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    Hard Part's Over

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    The younger man puts in carefully counted change. He's just asked how much the bus costs around here. After I give him his transfer, he says in a pleasing accent, "Hey. I am trying to get to Everett?"
    "Oh, I wish you had told me that before you paid, 'cause this transfer won't work on the Everett bus." I can see that for him, every coin counts. "I would've just had you pay the next driver. I'm sorry!"
    "It's okay. It is my first day here! I come from Uganda, Africa!"
    "Oh, wow! Welcome to Seattle!"
    "Thank you! Can you let me know when it is time, I will sit up here so I know where to get off. I am just a little bit nervous, I don't know where anything is."
    "That's okay, you just came across the ocean! This will be easy! You have already done much more difficult traveling! Seattle to Everett... you're not going to have any problem!"
    He laughs, warm with relief and the glow of acceptance.
  • Published on

    Kurt!

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    Tenth Ave at Miller, slowing toward the curb on a gentle downhill. I haven't seen that face in a while.
    "Kuuuurrtt!"
    "Heeey!!"
    He looks about as much like Mr. Cobain as a long-faced swarthy taller man can do, with one key difference: this Kurt grins with such infectious verve as to make you forget life's problems ever existed. This guy could make Buster Keaton lose composure. Who else in their late fifties smiles with this level of enthusiasm? The man's just about bursting!
    He steps aboard, takes a stance, and says, as if it's very important, "are you still announcing?"
    "What?"
    "Are you still calling out the,"
    Announcing the stops, is what he means. He's asking, am I starting to slack off? Or am I still Nathan, a little bit off the rocker and a little bit not, keepin' it crazy cool in Club CuckooLand?
    "Oh, oh yeah. Definitely!"
    "So sweet, man!" he says, unreasonably excited. Fistbump with sparks flying. "That's definitely the 'bring-it' part of the ride!!!!"


    P.S.– That's my good buddy in the image, one of the best drivers in the entire system. Not everyone announces all the stops and stays happy while driving the 358 for eons– but he does. Such things take massive amounts of character. I learn from standing in the shadows of such giants. Say hi to him if you can!     (The photo is from us riding the last trip of the last night of the 358, which was definitely the loudest– and quite possibly the best– bus ride I've ever experienced!)
  • Published on

    Recruitment Ad / Three Open Doors

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    Photo by Ned Ahrens.

    You may have seen the ad I'm in, available here, regarding working for Metro. I'm linking it only because I thought you might find it of interest. I actually haven't seen it. You know how you just can't bring yourself to listen to your own voice in voicemails? It's a little like that. I'd rather tell you about three wonderful interactions I recently had on the 7:

    --

    A middle-aged black man in rags and dark shades is rushing across Pine, toward the island stop, pushing a manual wheelchair filled with buckets and painted boards. "Hey, hey, hey!" he yells.
    "I gotchoo, Darryl!" I yell in reply. The 'sexy hood bunnies' (to use a friend's perfect phrase) sitting in the shadows chuckle in appreciation, realizing I know the man. I whip out the wheelchair lift before he's even at the doors. On routes with a lot of lift usage, your hands flip the necessary switches in seconds, reflexes borne out of habit.

    When people speak at high volume, I like to match them. Darryl and I enjoy yelling at each other late at night, our throaty roars ranging over a variety of topics. Despite his rangy appearance he's an educated man and an artist, and lately we've been discussing astronomy. He'll get on after a week-long absence, settling in behind me, standing by his loaded wheelchair, and expound. I'm impressed by his memory. He'll add a bit of minutiae to something he said a week ago: "So like we were saying about the Great Red Spot, you know, on Jupiter," he recently bayed, "for a hypothetical journey out there, something to remember is that it's the worst point of entry, but the best point of exit!"
    "Worst point of entry, how come?" I shrieked in reply.

    And we're off.  We discuss the need, on a manned mission, of a spacesuit that has its own force field, as this would be the only effective way to resist the drastic pressure and temperature shifts in the atmosphere, particularly during entry and exit. We go over the materials which would be necessary for such a suit and estimate its total cost, before moving on to potential threats one might encounter on an all-gas planet. I love diving instantly into such acute detail, when a moment before I wasn't even thinking about Jupiter, or the Great Red Spot, or spacesuit force fields.

    He's excited to hold forth on the devastating weaponry one would be compelled to take on a Mars mission, but I mention that the crew would likely meet its demise through something more banal than aliens, like unstable oxygen levels.
    "Yeah," Darryl says, sounding almost disappointed.

    After he leaves, all talk of astronomy ceases, and it's time to dive into a completely different life– each new bus stop is like a door opening, utterly unrelated to the worlds preceding it. Here's that woman now, who I haven't seen in months or maybe years, instantly aglow upon seeing me. She's around thirty, dressed in a traditional habesha kemis, with a netela loosely wrapped round her head, that gauze-like white fabric which somehow seems so appropriate tonight, a literal manifestation of the radiant elation in her face.

    We shake hands, both hands tight, long into each other's eyes– not romantically, you understand, but as different lives who can't quite connect because of circumstance, but who nevertheless feel whole, for this brief minute. What else is there, after all, besides those fleeting but oh-so-real moments?

    When she's with her friends she emits a buoyant youthfulness. I can't understand Amharic, but it's not hard to tell when someone's joking, bringing out the light in those around her, a soul unafraid to dance. Last time we spoke she worked a job cleaning airplanes at Sea-Tac, but I learn she couldn't continue; something to with an allergy to the sanitation materials. Now she works in Queen Anne. Such subject matter, utterly ripe for a depressing slog of a conversation, is relayed by her with a casual effervescence which warms my heart. I shake my head in wonder. It is possible to be thrilled about allergies and lost jobs at Sea-Tac! I count myself  fortunate she feels comfortable enough to share with me so openly. We bask in each other's glow. I hope I see her again soon.

    The world wipes to yet another scene, inbound at Mount Baker:

    "Watch this. Watch this. Watch this. Stand right there. Check this out, how he know me."

    The speaker is a man I recognize, one of those faces who wanders Rainier in the wee hours– a strong-featured gaze, eyes and lips of an expressive, confident size. Dressed in black sweats and built like a former lineman. He's talking to his friend, and older fellow I don't know. They're outside, last in the line of people boarding, and when it's their turn he looks at me and says, "HAAAYYYY!"
    It's our customary greeting. "HAAAYYYY," I respond energetically. "Wha's happening?!"
    "I neeeeedjoo!" I need you. "I needjoo tonight, man!"

    He practically howls it, grinning richly. I'm happy to supply him with a transfer. I say what I sometimes say to repeat transfer requesters: "One day, my friend, I may ask you for help!"

    "Hey, you're mah man. Thank you." He extends his hand, and we shake. "I got choo," he says. "I gotchu. I always remember you helpin' me."

    He's still shaking my hand, and he says "I gotchu" five or so more times. With each "I gotchu" I notice more clearly a transition taking place. He was in high laughing spirits at first, speaking out of habit, but I can now see my line is hitting him. He says his phrase seriously now, slowing down, registering the weight of what it is to help another, to give and receive in equal measure. Solidarity.

    Is that water in his eyes?

    There must be a word combining the actions "to witness" and "to take part in." Many of the options– participate, attend, behold, engage– lean too heavily toward one action or the other.     Princeton alumni, give me something that's four syllables which hits the nail dead on! The sort of bus driving I like to do often results in moments like the three above, which I feel impossibly lucky to both observe and simultaneously have a hand in creating. We build the good moments of our lives together, you and I, and I'm thankful for every minute.
  • Published on

    Not a Bad Way to Pass the Time!

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    I'm yelling out the window at friendly faces. We're on the 7, going through lower Pioneer Square. First it's a man I don't know, but who knows me. Then there's the guy who's always dressed in fluorescent construction gear. There he is, outside the Men's Shelter deep in conversation with somebody. He recently lost his school textbooks. When I honk to get his attention, his eyes light up. On Jackson, I spy Grover across the street– Grover is a driver, and he bucked the popular trend by actually losing weight when he went full-time. That's how you know anything is possible!

    I hop out of the bus at the red light to look at the exterior signage; someone told me it wasn't displaying correctly, and they're right. Later, during the time a new bus is sought for, I will make a handmade sign and hugely enjoy the antiquated throwback nature of such. For now, Grover walks past, asking, "Nathan! Wha's goin' on?"
    "Oh you know, just hangin' around on the 7 here! Not a bad way to pass the time!"
    He laughs with (not at!) my enthusiasm.
    "Have a good one!"
    "Have a good one!"

    A last minute runner, fumbling for his fare, pulling out a $2.50 ticket– "I'm s'posed to only be paying .75," he mumbles to himself.
    While he's smoothing out the ticket to put it into the machine my brain cycles through the ideas articulated here, and I say aloud, "you should save that." Tearing him off a transfer. "Use it for a driver who's givin' you a hard time!"
    His smile carries the warm, open-hearted realization: ah, the world is not against me. I do have friends out here. "Thank you!" he says, with feeling.

    Another fellow, very serious, tanned red by the sun, boards with a gigantic inch-thick steel square. At four by four feet, it looks like it weighs more than I do.
    "You've got the goods today, I see!"
    "Yup."
    "Are you takin' that down to the Recycling place?"
    "Yeah."
    "Excellent."
    "Do they measure the contributions by weight, or...?"
    "Yeah, by weight."
    "Well then, looks like you hit the jackpot!"
    He grins.

    A man and his toddler son form a distinctive pair in the mixed-race tableau of the 7, being about the only Caucasians on board. 
    The child is curious about God. "Did Jesus die?" he asks, wide-eyed.
    The father replies without concern for being judged or ridiculed by those around him. They discuss theology in subdued tones, the father gazing out the windows from time to time, as slanting afternoon sunlight glances in. I'm reminded of Rockwell's Saying Grace.     As they exit, Dad says to me, "you're kinda like the mayor of the number 7!"

    As night approaches, Eric steps in, introducing me to a friend of his ("this is Mike." Mike nods). Eric is tall, dressed in large, dark, faded outdoor wear, textures of plaid and padding, well-used denim built to withstand the strain of a difficult life. He has a perpetual baseball cap and long stringy hair framing a gaunt, pale, hollow, and loving face. Blue-gray eyes which have seen much, and yet aren't afraid to wear emotions easily. You know the type. He would travel four hours to see his aging mother in Bremerton once a week no matter what, until he one day told me she had passed. You could see how it hurt him. Today he's happy to have made the bus.

    "Oh, hey, Nathan! I wouldn'a jaywalked if I'd known it was you, since I know you woulda waited!"
    "I'm glad you made it! I appreciate the hustle!"
    After they settle down in their seats, Eric comes back up. "Hey, do you want some girl scout cookies? These are the really good ones. Caramel, chocolate and coconut. With coconut flakes."
    "Coconut, oh my!"
    "Yeah, let's see." He reads off the gory details. "Crisp cookies coated in caramel, sprinkled with toasted coconut, and striped with a dark chocolaty..."
    He had me at crispy. "That sounds outstanding! I would love some!"
    "Have you had these ones?"
    With enthusiasm: "No!"
    "Well hey, why don't I give you this row, and then these can be mine and these can be for Mike."
    He's about to give me five cookies! Yes, I am glad he made it!
    "Eric, you're amazing! This is so perfect, because I forgot to bring dinner!" Normally I don't go for sugar, and as I write this now I can't believe I actually ate five of these things in one evening, but in my dinner-deprived state my decision making skills were definitely elsewhere. You think differently when you've just spent seven hours eating brown rice crackers somebody gave you from the food bank. Plus, uh, coconut's healthy, right?

    After he opens the box and supplies me, he asks the rest of the bus if they want girl scout cookies. Even with the mention of chocolate and coconut, they have more self-restraint than I, or maybe they're confused by Eric's ramshackle appearance. I know better though. Looks can be deceiving.


  • Published on

    Leroy II: When They Come All the Way to the Front...

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    Leroy's on the bus tonight. He rides often. Time passes like nobody's business when he's around. Tonight we're in spirited conversation, gesticulating like a couple of Italians. We pause as the next group of passengers boards.

    "Hi," the male half of an incoming couple says. "We're homeless and don't have any money and we're trying to go to Seattle Central College 'cause it's a good safe place to sleep."
    "Here, I'm gonna give you two transfers, just in case," I reply without a moment's pause. "Thank you for being honest."

    Ten minutes later. Leroy mentioned the couple, now sitting in the back, and how he could feel for them. He's been there.
    "You know what I just realized, or what's hitting me now?" I said.
    "What's that?"
    "For them to ask us for a ride like that, the way they did, took a lot of courage."
    "Yeah, for him to say, 'can we get a ride to Seattle Central because it's a good,'"
    "'Good safe place to sleep,'"
    "Yeah. Man. That takes some bravery."
    "Especially 'cause you know the number of times they've probably been burned by other drivers who've said no, or been rude or something."
    "Yeah."
    "That was outstanding. I'm glad it felt good enough in here, I mean I'm glad they felt comfortable enough to ask me."
    "Oh man yeah, I feel for them."
    "I wanna give them food or something. I still have another sandwich."
    "You want me to take it back there?"
    "That would be awesome."
    "I'll give em the rest of my chips and queso."
    "Oh, this'll be great. Tell 'em it's from us. And tell 'em this peanut butter sandwich is good, I don't mess around when I make that stuff!"
    "Okay!"

    He returned from the back, saying, "I just told 'em it was all from you."
    "Oh, you didn't have to do that! It was you too!"
    "Aw naw man, I don't like taking credit for that."
    "Dude, it was you who suggested it, man. Or maybe it was both of us. Anyways, Leroy, you are awesome.     You are awesome!" I emphatically pounded the steering wheel. He's smiling into a laugh now. I continue, bent on making my point: "'Cause your reason for doing stuff like that is not to get a bunch of... you know how after Hurricane Katrina happened, and there's celebrities goin' down there to help, except they got a big camera crew following them around,"
    "Yeeeeaah,"
    "So everyone knows they're helping? It's such a bunch,"
    "It's bullshit, man!"
    "It is! I mean it's nice they're helping, yeah okay, but the whole camera crew being there changes the whole thing. They're just down there so people will see them down there. And when you be doin' this stuff without wanting any kinda recognition... oooooh, that warms my heart. Or, so hey, there was this supervisor at the base I ran into recently."
    "Okay."
    "He was taking, he was transporting one of those white supervisor vans up to North Base, but before taking it up there he was gonna wash the van and vacuum out the insides and everything. And here's the thing, he didn't have to do any of that. He was just supposed to transport the vehicle up to North Base."
    "Yeah, he didn't have to do any of that, vacuuming,"
    "Yeah, and here he was goin' out of his way– and the thing is, nobody probably would've noticed, no one was gonna know he took the extra time to clean it and everything. They're not gonna look inside at the floors. He only told me 'cause I asked him what he was doin'. And I thought, that is so awesome. He cares. What is it, conscience is how we behave when no one's watching?"
    "That's awesome."
    "Yeah it is. So anyways, thanks for bein' that way. That's beautiful!"

    As we arrived at the College the couple came up to the front. I remember a driver telling me once, "when people come all the way up to the front door to leave the bus, you know you're doin' something right!"
    "Hey, we wanted to thank you for the food," said the man.
    "Oh my goodness of course." I doled out a few more phrases– it's the least I could do, I'm happy to help, et cetera– and stressed how good that sandwich is– but I can't take all the credit. "It's thanks in part to this gentleman here." Pointing to Leroy.
    "Thank you," the man said again.
    "I appreciate you guys being honest," I said.
    "It's hard to find good people around, and you guys are it."
    "Dude, thank you both, for being nice," I replied. "We are happy to help."
    "Take it from someone who's been homeless," Leroy said, shaking their hands.
    "Thank you," they said in return. The short phrase carried multitudes. The three of them stood there for a still second, frozen in understanding and appreciation.

    Afterwards, Leroy exclaimed, "aw man, why you put it on me like that! 'This gentleman right here.' Shit!"
    "Oh I got to! Hey man, you gotta take some of the credit! I can't sit here and say it was all me! You know what's amazing? They came all the way up here to say thank you."
    "Of course. I told you they was goin' to!"
    "And that guy was smiling, and you know, they probably feel a little bit better about people, about life right now, and it's because we went out of our way. And that good feeling may last in them for ten minutes, or one minute, or the rest of their lives, and we made that little tiny difference,"
    "Little tiny difference,"
    "Which is a huge accomplishment. Oh man, that was good."
    "Yeah it was."
  • Published on

    Regarding Films of 2014 (Post II of II): Top Tens!

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    Image courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.

    So, every ten years the British Film Institute releases two top ten lists of the best films ever made– one list as chosen by film critics and scholars (generally academics with no filmmaking experience), and another list as chosen by directors (practitioners of the craft). The differences in the two resulting lists is always interesting. The first list focuses squarely on content, while the second takes form and aesthetic into more significant consideration. For this year's films, since I have worked as both a critic and a director, I'd like to offer something similar below. Here are two lists with brief comments on the films.

    Ten Best Films of 2014

    1. Birdman (Inarritu). Trailer.

    My friend and I walked out of this ecstatic, convinced we'd seen the best expression on the creative dilemma since 8 1/2. While I wouldn't quite drop such rhapsodic superlatives now, there's no doubt this is one of the great achievements in the medium and something which will remain in the conversation for decades. The conversation between Keaton and the theatre critic is priceless, and like so many other scenes, says so much about the nature of artmaking, looking at art, and looking at the self– all through a lens at once comedic and thought-provoking. How do we define ourselves? Do we use the opinions of others to determine our self-worth? What is it we're chasing? Relevant questions for all. More of my thoughts on the film here.

    2. Interstellar (Nolan). Trailer.

    I wanted to write a review of this for the site upon its release but couldn't, because it resists parsing into words. Like Kubrick's 2001, it's an experience more than anything else. Nolan communicates a grand vision through an exhilarating series of images and sounds, taking advantage of the medium's ability to transcend mere language in how it gets through to us. The hefty runtime is dense with ideas and one-of-a-kind visuals, all anchored by a father-daughter relationship– this is what allows Nolan to rise above other sci-fi work; like Inception, the core of his films are not concepts, but probing, troubled human relationships we can all relate to. Bravo to Nolan for having all the female characters be intelligent engineers with things on their mind besides supporting men!

    3. Ida (Pawlikowski). Trailer.

    A nun about to take her vows discovers her parents were Jewish. Told largely through images instead of words, she embarks on a journey of considering different ways of living. Much more than another person's-faith-system-collapses movie; those are easier to accomplish than what Pawlikowski is doing here. To call lead actress Agata Trzebuchowska luminous would be an understatement. She lives the role quietly, trusting the camera to pick up on the subtle nuances. Similar to A Most Violent Year in its choice of portraying of a thoughtful, interior protagonist.     A transcendent piece, and one of a kind– I urge you to check out the trailer, which offers a good idea of the experience of watching the film.

    4. A Most Violent Year (Chandor). Trailer.

    Most films are about extroverts, as the inherently exterior medium of film more easily communicates such a mindset. To encounter a film about a quiet man who thinks carefully before speaking or doing is a rare treat. One is reminded for this reason and others of Pacino's Michael Corleone in The Godfather, although the protagonist here has different ethical views. The film, which is not violent, is more than its trailer suggests. Isaac, playing the lead, is magnetic as a heating-oil businessman trying to get through New York City's most violent year (1981) without using violence. Chastain, as his wife, is aces as usual. Abel (Isaac) and Julian, the truck driver, are opposites in a way; one believes in himself, and the other doesn't, and they end up in very different places. A pitch-perfect evocation of the time period, and a gem of a screenplay, which contains nuggets of wisdom– or not– that you'll mull over for days.

    5. Grand Budapest Hotel (Anderson, Wes). Trailer.

    The "Happy Great Film" is rare. Most great films traffic in heavy subject matter, and wrestle with challenging themes which are not always pleasant. By contrast, most lighthearted films skimp on both substance and style. Anderson's work represents a meeting point, as they engage our minds and eyes while also leaving us feeling not just cathartic by the end, but terrific. The narrative is like much of Anderson's others– carefully constructed images and characters, drenched in artifice, such that we are blindsided by moments of unexpected emotional honesty. Though it is like his other films, it stands above them; he has fine-tuned every aspect of his approach into a science, and the ingredients blend perfectly here. There's a shot of Saoirse Ronan looking into the frame that destroys me.

    6. Whiplash (Chazelle). Trailer.

    A musician friend told me no film more accurately captures her experience studying music than this one– one of the more frightening statements I've heard. It's a chamber piece with a specific focus– the working relationship between a dedicated student and his brutal instructor. Both believe in sacrificing everything in the name of perfection, and the havoc and artistry this wreaks is the film's focus. Incredibly, the writing and performances are able to get us to sympathize with both sides of the coin: that the brutal, single-minded pursuit of perfection destroys lives, and also the only way to achieve said perfection.

    7. Inherent Vice (Anderson, P. T.). Trailer.

    The aura of melancholy pervading this film isn't a sad one, but rather a wistful sense of longing, a remembrance for a time when things were simpler. What a curious mixture of humor, whimsy, reflection, and the pangs of loss. In an interview Anderson recently suggested to Vice that the film is about a man pining for an old flame even as he knows they're not quite right for each other; who can't sympathize with that?

    Like The Master, Anderson has offered something here which I'm sure will reveal itself over repeat viewings; I'm always disoriented after watching something immediately after reading the book upon which it was read (tip: don't finish reading Harry Potter IV, or Wuthering Heights, while standing in line for their respective films! Nothing else kills the experience quite so!). Inherent Vice is uncanny at replicating the act of reading Pynchon– you don't know what's going on, but each scene is compelling in its own right. There is a warmth which pervades Anderson's films, and I think it stems from how much he genuinely likes his characters, no matter their behavior.

    8. Deux jours, une nuit (Two Days, One Night) (Dardenne Bros.). Trailer.

    Most films are about either the very rich or the very poor; where are all the films about people who drive Honda Civics?

    I'm pleased to see another portrait of the working class by the Dardennes. Sandra (Marion Cotillard) has two days to convince her coworkers to convince each of her coworkers to give up their bonuses so she can remain employed. This ranks among their best yet. The premise is basic but naturally relatable and compelling. This is the Dardennes' first time working with a name actor, and Cotillard shines as always. The performance is above all an excellent portrait of depression, and how it inhibits a person from taking action or otherwise believing in themselves. The camera achieves an artful artlessness, candid but professional, minimizing an emphasis on form, making us feel like we're there, walking alongside her as she goes from coworker to coworker, begging for her livelihood. However the film chooses to end would be a statement of sorts, and it couldn't conclude more perfectly. The final shot fills me with a deep, earned joy.

    9. Mr. Turner (Leigh). Trailer.

    In a year overflowing with hagiographies, this is by far the best. It's not a bloated birth-to-death piece, nor an infomercial of a biopic succumbing to "greatest hits" syndrome. It is simply us, the viewer, spending time with Turner, the great British painter, as he goes about his daily life. It doesn't let plot get in the way of film's great ability to transport us to someone else's present. The film is freed from the artifice of narrative, conflict and resolution. Basically we're just "hanging out with" Turner, as it were, as does things like buy paint and visit the countryside. What better way to get a sense of who a man is? I can think of no film more effective at situating us in a past time period. We're not told dates or facts about Turner's life; we just observe. Spall's performance is a career-best. The scene of the final preparations before the gallery opening is one of the more meaningful scenes I've come across as an artist, in its conveyance of what it feels like to make and share art in the company of others.

    10. Foxcatcher (Miller). Trailer.

    What a bizarre series of events. There's no other film quite like this one– Miller's previous entries don't prepare us for the atonal uncomfortableness which infuses the picture. Channing Tatum and Steve Carell give astonishing dramatic performances with apparent ease, at a level neither's career has prepared us for. The film offers no opinion of what it shows, but unlike American Sniper, which does the same, it seems greatly aware of its implications, and more thoughtfully considered.

    Note: I have not seen Leviathan, Force Majeure, Nightcrawler, or Winter Sleep.

    Ten Best Directed Films of 2014

    1. Birdman (Inarritu). Trailer.

    Okay, I guess there is a little overlap here. Inarritu's decision to design the film as one continuous shot transforms it into something else completely– a mobius strip of a movie, a gaze which never stops, but simply turns or glides on to something else, like life. As I've written elsewhere, the unbroken take is one of the last hallmarks of truth-telling in cinema, because it is so hard to fake. We watch in awe as these actors really do act their hearts out, make their marks, and all the rest for fifteen-plus minute stretches. Kristen Thompson once wrote that many of her favorite films turn out to be animated films, not because she prefers that medium, but because animated films require so much preplanning and design. There is no room for looseness or improvisation. According to Thompson, this level of attention generally results in great films. The same holds true for Birdman, because nothing could be cut out or otherwise fixed in editing– everything had to work during the moment it was shot and forever after. Lubezki seems headed to a second consecutive Oscar win (after last year's Gravity), and it will be richly deserved. The mobile, probing nature of the camera, the achingly rich and beautiful colors... I can't believe this small, idiosyncratic film has turned into the Oscar frontrunner. How rare it is, that the actual best film of the year wins best picture.

    2. Gone Girl (Fincher). Trailer.

    Fincher is such a consummate craftsman. He knows exactly what he wants, and he achieves his intention with a precise, skillful confidence that's exhilarating to watch. More thoughts of mine here.

    3. Blackhat (Mann). Trailer.

    Another exacting director who knows exactly what he wants to say, Michael Mann is once again in top form here, in another portrait of an introspective protagonist (it really is the year for that, isn't it?) involved in underworld crime, this time from the international cyberattack angle. Like any great director, but moreso, Mann's camera is where it is always for a reason, to tell us something further about the psychology of the characters. His lens is more subjective, often sharing in a character's perspective by looking from behind their head; the handheld compositions are at once loose and highly composed. All the characters are highly intelligent, educated adults, and this, in combination with Mann's penchant for avoiding exposition, make us lean forward. The jargon goes unexplained, and we're left to piece things together; the film expects a lot from the viewer, and for those who are up for it, it's quite a treat.

    Mann maximizes the effect of silence; among my favorite moments is Hemsworth taking a moment alone, savoring the sensation of being out on the open tarmac after years of prison. Mann utilizes the digital camera to achieve things impossible with film– notice the depth of field and use of long lenses at night, the camera's ability to capture the magenta night sky and see into the dark corners. Mann is the Louis Sullivan of filmmakers– as Sullivan wasn't afraid to use exposed steel in buildings instead of disguising it as masonry like everyone else, Mann uses digital to do what only digital can do, and celebrates the medium, instead of trying to hide it and make it filmlike, thereby dooming it forever to being second-rate. Refer to this link for more thoughts on digital from the highly articulate director.

    4. Inherent Vice (Anderson, P.T.). Trailer.

    The content may have gone right over my head on first viewing, but the aesthetics didn't. It reads to me like a love letter to film– note the subtlety of colors, the skin tones and magic hour beach scenes, the grain jumping about, making the picture alive. Such things, as you know, warm my heart. Anderson's juggling of so many tones while maintaining a cohesive style linking it all is impressive. He makes the flat 1.85:1 frame, easily a visual bore, a thing of beauty. He takes the bold route of shooting many scenes in a single shot, often in a slow push-in, allowing us to take in the performances on a more pure, direct level.

    5. Ida     (Pawlikowski). Trailer.

    You can't not notice the unusual use of the square 1.33:1 frame. I find it limiting to use, preferring scope myself, but Pawlikowski gets so much mileage out of it, offering composition after composition of startling and thought-provoking grace. It may only be eighty minutes, but each minute says so much. The black-and-white only heightens the beauty of the images, while also reflecting Anna's stark lifestyle. When all the elements are in place, and everything is so finely tuned that the simple two word phrase– "and then?"– has the impact that it does, well, that's great direction. I'm convinced that Ida makes her decision during the moment that phrase is uttered.

    6. The Grand Budapest Hotel (Anderson, Wes). Trailer.

    Another rare use of 1.33:1. Anderson uses that ratio during the portions of the film when that ratio would have been in use, and resorts to his more customary 2.35:1 during the few sections that occur later, during the sixties. He seems to be moving beyond his schtick of sideways tracking shots recording action moving parallel to the picture plane (though I have no complaints against just that). There is a real economy to the editing here, as the jokes reel off the actor's tongues in perfectly timed moments. The square frame, despite its natural claustrophobic tendencies, is able to take in the opulent vastness of the titular hotel with no difficulty under Anderson's gaze. The set and costume design are also worthy of note, spilling over with pink and red; a feast for the eyes.

    7. Interstellar (Nolan). Trailer.

    Nolan has said he shoots on film not out of nostalgia, but because it generates a better image. I agree. The greater tonal range and resolution are in abundant evidence here, particularly when viewed on 70mm (for you numbers hounds, 70mm film approximates 18k lines of resolution in digital, as opposed to 2k lines or the high-end 4k digi cameras). Nice strong compositions and classic rule of thirds in the wide scope frame; he chooses to use the IMAX cameras not just for moments of obvious visual beauty (the wormhole, the new planets), but also for emotional moments of equal import (leaving the daughter) and even for difficult handheld work (driving through the cornfield). His commitment to getting the best possible imagistic experience to the viewer is unparalleled. I also marvel at his ability to communicate. How is it that Nolan, without using dialogue, is able to get across that we have just passed through a wormhole, though he doesn't know you or I, and we've never done that ourselves and don't know what it would look like?

    8. Whiplash (Chazelle). Trailer.

    For a 107 minute film about people in rooms yelling or banging on pieces of leather and metal, Chazelle makes the most of it. Lots of narrow depth of field, and great staccato editing during the drumming sequences, particularly during the finale, which is one of the better recent movie endings I'm aware of. He doesn't make unmotivated camera moves. Also, a note on the performances. Simmons is not just excellent because of how intense he is; look at how he plays the sympathetic moments as well– the monologue at the end, the moment with the child early on. A fully dimensional character. As for Miles Teller, I'm reminded of Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. He was new, untested in such a demanding role, not attractive... and supremely talented. Teller's performance is one for the ages. That's his actual blood on the drums. I imagine we'll see a lot of him as the years wear on.

    9. A Most Violent Year (Chandor). Trailer.

    Chandor is not afraid to go for some serious understatement. He lets the silences and quiet exchanges speak for themselves, not interfering with the camera; he favors a locked down frame here, a la Fincher, observing the proceedings with a precision not unlike that of the protagonist's. Chandor uses a scope frame even for this intimate story, lending it a greater visual gravitas than it would otherwise have. I'm partial to the muted blue-green-yellow color scheme, and the expansive use of the wide frame– people on either end, Abel dominating the compositions, arrangements which tell us whose in control; clean, classic, and unwatchable in anything besides the original aspect ratio.

    10. Transformers (Bay). Trailer.

    Don't watch this movie. Please. Don't watch it unless you're an cinematographer, editor, or, uh, a teenage boy. People underestimate the skill necessary to achieve the shots Bay manages here and elsewhere. In the way that Nic Cage simply likes working, seemingly regardless of the material, I get the impression Bay doesn't care about content, but just likes to shoot, and shoot he does. Forget the numbingly abysmal narrative; this is a return to the days of early silent cinema, when the medium was in its birth, and people would go to projection houses to watch footage of things like trains flying toward the screen and babies swimming. "It is a visual and therefore, a visceral, betrayal," John Malkovich says in a scene from Transformers 3, clearly revealing Bay's belief to the power of the image. Note also in this film the loving mentions of motion picture film and references to classic films like Paris, Texas.

    The compositions are dynamic in the extreme, pushing the possibilities of the frame, steeped in color and movement; the editing is positively electric, with kinetic motion flows juxtaposed with every new shot. His camera, like that of Max Ophuls, basically never stops moving, and to witness this or his magnum opus, Bad Boys II (shot on film), is to take part in an achingly beautiful visual ballet, impeccably crafted, with a level of skill all the more noticeable when applied to such completely bloated, vacuous content. I used to edit films with Bay movies playing on a monitor off to one side, as inspiration for photographic and editing possibilities. Again, it's an acquired taste. I think I'm the only person to have Transformers on my shelf, right next to my depressing Swedish movies from the sixties. I encourage you not to waste your time on it– unless you're curious, or one of the three categories mentioned above!


    Thoughts on 2014's other major (and a few not so major) releases.