10 Best Films of 2017

Honorable Mentions: Battle of the Sexes, Dunkirk, It, It Comes At Night, Logan, Okja, Spider-Man: Homecoming, Thor: Ragnarok, War for the Planet of the Apes, Wonder Woman  

10.) The Beguiled: Remember when movies used to just tell stories? Before they became completely obfuscated by boatloads of cash, needless special effects, or insurmountable fan expectations? Yeah. Neither do I. But thankfully, The Beguiled manages to harken back to a simpler era in Hollywood, when a filmmaker's goal was just to spin a yarn and make it a good one. Sofia Coppola is a fabulous director, and here she's crafted an understated masterpiece. Scenes open up in big yawning chasms, so it's easy to tumble in and get lost. I strongly suggest you do.

9.) The Shape of Water: While his last few outings have been forgettable (Crimson Peak and Pacific Rim), here writer/director Guillermo del Toro delivers a strange, intriguing, and utterly unique film. Although the plot is a bit humdrum, everything else is exquisite. The performances are great, especially from Sally Hawkins and Richard Jenkins, both of whom breathe life into otherwise archetypal characters. The themes are equally potent, exploring what it means to be human, asking questions about love and liberty, drawing attention to power dynamics in contemporary America. But the real treat here is the visual style, which del Toro crafts with grace and majesty. Each scene, each shot, is gorgeous.

8.) Baby Driver: While, admittedly, this isn't director Edgar Wright's best outing - I still reserve that spot for 2013's The World's End - Baby Driver is nonetheless exceptional entertainment. It's not quite a comedy, not quite a musical, not quite an action flick, and not quite a crime thriller. Yet it's somehow all of these genres tangled up together, each one vying for your attention and your heart. This film is a magnetic masterpiece, bustling with intriguing characters, wonderful cinematography, and some of the year's best action sequences. As always, I'm incredibly happy with what Edgar Wright delivered, and am dying to see what he'll come up with next.

7.) The Disaster Artist: OH HAI, MARK. Honestly, I shouldn't even have to explain why this movie is great. It tickles your funny bone, churns your stomach, and breaks your heart all at once. It's a hell of a cinematic cocktail - bubbling and frothing with all its disparate components - but man oh man, is it satisfying. The Franco brothers give some of their best performances, both in front of and behind the camera. But be sure to watch The Room beforehand. Trust me. It'll make the whole experience even better.

6.) The Post: This is one of those films that just works exceptionally well across the board - the writing, the acting, the direction, the cinematography, the music, the art direction. Spielberg has become the master of these movies as of late, delivering quality cinema time and again: War Horse, Lincoln, Bridge of Spies, etc. But here, in The Post, the old master has given us something a cut above his usual excellence. The performances are better, particularly by Meryl Streep and Bob Odenkirk. The music is better, again composed by the eternal John Williams. Even the timeliness of its release is synchronized, no doubt intentionally, with current affairs that make the film's themes all the more relevant. The fact that Spielberg made this movie while simultaneously overseeing post-production on Ready Player One makes it even more impressive. I hope he keeps making movies for decades to come.

5.) I, Tonya: It's strange how likable this film is, considering the subject matter. Assault. Domestic violence. An almost awe-inspiring sense of ignorance and stupidity. But damn, if this ain't one heck of a movie anyway. It's funny, tragic, nerve-wracking, and everything you'd want in a movie. It's easy to be startled into laughing, unsure of whether you even should be, and the juxtaposition you'll subsequently experience is uniquely terrific. And that's what this movie is - unique. You're never quite sure if you should be laughing or crying, and the imbalance is beautiful. Another movie this year - Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri - strikes a similarly bipolar tone; and while that's a good movie, it's nowhere near as emotionally resonant, thematically rich, or stylishly executed as I, Tonya. Like Tonya Harding's triple axel, I'm shocked anyone was able to stick the landing on this one. Thank God I was wrong.

4.) Wind River: Before seeing this film, I thought the title Wind River was merely poetic. A lovely yet haunting name to help sell the movie. And it is, right? It's mysterious yet elegant - a wisp of smoke curling from around a corner, beckoning you forward. But there's more than simple poetry to the title. Wind River is also the name of a sprawling Indian reservation in Wyoming, where the movie takes place. It's also a title which suggests that the very essence of this movie is as natural as the earth itself. Which is also true. This is a story that starts as a murder mystery, but isn't content to live within the comfy preordained confines of the genre. It examines so much more between the title screen and the end credits, particularly Native American culture and grief. Because this isn't simply about the death of a young girl. It's about the death of tens of thousands of young girls. Really, the less I say about it, the better. But I'll leave you with this: The film ends with the image of an Arapaho character sitting outside in the cold. His face is painted blue and white, the two colors intertwining and dividing his hardened expression. It's a moment that's ripe with symbolism, and I can't help but see a lot in these two colors. Native Americans and whites. Heartache and redemption. Good and evil. It's all there, and depending on your interpretation of the story, it's an image that's sure to stick with you. And when a movie can communicate all this with just an image? You know it is of the highest caliber.

3.) Detroit: While writing this review, I must admit that I just finished watching the film - literally just. And I can't...put it into words, exactly. As someone who grew up in Michigan, just forty-five minutes north of the Motor City, I find this film to be...essential. Ingrained. Horrifying. Spectacular. The technical specs are all immaculate. As usual, Kathryn Bigelow's direction is raw, uncompromising, and without peer. The performances are hauntingly authentic, perhaps none more so than John Boyega, who needs an Oscar and more for the humanity and reality he brings to his role.

Nuts and bolts aside, however, this is a stirring film. Period. It's the Schindler's List of the American Civil Rights Movement, a brutally visceral account of a horrid era in America's most iconic rust belt city. Yet beyond the violence - looking past the gunfire and rioting, the screams and tears and gnashing of teeth - the character you need to hone in on is Larry Reed, played to perfection by Algee Smith. In my opinion, he personifies Detroit itself: Initially starry-eyed and optimistic, ready to use his God-given gifts to carry him to fortune. Unfortunately (inevitably?), he suffers immeasurable setbacks - some relatively minor, others downright traumatic; some circumstantial, others systemic. These misfortunes harden him, chilling his marrow and lifting the scales from his eyes. Yet somehow, unbelievably, he finds himself anew - a phoenix reborn through faith and perhaps even a glimmer of that optimism he used to have. It's faded now, buried beneath snow and concrete and blood, but it might just be there. After all, he still lives in Detroit, doesn't he? If that's not optimism, I don't know what is.

To me, Detroit is 2017's ultimate cinematic statement on racism in America. This isn't a broad-stroked horror-comedy mess. Nor is it a veiled parable, almost unrecognizable beneath its many layers of intellectual detachment. No. Detroit is as stunning as it is terrifying, and it deals with its subject matter with a frankness that you won't find anywhere else. If you're brave enough to stomach it, you should watch it. If you're not brave enough? Then you need to.

2.) Star Wars: The Last Jedi: This tenth theatrical installment in the Star Wars saga - yes, the tenth - is an overwhelming achievement in blockbuster filmmaking. Casting off the fun-yet-familiar trappings of 2015's The Force Awakens, here we have a full-fledged space opera extravaganza, one with heart and brains and, thankfully, guts. This movie is daring, probably more so than any tent-pole goliath has been before. Sure, it cannibalizes the saga to a certain degree (The Empire Strikes Back is reappropriated at length), but it's so surprising and bold that it hardly seems to matter.

Most of this boldness comes from writer/director Rian Johnson, the guy responsible for such gems as Brick, Looper, and a handful of phenomenal Breaking Bad episodes. He doesn't just direct this movie; he directs the crap out of it, weaving subplots and character arcs and genre tropes all snugly together. This is unquestionably the most action-packed entry to date, with breathless cosmic dogfights and a lightsaber sequence that is just...wow. But this thing ain't all action. It's also a soulful study on heroism, examining the ambiguity of good and bad, and the tension that simmers in between. In fact, there's a blizzard of gray area here: protagonists fail, antagonists triumph, characters question each other and themselves, the list goes on.

Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver are impeccable as the light side and the dark, straining to understand each other as their shared destinies become hopelessly entangled. Mark Hamill gives the performance of his career as a now-embittered Luke Skywalker, flipping the wise-old-mentor archetype on its head as he reveals himself to be less of a legend and more of a tortured soul. Also fabulous are the supporting players, especially Oscar Isaac and Kelly Marie Tran as Resistance fighters who just want a shot to do something good. And keep your eyes peeled for a fun turn by the always-terrific Benicio del Toro as a slimy codebreaker.

All in all, it's safe to say that The Last Jedi is aggressively good. It's certainly the best installment since 1980's The Empire Strikes Back, and will undoubtedly be remembered as the best space opera flick of the decade. It is transmodern, ardently iconoclastic, but best of all? It's still Star Wars, and it's still fun.

1.) Blade Runner 2049: Few films these days have the courage to unfurl like a novel, letting their threads unspool organically and ponderously. Thank goodness Blade Runner 2049 isn't like most movies. It takes its time, letting the characters explore their world with way more free reign than you might expect. But this is a good thing. Heck, not just good, but great. It imbues the entire film, which clocks in at a whopping 163 minutes, with a sense of grandiose profundity. By the end, it feels less like a movie and more like an experience, one that doesn't just linger, but imprints itself into your cinematic sensibilities.

As someone with an intense disdain for the original Blade Runner from 1982, I was totally surprised and impressed by this sequel. Honestly, I'm not some die hard Blade Runner fanboy who waited with baited breath the release of this film. I thought the trailers looked interesting, and although I find Ridley Scott's original to be tedious, boring, and thoroughly overrated, I decided to see this sequel on a whim. About halfway through my first viewing, a thought occurred to me. It rang in the depths of my psyche like a church bell: Holy crap, this is incredible. Then, later: Holy crap, this might be the best sci-fi flick in years.

And it is. The cinematography and production design are so beautiful that basically any given shot is worthy of being framed and hung in a gallery. Performances range from great to marvelous. The score, a droning and disorienting synth landscape, is distinctive and vivifying. The special effects are must-see, and are utilized in some really clever ways (there's a love scene that is simply unprecedented). 

But really, it's not about the effects. Like all great stories, it's about characters and ideas. Here? Every character is compelling. Concepts of humanity are challenged. Our notions of personhood and the Other are called into question, daring us not only to empathize with a non-human, but to recognize him as well. It opens up a whole realm of personal and philosophical questions. This is the thinker's movie, one aglow with ideas, rendering everything else secondary. It's cerebral science-fiction, made in the glorious tradition of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Silent Running, and most recently, Ex Machina. And yes, it is a peer to these classics. Unquestionably.

Grand. Inventive. Clever. Sensational. These are the words I'd use to describe Blade Runner 2049, my pick for the best movie of 2017. I seriously doubt another movie will surprise me so delightfully and overwhelmingly again in the future.