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10. Spirited Away

Just name-dropping Spirited Away in casual conversation makes me an excitable wreck. The name itself joyously rolls off the tongue, and with it comes the flood of vibrant memories, of dragons and spirits and a bathhouse basking in lantern glow. And then I try to contain my excitement as I explain to people not why this cartoon needs to be taken seriously – that’s a conclusion they’ll come to on their own – but why it needs to be taken in at all.

This is not always easy, because, well, mostly the obvious reasons; foreign animation with a child protagonist doesn’t have much of a market stateside. Nor does it help, I’m sure, that I’m incapable of speaking of Spirited Away without sounding like I’m hopped up on hyperbole. There’s a bit of fervor here that could understandably verge on off-putting (if you ever caught me preaching, it would be the gospel of Miyazaki), but there’s also heartfelt affection for a film that I can speak about with utmost sincerity. There’s no need to talk down to anyone about Spirited Away because it’s absolutely a film anyone can find joy in, and you won’t find a hint of pretension from anyone involved.

No pretension, because for a movie that feels like a dream, it’s distinctly a child’s dream, where exploration and discovery self-perpetuate in a world constantly in freeform. The rules in Spirited Away are always in flux, but everything proceeds with such fancy that there’s no need to stop and ask why. That more than anything is why the Alice in Wonderland comparisons are apt. There’s nothing here that begs you dig for logic, which is why for all the escalating plot turns, it remains deceptively simple.

And ye gods, does it look breathtaking! Amid all the spectacular motion and colorful characters, nothing captures my imagination quite like the simple setting Miyazaki employs. The action is almost entirely confined to the decadent bathhouse of the spirits that the heroine Chihiro finds herself in, and yet it is constantly reinventing that location and depicting it in eye-popping new light. Show me another film that gets as much mileage out of a single location as Spirited Away does with the bathhouse, from the opening views from outside and Chihiro’s gradual ascent from the bowels to the top, to the warm familiarity it takes on with time, soon after to be overrun by shadows and much, much worse. Such investment in location is especially rare for an animated film (I hate how that label somehow feels like a slight), where dwelling too long in any one place risks boring audiences. Credit then to Miyazaki for having such confidence in his viewers, age 8 or age 80. (Tristan) [Read more →]

20. Wall-E

In 2085, humanity’s consumerism frenzy exhausts Earth’s resources and mountains over mountains of garbage start piling up, until the planet becomes no longer able to sustain life. Extreme measures are required: the human race is packed into a monumental spaceship, the Axiom, and sent into space to wait for an undefined day in the future to be able to return, getting fatter and less aware of itself as time goes by. Meanwhile, many Wall-E robots are working on Earth to dispose of the trash. One of them develops a consciousness, feelings, emotions; he watches musicals and collects knick-knacks. EVE, a state-of-the-art scouting unit, is sent to Earth from the Axiom on a routine mission to locate re-emerging life forms. The two robots meet and develop feelings for each other; when EVE is deactivated and summoned back to the spaceship after finding a small plant, Wall-E decides to follow her. The two find each other again, but also find forces that might be opposed to letting humans return to their planet. Wall-E features all the characteristics that have made Pixar a titan in the animation business: it’s gorgeous to look at, wonderfully conceptualized, highly entertaining and deep enough to appeal to adults and kids alike. But the movie isn’t just the story of a little trash-compacting robot that saves the world. Without words, those first thirty minutes alone tell the story of a lifetime: the routine, the solitude, the longing for someone else, the magic of finding them and the will not to let them go. (dr.ciski77) [Read more →]

30. Moulin Rouge!

In Baz Luhrmann’s dizzying tribute to love against all obstacles, the audience is immediately hit with vibrant color, soaring musical tributes and enough flashes between scenes to cause sensory overload. It’s as if Luhrmann wants to assault the audience with his manic film and its carnival of colorful characters. When the music stops, though, and the story slams on the breaks, watching a tender love story unfold between a naive writer and a resistant courtesan is surprisingly touching. Great songs of recent years are shamelessly stolen and rewired to fit the story-within-a-story, where the star-crossed lovers’ world is invaded (by an evil Maharaja!). In the end, Satine must decide whether to make a smart career move or to risk everything for the love she has found in Christian. Like most musicals, this story doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it approaches every aspect with such zeal it’s hard not to get wrapped up in it.

It wouldn’t have taken much to derail this movie completely, but the circus act manages to hold its own until the movie’s final breath. It’s no wonder this film topped many decade-end lists considering the impression it leaves. Nicole Kidman, Ewan McGregor, Jim Broadbent and a sneering Richard Roxburgh are all firing on all cylinders, heightening their emotions to meet their director’s vision. The musical combinations are inspired, and the sets and costumes are out of this world. Behind the exploding fireworks and the drama, the film’s romantic core gives it a perfect dose of heart. (eurocheese_is_class) [Read more →]

40. Yi Yi

The mystery lies in how such a deceptively simple movie — less a story than a collection of acutely observed moments — achieves full-scale elation. At just seven minutes shy of three hours (a running time that flies by), Yi Yi is the length usually reserved for epics, and yet the feel of the movie is never less than intimate. It encompasses life’s primal passages, birth and death, youthful optimism and middle-aged regret, and its characters are engaged in the terrifying prospect of questioning the seemingly unshakable foundations of their lives. Yang never strains for profundity. Yi Yi is quietly overwhelming, but it’s restorative rather than devastating. Yang has the rare ability of allowing us to savor the texture and weight of the moments that slide by us hour after hour, day after day without ever becoming ponderous or boring. And so when we reach the end of the film, it feels as if we’ve been modestly presented with what turns out to be a precious gift. (Charles Taylor, Salon, Here) [Read more →]