Sympathy for Mr Vengeance (‘02) 85. The Fountain (‘06) 84. Gerry (‘02) 83. White Material (‘09) 81. Frozen Land (‘05) 80. The King of Kong (‘07) 79. Johnny Mad Dog (‘08) 77. Les petites vacances (‘06) 76. Abouna (‘02) 75. We Own the Night (‘07) 74. School of Rock (‘03) 73. The Night of the Sunflowers (‘06) 72. Yella (‘07) 71. Red Road (‘06) 70. Downfall (‘04) 69. Summer Hours (‘08) 68. Deep Water (‘06) 67. Secret Sunshine (‘07) 66. 13 Lakes (‘04) 65. Requiem (‘06) 64. Bright Star (‘09) 63. Uzak (‘02) 62. Capote (‘05) 60. Modern Life (‘08) 59. Nationale 7 (‘00) 58. The Corporation (‘03) 56. When the Levees Broke (‘06) 55. I ♥ Huckabees (‘04) 53. The Wrestler (‘08) 52. Lady Chatterley (‘06) 51. The Fall (‘06) 50. Bus 174 (‘04) 49. The Circle (‘00) 48. Adam & Paul (‘04) 47. Y tu mamá también (‘01)

46. Kings and Queen (‘04) 45. Couscous (‘07) 44. The Company (‘03) 43. Punch-Drunk Love (‘02) 40. The Son (‘02) 39. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter… and Spring (‘03) 38. The Holy Girl (‘04) 37. Solaris (‘02) 34. Los Angeles Plays Itself (‘03) 33. The Sun (‘05) 31. Songs from the Second Floor (‘00) 30. Amores perros (‘00) 29. Far From Heaven (‘02) 28. Code Unknown (‘00) 27. Donnie Darko (‘01) 25. Morvern Callar (‘02) 24. What Time is it There? (‘01) 23. Talk to Her (‘02) 22. The House of Mirth (‘00) 21. Eureka (‘00) 20. I’m Not There (‘07) 19. Our Daily Bread (‘05) 17. Spider (‘02) 15. A Prophet (‘09) 14. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (‘07) 13. L’emploi du temps (‘01) 12. Black Sun (‘05) 11. The Piano Teacher (‘01) 9. Junebug (‘05) 8. INLAND EMPIRE (‘06) 7. Yi Yi (‘00) 6. demonlover (‘02) 5. The New World (‘05) 3. The Death of Mr Lazarescu (‘05) 2. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (‘03) 1. Mulholland Dr. (‘01)

Unseen movies from the Skandies Top 20 list (ranked in descending order):

1. Dogville (‘03) 4. Mulholland Dr. (‘01) 6. The New World (‘05) 8. 25th Hour (‘02) 9. Yi Yi (‘00) 12. Silent Light (‘07) 14. Werckmeister Harmonies (‘00) 15. Irreversible (‘02) 16. Zodiac (‘07) 17. Ghost World (‘01) 18. The Man Who Wasn’t There (‘01)

19. Trouble Every Day (‘01) 20. Gerry (‘03)