Earn This

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

With War, U2 build skyscrapers upon the foundation of their debut album Boy.  If the startling cover art—the same young boy staring at the viewer, only with a face of righteous anger replacing innocence—wasn’t enough of an indication, these men, just 23 at the time of release, expand upon the sound they had already established while incorporating new, striking elements.  The first of a holy trilogy of U2 albums, War begat the vastly different Unforgettable Fire, and it would be the last time U2 would reside in the realm of such crunching hard rock.

War, in standard U2 fashion, opens with a heavyweight, “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” which has only improved with time.  Larry Mullen Jr.’s propulsive drum beat is the best thing he’s ever done, and Bono’s anti-war lyrics (“And the battle’s just begun / There’s many lost, but tell me, Who has won?”) have never before or since sounded so revelatory.  The band shrewdly places the calmer “Seconds” afterwards, but don’t let the acoustic guitar and groovy bass line fool you, for Bono is still fiery as ever—“London, New York, Peking / Yes, the puppets pull the strings.”  But it’s the next two tracks that announce War as an album to withstand the test of time, not because either is better than “Sunday,” but because they reassure the cautious listener expecting a one-song album, worried that nothing else would resonate in a similar way.

“New Year’s Day” was the band’s first U.S. hit, and it remains a concert favorite to this day.  Adam Clayton’s instantly recognizable bass line, mixing well with the piano, underscore the Edge’s penetrating guitar, which seems to fill up vacuums of space, be they in an arena or in your head.  Then, on “Like a Song…” the band revives the punkish energy of Boy while cranking up the volume, resulting in a delightful mash-up that’s a more political and slightly smoother version of The Unforgettable Fire’s “Wire.”  Bono never forgets his purpose, but his voice is so beautiful that one would be forgiven for allowing it to take him away.  When he cries, “Angry words won’t stop my fight / Two wrongs won’t make it right / A new heart is what I need / Oh, God, make it bleed,” it’s pretty damn impossible to deny his sentiments.

If the latter six songs of War were as good as the first four, we’d be talking about one of the eight or ten best albums ever made, but they’re nevertheless able to change the tone while still maintaining the feel of the entire album.  The lovely “The Drowning Man” and quirky “The Refugee” are U2 originals that feel at home here.  Every song is worthy in its own right, from the dance-rock of “Two Hearts Beat as One” to the glorious breathy vocals on “Surrender.”  It all rocks, and it all works.

What helps make the album so successful is the way Bono delivers his messages passionately, but not in a way that overwhelms the listener.  I have gotten just as much pleasure out of quietly listening to the album at night, paying more attention to softer songs like “The Drowning Man,” “Red Light,” and “40,” than in those times when I want to revel in the music’s rage and unbridled power.   Of course, the band behind the frontman makes it easy to take him seriously, as every member contributes and no song is underdeveloped.

Rolling Stone avowed that the songs on War match up, pound for pound, with those on London Calling (an obvious influence), at least in terms of sheer impact.  That may have sounded like hyperbole in 1983, but time has proven RS right—and then some.  Though U2 were still getting better, War, with its coherent theme, consistency, and commitment to excellence, defines them as much as anything else.  Even at their young age, U2 had long since proved that they wanted to be in the big leagues.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 4)

Bull Durham is far and away the best sports movie of all-time, but I hate to classify it as much because it’s also so much more.  It’s a great romantic comedy, a very funny movie, a very poignant movie, and when all put together, an exceptional piece of art.  Refusing to conform to anyone else’s conventions, consistently surprising with its charm and inventiveness, and brilliantly written and acted, it only gets better with repeated viewings.

Written and directed by a man who spent many years in the minor leagues himself (Ron Shelton), Durham centers on the single-A baseball team of the Durham Bulls.  Their star pitcher is Ebby Calvin “Nuke” Laloosh (Tim Robbins), whose velocity can match the best of them but who often has little control over where his pitches are going.  A talented but aging minor league veteran, Crash Davis (Kevin Costner), is brought on to be Nuke’s personal catcher and prepare him for the majors.  With one man destined for potential stardom and another hoping that single-A ball suffices as a replacement for such, one possessing great physical gifts and one intellect, the two have a complicated friendship, and Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon) spices it up even more.

Annie is a baseball nut who chooses one player a year to sleep with, which said player generally follows with the best season of his life.  Sarandon has many scenes with both Robbins and Costner, and the sexual attraction between both pairings, especially with Costner, sizzles.  Annie’s sexualized, to be sure, but she has her principles—“I am, within the framework of the baseball season,” she tells Crash, “monogamous.”  She also has other loves, in particular poetry, which she reads to guys foolish enough to think they might sleep with her on the first night.

As incendiary as the romance is here, the baseball scenes are better.  Nuke sets new league records for strikeouts, walks, hit basemen, and hit mascots in a game.  There’s not a single pitcher in a baseball movie with great velocity and poor command—Wild Thing, anyone?—not modeled after Nuke.  But Shelton doesn’t make him out to be a clown—he’s just a young buck who, as Annie notes, is not cursed with self-awareness.  When he ignores Crash’s advice or slacks off in his game preparation, it’s only because he doesn’t know better, not because he’s trying to make noise.  Robbins’s ability to make him so childlike and yet believable is particularly impressive.

Though Crash and Nuke meet via a bar fight, they settle down, and their interactions drive the film.  Crash ends a fight by telling Nuke to hit him in the chest with a baseball from 15 feet, which he can’t do once he starts to think about it.  “Don’t think,” Crash tells him.  “It can only hurt the ballclub.”  On the field, Nuke has an unfortunate habit of shaking off Crash’s pitches, which invariably results in a home run.  Robbins’ “You told him I was gonna throw the deuce, didn’t you?” after the second tipped pitch is priceless.

With just these components, Bull Durham would be a winner, but the film’s gravity and intelligence sneaks up on you; only by the end may you realize what a serious film it really is.  Note, first off, how Shelton eschews all sports clichés.  The Bulls never bond together to win anything.  No struggling player saves the day at the end, and the manager proffers no long-winded inspirational speeches.  The film, rather, opens our eyes to the often contradictory world of minor league ball, with players who may spend their entire careers there, hoping for a shot at the big leagues, enduring the lengthy bus rides and few fans and small compensation because they love to play.  When Crash recalls his three-week stint in the majors earlier in his career, the other players listen in awe, as though he’s speaking of a priceless jewel that they will never find.

I could write pages and pages listing every great scene in this movie and commenting on the pitch-perfect tone that the actors strike.  There are Crash’s mound conversations with Nuke (“Strikeouts are boring; besides, they’re fascist.  Throw some more ground balls, it’s more democratic.”), his accusations (“You don’t respect yourself, which is your problem.  But you don’t respect the game, and that’s mine.”) subtle teachings (a rant about shower shoes effortlessly illustrates the differences between the two), his rising sexual tension with Annie (“You know, having a conversation with you is like a Martian talking to a fungo”), and on and on.  In almost every scene, I can identify a place where it could have gone off track, where a lesser writer would have taken it, and I’m constantly impressed, no matter how many times I’ve seen it, with Shelton’s touch.

The film’s final act is contemplative and almost somber, as Crash works out his problems for good with both Annie and Nuke.  Though Nuke and Annie are more vibrant and Robbins and Sarandon are lightning in a bottle, Crash is the film’s heart and soul, the character with whom Shelton clearly identifies.  In particular, his philosophy comes out in an exquisite scene at a bar when Nuke wants him to celebrate his promotion to the minors.  When Crash talks about the vagaries of the game and then asks Nuke, “You still don’t know what I’m talking about?” he knows that, at the very least, he does, and that’s enough to keep him coming back.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 4)

In a revealing late chapter of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry asks Professor Dumbledore whether their poignant interaction has been taking place for real or merely in his head.  “Of course it is happening inside your head,” Dumbledore responds, “but why on Earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in Shutter Island personifies that sentiment—all its heartening and worrisome consequences—perfectly.  We might not agree with it at first, but the more you think about this movie, the more it makes sense, after your brain is melded, stunned, reversed, reversed again, and invigorated.  Filled with disturbingly bone-chilling moments the likes of which few movies possess, Shutter will mess with your mind, and then it will leave you in feverish contemplation of its ideas.  There’s one jolt after which the audience jumped more noticeably than I’ve ever seen before in my life.  It made a (female) friend cry extensively, made a (male) friend turn to me repeatedly to tell me how creeped out he was, and left me, like all my companions, legitimately clueless of what was going to happen in the climax—a staggering, and incredibly rare, combination of forces.

And then, afterwards, it’s provoked hours of discussing amongst everyone I’ve seen it with.  Given potential by Dennis Lehane’s book (the man behind only Mystic River and Gone Baby Gone), director Martin Scorsese, his cinematographer, composers, and actors transform it into something enduring.  If movies are designed to arrest the senses, to provoke extreme emotions, to force examination of thoughts and feelings that might not otherwise be considered, then it’s clear why Shutter Island will be repeat viewing for anyone who sees it.

Set in 1954, with Communist paranoia as just one component of dread, Shutter teams Scorsese up for the fourth time with DiCaprio, who plays U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels.  He and his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) have been assigned to visit Shutter Island, an ominous piece of rock off the coast of Boston Harbor that houses a mental institution for the criminally insane.  Teddy and Chuck were sent to investigate the unexplainable disappearance of one of the inmates, Rachel Solando, who, we are told, lives in denial over her murder of her three children.  Teddy and Chuck are assisted, to an extent, by the facility’s head doctors Cawley (Ben Kingsley) and Naehring (Max von Sydow), and the actors’ (particularly Kingsley) strike the perfect balance between creepiness and kindliness that only muddles our perceptions even more.

Before long, we discover that Teddy stalks the island for reasons beyond Rachel’s disappearance, but we’re not sure exactly what they are.  Is it because he’s trying to uncover evidence that the seemingly good-natured psychiatrists are actually performing mind-altering experiments on their human patients?  Is it because his past—deaths within his family, wartime trauma—compelled him there, perhaps in search of another patient?  Will he ever make it off the island, and if not, will it be because the doctors refused or because he legitimately didn’t belong anywhere else?  Just how much can we believe him?  Or are both parties not to be trusted?

Scorsese embellishes these feverish questions with a dazzling array of sights, sounds, and visual tricks so absorbing that you’ll probably be having dreams about them afterwards—and not pleasant ones.  Teddy’s own disturbing nightmares about his dead wife and his past begin to overlap, more and more, with the missing woman and what we perceive to be “reality,” to the point where we stop being able to clearly identify what exactly is happening.

And when you leave Shutter Island, you’ll wrestle with your inability to state exactly what “happened”—both because that question can’t really be answered without reference to specific characters’ perspectives and because Laeta Kalogridis’s script doesn’t have any interest in giving you a simple resolution.  Is there actually a ‘twist’ in play, or not?  Reviewers seemed perfectly content to accept the plausibility of the apparent twist, but after countless hours of reflection and discussion with others, I have too many doubts.

Moments like Ruffalo’s final spoken word, Cawley’s dubious claim that they’d broken through to Teddy 9 months previously, and the overstatement of the heinous nature of Teddy’s crime by Cawley pushed me towards thinking that he’d really only been there for 2 days.  The parallel seemingly drawn with the older woman who killed her husband in somewhat-believable circumstances seemed a crucial indictment of the institution as well, as did a few things Cawley said that didn’t seem compatible with the presumed twist.  But almost everything here can be taken as evidence for either perspective.  Ruffalo’s word could have been part of Teddy’s delusions.  And—critically—there’s acting involved either way; either the institution was involved in a dramatic ‘role play,’ or everyone was trying to push Teddy further into paranoia in order to paint him with that brush.

In fact, that confusion is PRECISELY the point of Shutter Island: how fine the line is between the sane and insane.  If you were insane, would you know it?  Did Teddy know it?  Who can say?  And, the movie proposes, couldn’t anyone could be insane and not know it.  If you were painted as insane, would you accept it?  Or would you think you’d been mis-characterized?  And doesn’t Teddy truly personify the concept that (in)sanity isn’t an all-or-nothing proposition?

Philosopher Renee Descartes formulated the famous “Dream Argument,” the notion that, since during dreams we are unaware of their fakeness, what we consider our normal lives could, analogously, all be a dream, could all be manipulation and deceit.  Of all the creepiness and shocks in Shutter Island, that’s the most discomforting thought—that anyone could either a) painted as insane or b) actually be insane.  That’s why the mind-melding of the movie’s tricks works so well on us, just like in A Beautiful Mind; we’re feeling what he is.  Who’s insane, and who’s to determine that?  Was Teddy unable to completely hate his wife because he saw that he could have easily been turning into her?

Shutter raises all these questions pointedly, creepily, coldly efficiently: how resilient and smart was Teddy, and how capable was he of being manipulated?  The film makes numerous references to his intelligence, as if to ask: under certain circumstances, is it ‘smart’ to be insane?  The comments from various patients who expressed no desire to leave the institution out of fear that the outside world had passed them by sounded remarkably forward-thinking.  So was Teddy’s ‘decision’ to create an alternate persona for himself evidence of insanity?  Or did it enable him to lead a more stable, productive life?  And was it smart that, whether or not he was acting with his final comments, he wanted everything to end?

But even if Teddy had accepted his fate, isn’t it the case that the institution had won, that he was doomed regardless?  And if you thought anyone could be insane—including yourself—wouldn’t you oppose the thought of authorities declaring who was?  The island is so close to Boston, but it may as well be a million miles from anything.

Wow.  How often does a film make the most of everything from its opening shots—the shrewd symbolism of showing DiCaprio’s face through a mirror and then straight on, highlighting his dual personalities—to that infinitely fascinating final exchange, wrapping up everything and nothing all at once?  In an age when movies are made with such extreme caution, with such an obvious desire to appeal to the least common denominator, Shutter Island explodes as a maverick, structurally, thematically, visually, emotionally.  After each viewing, I haven’t wanted to do anything (other than talk about it), sometimes just driving or walking around aimlessly, lost in contemplation and well aware that I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else.  After my first two viewings—on the same day—I was convinced it was an outstanding movie, and my feelings have only intensified since then.

Amidst all the discussion it provokes about sanity, instability, knowledge, and uncertainty, the most important take-away message might be that the true dangers in the world come not from external sources to which we apportion blame, but from within, from our own terrors and uncontrollable urges.  Teddy, we can gather from skillfully placed background information, couldn’t deal with his wife’s demons because he was too occupied with his own, and he couldn’t deal with his own because he wanted to fear and blame something outside of him.

Just like The Bourne Ultimatum, Shutter Island has become the latest feverishly-anticipated movie that nevertheless blew me away.  It will without question define my senior year of college and 2010 in general, and for many years in the future it will become one of the first “Have you seen…?” questions I ask people when the conversation turns to movies.  Despite the fact that it’s more of a short-story than a novel, really, and that it unashamedly flaunts its creepiness, it has virtually nothing that’s not exceptional.  There’s DiCaprio, masterfully portraying Teddy’s ‘descent’ into insanity, a performance that just gets better the more you know about his character.  There’s the seemingly endless debate and discussion it provokes, both about its involuted storyline and the philosophical issues it raises that relate to us all.  And there’s that visceral intensity, that psychological gut-punch, that ferocious look on DiCaprio’s face that keeps telling us there’s even more to see, more danger around the corner, more mysteries of the human mind yet to be uncovered, more depths of cruelty yet to plunge.

Legendary musician and producer Brian Eno once said, “Every review should have, below the name of the critic, their 10 current favorite works in the medium.  That way you have some chance of seeing their prejudices.”  Well said, sir.  To that end, I proffer my ten favorite movies, not currently but all-time.  I present this list with the conditions that I know there are countless intriguing movies I have not seen—particularly any made before the last decade—and that my tastes continue to shift.

1) Mystic River

Joy Division set to cinema—the most ferociously intense, haunting movie I’ve ever seen.  Mystic River speaks, above all, to the different ways people cope with grief (just as JD did).  The characters in this movie try everything possible to lead productive lives that have been wrecked by tragedy, and though some succeed more than others, they all tell us something about what it means to be human.  As a murder mystery is investigated, questions, desires, and regrets that have lain dormant between three old friends are unearthed.

Clint Eastwood imparts a brooding, plaintive feel upon the action, understanding how atmosphere can enhance, but not overpower a story, and he culls exceptional work from his actors.  Tim Robbins’s command of a wide and rapidly shifting range of emotions is nothing short of stunning, and the incomparable Sean Penn triumphs even all of his other performances.  Yet it’s Kevin Bacon who speaks the film’s truest and most heartbreaking lines, in a late scene with Penn that might be the most emotive scene I’ve ever seen in a movie.  The best art speaks universally and personally at the same time, and in Mystic River, everything feels connected to my life, no matter what’s going on in it at the time.

2) Closer

Closer uses four spectacularly dysfunctional relationships to make profound statements about more reasonable and, hopefully, more common ones.  Asking questions most movies don’t want to touch, it makes articulate observations of the relationships among its four characters applicable to our everyday lives.  The actors and script each evince their extraordinary skill by quietly showing us that, behind the characters’ betrayals and brutal words lie a vast expanse of pain and hurt—even if they don’t want to admit they’re feeling those things.

Closer has a reputation for being depressing, but since everyone gets what he or she deserves, I see it more as a warning than a suicide pill.  It’s not really about the loneliness that touches everyone in it.  It’s about how much people who have been hurt in the past are willing to risk again, how much a failure to resist sexual attraction taints one’s character, and whether any relationship can succeed without significant flaws.

3) Good Will Hunting

An unfailingly sincere movie, and thus one that is quite easy for the sarcastic and ironic to mock.  Yet the sincerity in this movie carries along with it some implosive drama.  Matt Damon and Robin Williams give career-best performances as, respectively, a math genius whose life is going nowhere yet is frequently on edge, and the worn-down therapist who helps him connect with what’s important.  The riveting final third of the film, featuring sparkling scenes between these two as well as the other side characters, is everything it should be: provocative, intelligent, assertive, well-acted, and always very real.

4) Saving Private Ryan

The reputation of Steven Spielberg’s epic, set during World War II, precedes it, but the hype is all worth it.  The famous opening 20 minutes of war footage will leave you wishing your heart rate would subside even while your eyes are spellbound to the screen—it’s unimaginable, chaotic, and easy to follow all at once—but the movie truly becomes great with the way it handles the rest of its story with such humanity.  As eight men, led by Tom Hanks’s John Miller, search for one missing soldier, writer Robert Rodat imbues a philosophical tone upon the material, raising questions about fighting that are not easily answered.  Finding Ryan isn’t the point; the point is what Miller’s men think about it, what Miller does while executing the mission, and what Ryan says when told he can return home.

5) Children of Men

Lead actor Clive Owen has an affinity for playing characters who derive strength from destruction occurring around them (Closer, Croupier), but here it is the rest of the world that has fallen apart while he ultimately finds a measure of decency and redemption.  Showing us what would happen in a world with no children, the explosive Children of Men uses mature filmmaking to study the human condition.  In the jaw-dropping final ten minutes, as hope intermingles with despair and Owen looks towards the future, the film achieves an emotional resonance few can in their entire running time.

All the touches from the hand of director Alfonso Cuaron, who also co-wrote the screenplay, have a revelatory effect.  Even when you don’t think he’s doing something, he is.  Sean Penn himself said the movie “is arguably as well-directed a picture as there’s ever been.”  I can’t give it any higher praise than that.

6) Garden State

A quirky, unconventionally smart film written and directed by star Zach Braff, Garden State captures 21st century ennui perfectly.  Braff plays Andrew, an emotionally blank, marginally successful actor who’s drawn home for the first time in 9 years with the news of his mother’s death.  There, he meets old friends who aren’t much more productive with their lives yet still enjoy it—something he’s forgotten about—and one special new one, played by Natalie Portman.

Culling strong performances from Portman and Peter Sarsgaard, Braff constructs an often hilarious and always touching portrait of 20something loneliness.  The film has tiny flaws, but Braff deserves praise for his underlying message that being able to feel something is better than avoiding pain.  As he tells his father, “We may not be as happy as you always dreamed we would be, but for the first time let’s just allow ourselves to be whatever it is that we are…and that’ll be better.”

7) A Beautiful Mind

What’s more important in life, truth or beauty?  That question forms the heart of A Beautiful Mind, the story of the life of brilliant and troubled mathematician John Nash.  The film explores the head, heart, and psyche of its character with an excellent script given even more depth by Russell Crowe’s superb lead performance.  The film is both taut and comprehensive, avoiding becoming another rote biopic that merely sketches biographic details by letting us into Nash’s world and that of his closest friends.

Cast Away

Like Children of Men, Cast Away takes a simple but devastating hook and uses that, and its symbolic main character, to make profound and poignant statements about human nature and the world at large.  After being marooned by a plane crash, Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) faces a deserted island and little chance of ever seeing the real world and his fiancée Kelly again.  The film speaks to the ability of the human spirit to motivation itself to action even when all seems hopeless, but it is defined by its final act, after Chuck returns home to see how life has changed for everyone else while he was away.

His scene with Helen Hunt at her house is about as sad as movies can be, and he’s left to wonder whether it was even worth it to get off the island.  There is no Hollywood ending here, no reassuring words from anyone that life will all go back to normal now, no triumphant return to Kelly; but the final frames perfectly articulate, without words, the present status of the life of someone who wants desperately to find a reason to keep living.

9) American Beauty

With a pitch-perfect tone of quiet desperation, American Beauty lulls you into respect and then shocks you into moments of startling recognition.  An unbelievably consistent film, it accelerates to climactic scenes you simply can’t take your eyes off, no matter how many times you’ve seen them.

Everyone in the film, inhabiting the worst aspects of the “American dream” gone very wrong, is fighting for a way out of the straitjacket flung onto them, by their family, friends, or society.  Some succeed, some don’t, and their efforts are all put together with a masterful economy of dialogue, timing, and scene construction.  Kevin Spacey’s performance lives inside of it, but everyone, from the other actors (notably Chris Cooper) to first-time director Sam Mendes and first-time writer Alan Ball to cinematographer Conrad Hall, makes a contribution that you won’t soon forget.

10) Million Dollar Baby

This 2004 Best Picture winner demonstrates precisely the power that a great movie can have—emotionally, psychologically, visually, and viscerally.  It introduces three richly developed characters—a boxing trainer, an aspiring fighter, and a former star—given rich and human performances by the actors, and it ties it all together with a stellar script.  This is the rare film that doesn’t want to be sarcastic or glib and is unashamedly emotional—and that’s before it reaches its apex.  Loses points only because it’s not quite so re-watchable and some of these others.

What’s so remarkable is how strong it is for its first two-thirds, before taking a right-turn and morphing, seamlessly, into something entirely different for the final act.  Million Dollar Baby lingers on the minds of viewers long after it’s over because of the way these three people’s lives interact that deeply affect all of them, for better or worse, and make it impossible for them to declare their previously dead-end lives meaningless.

As an introduction to the site and our tastes in movies, we decided we would each share our current top ten favorite movies along with brief explanations about why we love them. This list is subject to change, of course, but here’s how my top ten currently stands.

1. Rudy

People scoff when I say that Rudy is my favorite movie of all time. The terms “Notre Dame fanboy” and “sentimental hogwash” are thrown around a lot. But what can I say to this? Am I expected to use logic to convince my soul not to love what it so earnestly does? Rudy, like many of the unexpected picks in my top 10, is no masterpiece in the traditional sense of technical craft or stylistic form.

The way Rudy is a masterpiece is in how strongly it strikes a personal chord. That’s something that varies from person to person, so I do not expect each one of you to call Rudy a masterpiece the way I do. Art is subjective, after all. But Rudy’s rags to riches story echoes tremendous inspiration in me. The sets are beautiful, the acting is spot-on, and the movie has a deep-seated humanity. Achieving dreams against expectations is a theme that will always be relevant.

2. The Shawshank Redemption

Like Rudy, my second favorite movie of all time is a parable about hope. Aside from a warden who at times is nagging and silly, every part of this movie is perfection in my eyes. It brings us just low enough to feel how strongly the odds are against Andy Dufresne, and then all of the harrowing set-up pays off in one of the most soaring finales in film history. Morgan Freeman is first-rate as the voice of the film, Tim Robbins is appropriately difficult to read as Andy Dufresne, and the film-making gels into a hugely satisfying experience.

I could go through this film scene by scene and point out details I love. This movie has moment after moment of pure power. Even the ending, which turned off critics because of how little ambiguity it leaves, is earned by this excellent film.

3. Back to the Future
Number three on my list doubles as one of the greatest comedies of all time and one of the most exciting sci-films of all time. If there is a more enjoyable two hours in film, I do not know of it. The most important element in this film — like many comedies — is the chemistry of the leads, Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd. The two are hilarious and play off each other so well.

The movie’s tongue-in-cheek reverence to the 1980s also helps make Back to the Future a great movie. Instead of trying to modernize the movie and focus on making a timeless and visually advanced film — something that, ironically, would have dated the movie much more quickly — the movie sticks to depicting the flamboyance of the 1980s: skateboards, tacky vests, hair metal, and all. Even more than the edge-of-your-seat thrill and the gut-busting script, it’s this focused style that I revere in this film.

4. The Dark Knight
Too soon? Maybe. But I swore to myself that I would be honest in this list and share the movies I love the most. Though it’s barely a year old, The Dark Knight is a movie I love more than nearly any other. It’s a sprawling, exciting movie that’s part comic book, part crime saga, part character study, part smash-bang blockbuster, and all adventure.

What I love most about The Dark Knight is how it takes the struggles that comic books internalize — not just good vs. evil, but order vs. chaos — and turns them into a beautiful script; one that brims with wit and energy, but also cuts deep into some of the powerful themes that the Burton-Schumacher Batman movies could only allude to.

5. That Thing You Do!

Sometimes it’s nice when a movie sets itself a low bar, as pejorative as that sounds. Then the movie can leap over that bar with ease and style. That Thing You Do! would be an example of such a movie; it doesn’t entrench itself into complicated drama, and it keeps the comedy light and whip-smart. It’s a rags-to-riches story, but both the rags and the riches are subdued. The polished final cut is flawless, unless you consider it a flaw to lack ambition.

If it sounds like I’m selling short a movie that’s one of my favorites ever, let me clarify: I absolutely adore That Thing You Do! The characters are very human, the script has an inviting warmth, and the actors all play the type of people you feel like you actually could have met in the early 1960′s. It never feels like the movie is “trying” to do anything: it just does it, and sucks you in completely.

The soul of the movie — and what sets it apart from “endearing” to “pure, classic entertainment” — is the music. The original soundtrack is marvelous pop music and it accurately emulates the sound of the time. It makes That Thing You Do! a joyous film experience every time.

6. Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark

I believe that Raiders of the Lost Ark not only reinvented the action-adventure movie but perfected it. The tone is never too gritty to suck the energy and joy out of the movie, but the action delivers the goods. It is creative, unadulterated excellence that sets up a few iconic characters and a plethora of classic moments. I can’t watch Raiders of the Lost Ark and walk away feeling anything besides complete satisfaction. Indy’s first adventure is funny, exciting, enthralling, a incredible delight that would never be topped in the series, and rarely out of the series.

7. Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

The two greatest trilogy movies, which happen to be from the two greatest trilogies (though we’ll see if Toy Story joins their company in 2010) are back-to-back in my top ten. The Empire Strikes Back feels a bit like a transition movie, as it ends with a cliff-hanger and lacks an over-arching conflict and resolution.  Still, it’s easily the best Star Wars movie. It’s not as hokey as A New Hope nor as silly as Return of the Jedi.

The reason The Empire Strikes Back shines is because it puts the characters, not the plot, front and center. Each important relationship of the movie is brought in new, surprising directions. It’s fascinating seeing the characters knocked down again and again, and watching how they get back up each time. The movie avoids black and white this time around, as characters face complicated decisions and challenging revelations. Of course, the sensational set pieces and best-ever casting don’t hurt.

8. Jurassic Park

JP, as my friends and I call it, has incredible suspense and visuals that still look good a decade and a half later. In fact, I think they’ll always look good: The dinosaurs are designed not just to look lifelike but to be towering and awe-inspiring.

The characters’ struggles provide a relevant warning against breaching too far with technology, but I never find myself too wrapped up in the themes of Jurassic Park. I just like going along for the ride. The heart of the movie is in its dynamic visual sequences.

Who can forget the first time the glass of water started vibrating and the T-rex stormed the Jeeps? How many things can you think of more terrifying and exhilerating than velociraptors… that can open a door! Watching this movie with the lights off and the sound turned up is one of the best movie-watching experiences I know of.

9. Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Man oh man, do I get a lot of crap for loving this movie. I know I have a slight tendency to overrate movies I’ve seen recently (see #4), but as far as I’m concerned, this movie could have been released in 1947 instead of 2007. Its release date does not prevent it from being, straight up, the funniest movie I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen it nearly ten times, more than any other movie released in the past decade, so it’s not just infatuation.

Not only is the movie absolutely hilarious — maybe two or three gags fall flat, which is still a hall of fame batting average considering just how many jokes are here — but it’s pretty good as a movie, too. It’s heartfelt. It knows what breakups feel like.

Perhaps the reason it feels genuine is because it is. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is semi-autobiographical for writer and star Jason Segel who was dumped while he was nude, who dated a big time star in a cheesy TV show for several years, who loves Muppets, and who dreamed of writing a Dracula puppet musical for the longest time.

10. The Usual Suspects

The Usual Suspects was at one point several spots higher on this list, but I can’t shy away from the fact that this mystery is one that leads nowhere. It’s a little bit frustrating that so much is left ambiguous; and yet, that’s also one reason I love it. The first time you watch it, you’re left stammering “Wait… what?”

But if you want to talk about an exquisitely crafted whodunit (rather, who-is-it), this is your winner. Its dizzying twists and turns can distract you from the sheer beauty of this movie. The score is first-rate and the neo-noir cinematography is haunting. The last five minutes of this movie are perhaps my five favorite minutes in the history of cinema. They say so much and so little.

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

When I take a look the artists that have left the most tremendous impact on me, most of them are pretty objectively great. To name a few: Billy Joel, my first musical love, sells out arenas. Relient K, the first modern band I took seriously, has had their latest album called a ‘masterpiece’ and a ‘classic’ by reputable music writers. The Beatles, who made convinced me that music can be art, have college classes taught about them. I once saw a concert ticket headlining Reel Big Fish – Streetlight Manifesto, the two bands who convinced me ska can be great, scalped for four times its face value.

There’s one band I adore whose legacy appears to passing away fast: Eve 6.

When these three fresh-faced musicians stormed out of high school with a contract from RCA, they quickly released their self-titled debut, a thoroughly slick rock album difficult to compartmentalize: Post-grunge? Punk-pop? Alternative? Critics bestowed it with such backhanded compliments as “Eve 6 shows enormous potential.”

The follow-up, Horrorscope, broadened the band’s sound as well as their appeal. Numerous tracks crawled up the modern rock charts. Perhaps it was an ominous sign that the album’s biggest hit, Here’s to the Night — while one of the band’s best songs and an incredible ballad — is pretty different from Eve 6′s usual sound.

This brings us to their third and final pre-breakup album, It’s All in Your Head. The masses ignored it and the critics shrugged it off. But they’re all wrong. It’s All in Your Head — while not perfect — is Eve 6′s opus, a dark pop-rock masterpiece.

Listening through the album a few days ago for the first time in awhile, It’s All in Your Head sounds better then ever. It’s hard to believe the album is over a half-decade old, because it still sounds fresh. It showcases the band’s ability to construct solid pop hooks, but this time they’re edgy and colorful. There’s a nervy desperation in these songs that feels like it could explode with rage or despair or desolation at any moment. And it sometimes does.

Every piece of the album and the sound fits together. The drum-work is menacing. The guitar-work is varied, exciting, melodic, and wonderfully loud most of the time.  The flourishes of electronica evoke a hazy state of confusion that only adds to the rich, convincing sound of the album.

But the real treat is the vocal work. Max Collins emerges with one of my favorite vocal performances from any album ever. On previous albums, he’d occasionally sound like he was trying to be hip, too cool for school. Here, he sounds fully invested in the music. His vocal range is stretched to its limit, but the occasional crack and strain match the themes of breakdown and regret that fill the album. His voice lends the album a real honesty, as if he’s truly experiencing what the songs describe.

It’s All In Your Head is largely about loneliness and despair. It completes a nice three-album cycle. Eve 6′s debut is mostly about gnawing emptiness,  Horrorscope is mostly about brief passions, and It’s All in Your Head is mostly about the regret in letting that passion slip away.

I normally don’t advocate thinking of an album as simply a collection of tracks, but I have a lot I want to say about these songs, so I’ll break my rule — if for no other reason, because I don’t see many sites giving these songs the credit they deserve.

1. Without You Here – Though it sets the dark tone and lonely theme of the rest of the album (“Without you here, I feel my fear”) this is the song that most resembles Eve 6′s previous work. Like pretty much all of Horrorscope and Eve 6, it’s a straightforward guitar-bass-drums rocker, though Collins’s vocals are a bit more harried. These aren’t really marks against Without You Here, which is one of the better songs on the album.
2. Think Twice – The album really hits its stride with Think Twice. It was the album’s one semi-hit, a paranoid lament from a jealous ex-boyfriend. The song breaks down into an emotional climax with “What is it you really want? I’m tired of asking…” and features one of Eve 6′s most memorable choruses.
3. At Least We’re Dreaming – Probably the best song on the album and best song by Eve 6, period. It has playful guitar hooks, a shoutable chorus, and the best drumming in any Eve 6 song. Gem of a song.
4. Still Here Waiting – It opens with a searing, loud guitar riff, and descends into an anarchic cry of “I’m still here waiting for you.” More than any song, this is where Collins’s vocals hit on all cylinders.
5. Good Lives – The tune for the chorus is sugary enough that it could have been on one of Eve 6′s earlier albums, but the sound the band builds around the chorus is so melancholy it could only be a part of this album. The song is a backlash against societal expectations — very much a punk theme even though this is one of the less punk-esque tracks on the album.
6. Hey Montana – Hey Montana is probably my least favorite track on the album because of how so slowly and sparsely it builds. It’s easily the strangest song that Eve 6 ever penned, with a distinct “cowboy” sound to it. Collins’s strained vocals are again the biggest attraction here.
7. Bring the Night On – One of the best songs on the album. The brooding, minor chord progression builds into one of Eve 6′s most thrilling choruses and dark textures. The lyrics are a love song from the perspective of an insomniac and the music echoes the confusion and edginess of a sleep-deprived brain.
8. Friend of Mine – A fan favorite, Friend of Mine is the most upbeat moment of the album. It’s one of my least favorite tracks here. Perhaps a respite was needed after seven tracks of gloom, but the repetitive guitar-work doesn’t do much for me.
9. Girlfriend – With a slick production and clean sound, Girlfriend sounds like it doesn’t fit. (And I’ll admit, my guess is the band was trying to re-create Here’s to the Night.) But Girlfriend is a good song, and it somehow fits in perfectly. It’s the best kind of break-up song — sad, but not excessively desperate — and the pop polish serves as a nice change of pace before the album’s explosive goodbye.
10. Not Gonna Be Alone Tonight – Like Think Twice, Not Gonna Be Alone Tonight is paranoia. As also suggested by Hokis, Not Gonna Be implies that substances might have played a big role in the conception of this album.
11. Hokis – It opens and closes with fragments of indiscernible voices talking. Everything in between feels a bit fragmented, too. The excellent chorus only rears its head twice. The heartbreaking “yeah-yeah-yeah” cries Collins makes a few times through the song don’t mesh well with the rest of the song. The lyrics are an off-putting love song about an addict. In spite — or perhaps because — of these rough edges, Hokis works incredibly well. It’s a wrenching portrait of soul-sucking addiction.
12. Arch Drive Goodbye – A heart-rending but fulfilling finale to Eve 6′s career, Arch Drive Goodbye tackles the conflicting emotions of a farewell to a loved one. It ends with a upbeat wink: “Pick yourself up off the ground.” I’ve read that Eve 6 ended their farewell concert at the Gateway Arch with this song, which couldn’t be more perfect.

It’s All In Your Head is a stunning finale for Eve 6, but it appears their breakup is actually a hiatus. The band is regrouping and working on a new album. They played a few new tracks at one of their reunion concerts I saw last fall. The songs weren’t bad but were a bit too electronic and didn’t hit me with much impact. I don’t expect them to top It’s All In Your Head, but I’m glad we’ll get to hear more from them. An album as good as this demands more.

Even if the band releases another album, It’s All In Your Head will still mark the end of an era and the final result of Eve 6 part one. I couldn’t be more impressed with it as a farewell note, and I’m really pleased that it’s still a compelling listen six years later.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 4)

A Goofy Movie is the outcast of the 1995 Disney movies. It was not nearly as acclaimed as Toy Story nor as popular as Pocahontas. Because it was made by Disney Toon studios and is an extension of an already-established property, it wasn’t even inducted into the official animated Disney canon. Yet, this is an animated movie that deserves a cult-like following and should be passed on to the next generation the way many of the mid-90s Disney classics will be.

What really makes A Goofy Movie stand out from others of the generation is how different its primary conflict is from any movies in the official Disney canon. It’s about the delicate, tenuous relationship between an independence-seeking adolescent and a well-meaning parent. Watching the movie again a couple of days ago, I was struck how balanced and fair the movie portrayed both sides.

Though he’s the weaker and more stereotypical of the two main characters, Max is still pretty relatable and sympathetic. He’s shown as shy and unpopular but has an appealing confidence. What teenage guy hasn’t dreamed of pulling some grand, rebellious act to win the heart of a girl? I’m not entirely sure how he ever expected to pull off his stunt without getting busted, or what the specific goals were, besides impressing Roxanne — still, the assembly is an impressive and exciting sequence in the film.

I also empathized with Max’s embarrassment towards his father. Every teenager has felt like their dad is Goofy at some point. The movie really captures how nauseatingly difficult it can be to deal with family life when your mind is on growing up.

Though I like Max, the heart of this movie belongs to Goofy. For a character conceived as bumbling, slapstick comic relief, he’s a convincing single dad. Though he’s a bit out of touch with his son’s life, he has a strong, palpable love for Max. He’s vulnerable, confused, and willing to learn as a father.

The theme of parenting is thoroughly explored by the movie. We see the disciplinarian style used by Pete on PJ clash with the laid-back approach Goofy uses on Max. The movie thankfully doesn’t present a definitive correct answer to its central question: What’s the right way to parent a teenager? Pete isn’t shown as a bad father so much as an overbearing one. The distance Goofy gives his son isn’t villified either. Since the movie is largely about parenting, the balanced conclusion — Max maintaining his independence but making space in his life for his father — is satisfying.

Contrary to what most of the negative reviews say, A Goofy Movie has no flaws so glaring that they really hamper the movie. One aspect of the movie I consider a flaw is how unsympathetic and unbelievable the principal is. He’s not just comic relief, either: His absurd, over-the-top phone call with Goofy drives a the core conflict.

Next, the culminating concert scene is a bit on the unbelievable side when compared to rest of the film. The scene is so much fun that I don’t really mind, but I can buy the argument that the climax exceeds the boundary of realism set up by the film.

Another of the movie’s flaws is also one of its traits that makes it so lovable. Compared to the archetypal Disney classics, there’s nothing enormous at stake. A high school crush, a date to a party, and a lie to a parent don’t seem like much when life and death are on the line in The Lion King or Beauty and the Beast.

But this makes for a strangely more realistic animated movie. Most of life is spent fighting little battles, many of which are small skirmishes in larger wars. Deep down, this movie is less about a wacky road trip and more about growing up, developing strong family relationships, and establishing an identity. The stakes don’t seem high on the surface, but the undercurrents of A Goofy Movie are just as powerful as the Disney animated fairy tales that everyone remembers.

Though the movie has substance, what really makes the movie tick is its tremendous comic timing. The only animated Disney movies that pack as many laughs as this are The Emperor’s New Groove and Hercules, and both of those are longer than this 78-minute film.

If you own the movie, go back and watch the scene where Roxanne’s dad first answers the door, the encounter with Big Foot, the car explosion at the end, or the visit to Lester’s Possum Park. They’re bizarre and hilarious and straight out of the imagination.

In particular, I want to commend the visit to Lester’s. The visit to the Chuck-E-Cheese ripoff shows the movie’s excellent use of sound for comic effect. The actual yodel song is comically pathetic, the little girl sitting next to Max has a great moment when she sings along in an atonal voice, and the scene makes good use of sound and laughter to heighten Max’s embarrassment. It’s a rather impressive (and funny) few minutes of animation.

The movie also has a visual energy and grace. The pastely colors and scenes are delightful. With a few exceptions (such as the excellent river sequence), the locales aren’t as stunning as the ones in Pocahontas or The Lion King, but the movie makes the best of what it has.

The uses of close-ups are particularly excellent, often evoking a particularly intense emotion. Consider the zoom-in on the principal as he rats out Max to Goofy, the opening dream sequence, Max hurriedly changing the map, Max approaching Roxanne during the assembly, and more.

Ultimately, it’s the details and playfulness in the movie that makes it such a delight every time I re-visit it. Every time through I notice something different. (A few details I noticed this time: the large lady in the convertible during the road trip is the vocalist in the concert, the nuns are at the monster truck show, the nerd who cheers for Stacy has a Star Trek shirt, and the ditzy-looking girl Max passes in the hall is also at Stacy’s party.) A Goofy Movie has a silly, fun tone throughout most of the movie, but has legs as a family drama, too.

A Goofy Movie is a hugely underrated animated Disney movie, and a classic in my book. Though not a part of the official Disney canon, it deserves to be remembered with the same reverence as many of those classics are. The delicate father-son relationship gives the movie humanity but the comic energy and timing keep the film afloat and enjoyable. It’s well-made, with a sharp attention to detail, and it captures the hormones and battles of adolescence with a very honest, balanced eye. Give it a shot if you enjoy animated movies.