15 Great Films (That I've Seen For The First Time) in 2021
No new releases. Just playing catch up.
Readers of this newsletter will know that I watch movies. A lot. And I don’t usually see a lot of current movies out in streaming or released in theatres. So naturally, I watch older ones that would hopefully develop my tastes (hence the name of this newsletter you’re looking at). Since I was locked down for three months, much of it will have come from streaming services like Prime and Mubi, along with those that come for free like SBS On Demand or Kanopy. The movies I’ve listed (in alphabetical order) are either established in the movie canon that I somewhat forgot to check out the first time, underseen gems, or downright curiosities. I hope that whatever’s listed is worth the recommendation.
And if you are reading this, thank you for being here. I do this for the love of writing. There’s an even longer list with 25 movies, but that is mainly for subscribers. If you like to access it, click here.
Code Unknown (2000)
I discussed with a mutual friend about Michael Haneke’s possible politics, after watching Code Unknown. Naturally, it doesn’t fit in the Western framework of what we think is left-wing or right-wing. Haneke is neither a fan of cancel culture nor with globalism, and is, unsurprisingly, a leftist in a European sense. I don’t think that conversation was the reason why Code Unknown resonates, although it is in many senses, a political film. It assesses violence, not in terms of pre-existing ideology, but whether humans are still able to communicate with each other, in a society that is slowly eating itself. This brings a narrative that is deeply challenging and moralized but ultimately rewards the viewer with something radical.
Elle (2016)
Had I watched this two years ago, I would have called Isabelle Huppert’s performance in this one the best performance from an actress in a movie released that decade. It is also what Promising Young Woman should have been. Had that movie’s critique of male dominance in larger institutions inadvertently silencing women actually resemble the movie, rather than being translated from a Jezebel article. Sexual assault is certainly terrifying and Verhoeven, for all his perverted baggage, managed to make this that is beyond the act itself.
Goodbye Dragon Inn (2001)
Wrote this upon my review of the Snyder Cut and at the time, where I felt that both movies are pretty significant to the theatre experience. For a more detailed look, I recommend you buy Nick Pinkerton’s fantastic book that brings this point of view much more intelligently and apply it with the current industry broadly. It’s an elegy for the theater, where it knows that decline is imminent, and that cinema’s culture has evolved more or less around what counts as authoritative cinema. In the case of Goodbye Dragon Inn, it’s the Fu-Ho’s final screening of the Dragon Inn. With its actors watching alongside a loitering tourist, there’s a glimmer of hope that the cinema still has an audience.
The Hunt (2012)
One of the most infuriating movies I have ever seen and one that has actually aged well, considering that the individual fear of being smeared by a digital society is heightened to maximal routes that don’t have a peak. Thomas Vinterberg’s effort does not bear the excessive effects of social media that have often been pointed as the driver of such outrages, but he depicts such kangaroo courts from an old-fashioned aesthetic: a small town whose strong sense of community is turned fragile by a mere accusation from someone they’re obliged to protect. Often it is misinterpreted. Certainly, that’s nothing new. But what is new is Mads Mikkelsen’s vulnerability that is shown to be used by the self-interests of others. Rarely do you see that a character strip bare much of his dignity.
The Last Wave (1977)
I believed The Last Wave was the last time Australian cinema striked a balance of visual suspense and restraint. Released during the Australian New Wave, Peter Weir makes this look spectacular, juxtaposing it with quiet sequences in quiet spaces, leading off with a thunderstorm that’s filled with dread.It also grapples with the balancing act of two competing Australia: the multicultural country dominated by white migrants, and the Indigenous Australians who occupied the land first. Much of it is set in urban Sydney. One of Australia’s greatest Indigenous actors, David Gulpilil passed away this year, and here he reliably plays someone that is more than a talisman of a city attorney’s misfortunes. That hero is played by Richard Chamberlain whose paranoia spirals out of countol. Watching The Last Wave, it doesn’t reach a desirable solution, which would have been Chamberlain admitting his white guilt. Instead, Weir brings a series of hypnotic images together that pits those characters against raging weather.
The Leopard (1963)
I was planning to see this at a retrospective held at the Ritz Cinemas last year, and for obvious reasons, it got canceled. Thankfully, the retrospective was moved to next the year after and I had the opportunity to see a 4K screening of the 196-minute cut, which was engrossing. My eyes simply cannot distance themselves from the luscious costumes and cinematography that integrates to an elegant ballroom sequence that goes for 45 minutes and dominates the final act. The Leopard was introduced by film critic David Stratton. Stratton mentions that Luciano Visconti was a Marxist, who has first-hand knowledge of the Italian aristocracy because he was also one. And yet, the final result is an elegiac reflection of such a dynasty, with minimal resentment. Burt Lancaster is not just marvelous as the aging aristocrat, but he also shows his effortlessness with the Italian language, which has his critics to have initial doubts that he would fit in.
Lovers At The Bridge (1991)
I didn’t enjoy Leo Carax’s latest effort Annette, his musical about the tortured artist comedian, which is a shame because what I’ve seen so far is an eccentric and earnest filmmaker whose stories are far more compassionate and contemplative than the one with Adam Driver and his animatronic baby. Holy Motors demonstrates a love for cinema that is surreal and mesmerizing. Lovers on the Bridge is more conventional but is a beautiful romance featuring Juliette Binoche and frequent Carax collaborator Denis Levant. It has one of the most spectacular scenes, in which both actors dance during the fireworks, in a sense that reflects the brightest 90s ennui.
Memories of Murder (2001)
Since Parasite’s Best Picture win, South Korean pop culture has become beyond fashionable. From K-Pop to Squid Game, it’s pretty much going to be here to stay. It’s probably why there is a wave of recent think pieces about the magnificence of that country’s cinema that it triumphs over the hollowness of its Western peers. Bong Joon Ho might be its Orson Welles, a filmmaker whose formalism and critique of capitalism hits further than the eye can see. In Memories of Murder, it’s pretty conventional as a detective thriller: the tone is gritty, there are moments of absurd comedic errors, and the illusion of a Korean golden age is immediately deciphered. But what Memories of Murder does better is that such nostalgia-mining means the eye on the ball is swifter. The detectives don’t get the results they wanted, because they’re pretty bad at their jobs. The killer remains on the loose.
Million Dollar Baby (2004)
I remember having been exposed to Million Dollar Baby, only to have watched its controversial ending. I won’t spoil it for you since that is the one thing that everyone remembers about that film and since it’s on the list, I highly recommend you check it out. But that was practically a moral payoff for Clint Eastwood, a filmmaker who, ever since Unforgiven, makes a cinematic elegy on roughness and masculinity. Unforgiven is to Westerns, what Million Dollar Baby is for boxing movies; a massive introspection on the death of beauty, only brutalized by punches and exploited by its corporate dealmakers, particularly as female competitors emerge upwards. It’s a powerful portrait of the boot-strapped individual, with Maggie doing whatever it takes to go on top and assure that her self-respect remains high. The horrors that’ll come in the way is not something she would expect, but only her mentors can.
The Nun (1966)
The Nun was directed by Jacques Rivette and this came out before his more recognizable and experimental efforts like Celine and Jesse Goes Boating and Out 1. Based on a novel by Denis Diderot, it’s focused on the girls forced to be put in convents by rich aristocrats. It also stars Anna Karina, who is known as the it-girl for the French New Wave. But to me, her role as Suzzane Simonin, cursed nun in The Nun is a career-best, a powerful turn that speaks to the excesses of religious zealotry. Rivette’s direction is also noticeable, as he stages the film in narrow settings, bringing a sense of claustrophobia into the mix.
Pauline At The Beach (1983)
I wonder how Film Twitter puritans will respond when they discover Eric Rohmer. Not only is he a moralizer sympathetic to uptight Catholicism, but his oeuvre has lots of scantily clad women frolicking at the beach, with shades of nudity here and there. But that’s only scratching the surface, in ways that those people won’t understand. In Pauline At the Beach, the eponymous heroine, played by Amanda Langlet hangs out in a typical summer beach house filled with older, yet young men and nubile women. Pauline is both the judge and jury, countering the casual relationships tangled up at the house. Rohmer’s visual outlook isn’t exactly the kind of stylish you’re used to from these French auteurs, but there are ways that it becomes distinguishable. The natural setting invites the viewer into a sunny and relaxed environment often brought by needless hedonism. It took me a while to understand Rohmer, and Pauline At The Beach won me over.
Pickpocket (1959)
What to make of Michel the pickpocket in Pickpocket? It’s easy to decipher the philosophical motivations of stealing. But there are some payoffs we need to pay attention to. He becomes financially protected, more so than his wage job. But more importantly, Michel’s love of his life, Jeanne, becomes the center of his attention, because she’s compassionate about his mother. Another payoff is that the swiping has a lot of thrills, a response to an incredibly bureaucratic society that’s less rewarding.
Strike (1925)
Ah, Sergei Eisenstein. You are one of the greatest filmmakers that history has ever known, using the wits to push one of the deadliest regimes to have ever existed. During his leadership, Lenin famously said that “that of all the arts the most important for us is the cinema”, so it should be fair to point out that cinema can be weaponized for ideological purposes. This documentary showcases the Russian Revolution, with crowds of workers enthusiastically taking over the Tsarist autocracy. If there’s one thing that Eisenstein has revolutionized is allowing maximum momentum that we still feel in blockbusters today.
Tokyo Olympiad (1965)
The Tokyo Olympics that were held this year was, to put it gently, not a festive spectacle with the noise that is the pandemic continuing. It felt like the equivalent of the meme with the 30-year-old boomer mowing his lawn with the guy trying to sleep. But relive the Tokyo Olympics in 1964, and you’ll find the greatest non-fiction sports movie of all time.
Where is the Friend’s Home (1987)
Simpler pleasures are the finest of life and Abbas Kiarostami made this point so succinctly. In less than 90 minutes, this is what he delivers. A movie that remains consistently passionate and has some of the best performances from a child. I keep confusing this film as “Where is my Friend’s Home” when there is no pronoun. After all, the friend is someone who is merely a classmate, on the verge of expulsion. So compassion is unequivocal here, rather than personal.
Zulu (1964)
Is it possible to make the most patriotic war film, in which both the colonialist British army and the Zulu tribe, can be given equal and respectful treatment where no side is evil? Granted, that could be portrayed by a broad brush with narrow strokes, but Zulu nevertheless uses its creative liberties to good use. This was Michael Caine’s debut and it is so fierce whenever he pushes his demands. Looking forward to seeing this again at a watch party among conservatives.