*NOTE: This list is compiled strictly of titles I saw over the course of January through December 2020. Whether due to availability or awareness, this list is subject to change though will not be reflected here. These are the titles that spoke to me directly at the time of publication and are definitely worth checking out.
10. The King of Staten Island (Dir. Judd Apatow)
Scott’s dream in life is a bit farfetched. As a tattoo artist, he dreams of opening a restaurant where you can eat and watch people getting inked up. As ridiculous as this idea is, it’s a perfect description of how he sees his life. It’s his way of drawing people in, watching him create art that he hopes to have a permanent impact on everyone that comes into his life. Even from early on, it’s clear that his work is a joke, finding President Obama getting morphed into something unrecognizable. He is an artist who wants to express himself, but he lacks the skills. Any pain that he has is hidden behind those images, used as distractions so that he’ll never have to talk about something more troubling.
From his mother’s basement, he wallows away in his Mid-20s, believing that he is born to be an observer. From his mouth comes a billowing cloud of smoke, numbing him to the jokes of his dead father. They were never funny, but he laughs anyway. With a lack of direction, he watches his sister go to college, his mother starts dating again, and he’s left in this stunted state of maturity. Without anyone to believe in his passion, he wanders through life without a care for where he ends up. It’s painful how pitch-perfect Pete Davidson is, managing to capture the malaise in his stare, slowly coming to terms with long-held trauma that has held him back.
The layers go deeper as his girlfriend (Bel Powley) wishes to help improve the image of Staten Island, NY. She believes in its beauty, and it’s the perfect parallel for Scott’s own life. The journey may be meandering and at times diverting onto unnecessary paths, but this is a comedy with a deep and remorseful heart, looking at the struggles of depression and loss with an aching honesty. Apatow has rarely been more heir apparent to James L. Brooks than here, where he fills the supporting cast with memorable performances from the likes of Marissa Tomei and Bill Burr among others. It’s a form of coping that may seem ridiculous to the outside world, but to Scott it’s what he needs to move on in his life, creating a self-portrait that may seem unpleasant, but is flowing with a powerful perspective
9. The Nest (Dir. Sean Durkin)
Over the course of two hours, Durkin does an incredible job of deconstructing the myth of the go-getter. Everything starts with that beautiful image of a happy marriage, successful work, and kids in the best schooling imaginable. As Rory (Jude Law) and Allison (Carrie Coon) stare into the mirror, they envision a future that the audience would adore. The issue is that things slowly reveal how transgressions lead to festering frustration. A bad workday may come out at dinner as Rory complains about the poor behavior of his children, or how tending to a sick horse may be the downfall of the entire thing.
Also there is a mansion, expansive in size. It never feels full. Even with four people living inside those walls, there’s an emptiness that can’t help but reflect the family’s individual struggles. A conversation is had from across a hallway, from different floors. Durkin paints disconnect so vividly that the dread leaking from the pipes is the least of worries. There is this concern that somebody will have a breakdown, and nobody will be there to help. It’s the story of a family struggling to be their own support group and failing miserably. What will stop their collapse from becoming an impenetrable mess?
Credit should be given to Coon, who delivers one of the year’s best performances. Starting at calm and collected, her desperation grows with each transaction. Rory begins to feel disingenuous, their life a lie. They think that there are control and focus, but it’s rotted into something toxic and manipulative. Was this where they dreamed of success going? Durkin manages to convey the horrors of humanity without ever diving into kitsch. Instead, he’s obsessed with itching away at the proverbial scab, watching blood slowly trickle out. The discomfort comes from determining how much longer he’ll let that continue before deciding to evoke change.
8. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (Dir. George C. Wolfe)
Over the course of this August Wilson adaptation, a song comes to symbolize something greater. To the listener, it is a mere three-minute ditty that will play on vinyl, preserving a moment in amber for all eternity. However, to those who are recording it from a sweltering studio in 1927, the song has much more of a personal significance. It’s an encapsulation of a culture, of a voice whose talents far exceed her wealth or youth. Ma Rainey (Viola Davis) is “The Mother of the Blues,” one of the most talented women to ever have walked the face of the planet, so why is it so hard for her to get this song out there?
In her waning years, she hires a band to record the song. While it features mostly experienced professionals, there’s the young hotshot in Levee (Chadwick Boseman) who reflects the vanguard. With shiny new shoes and more energetic notes, he becomes the source of every brilliant idea that the film has to say. Boseman has rarely been better than when he pops off at the mouth, believing that he has any useful advice. With musicians constantly butting heads, the film becomes a showcase for some of the year’s greatest acting, finding one great moment toppling into another. Between Boseman, Davis, and Colman Domingo, the micro-aggressions come to symbolize something greater about where Black culture was at the time.
What’s incredible is not how impressive the recording sequences are, but the moments in-between. As everyone sweats out their anger, they deal with the sacrifice of a compromised vision, where nobody is truly in charge of the blues. Does it belong to the older generation, or should it be handed off to the youth? Wilson has a way of juggling these concepts while Wolfe expertly directs his cast to their best performances. It’s upbeat and tense, playing like a jazz piece of history. No note is too erratic. Everything lines up and despite the personal differences among the characters, it’s a harmonious achievement. It’s an important reminder when looking at vinyl that real artists made it happen. This is merely paying respect to them in the best ways possible.
7. Proxima (Dir. Alice Winocour)
For most, the chance to create a film that centers around the journey into outer space is a chance to explore the painful isolation, of floating around in a tin can far above Earth. It’s a chance to watch actors stare longingly, wanting to return to something familiar. What Winocour has done instead is focus on something more crucial: the final moments there, before the countdown was even initiated. Sure it lacks the gravitas of big studio dramas that make the preparation process into dazzling set pieces, but it’s only to allow something more meditative to take shape, where a mother-daughter relationship is allowed to be explored in new and vulnerable ways.
Eva Green plays Sarah, a woman whose lifelong dream was to explore space. When the chance arises, she has to make the decision of whether to sacrifice her home life or her career. Even with the looming threat of loneliness, of Sarah separated from daughter Stella (Zelie Boulant), there is a final chance to make of those moments together. Sarah smiles as her daughter watches her training, showing the physical and psychological sacrifices she is about to undertake. It’s around then that it becomes clear that Sarah’s mission is seen as a moment of pride, a chance to prove her worth. There is something uplifting about their acceptance of each other in this moment, even as they know how difficult it will be.
It’s a therapeutic film, especially in 2020 when life feels more fragile than ever. It’s a chance to look beyond the future and to the present. There needs to be an appreciation to live in the moment and not take anything for granted. There is no certainty that Sarah will even return from her mission, or if everything will be all right. However, there is that reassurance that she made the most of those moments together, strengthening their love for each other and accepting them for who they are. It’s a beautiful, tender movie that reminds audiences that even in life’s uncertainties, taking a moment to express your gratitude is sometimes enough to make a world of difference.
6. Dick Johnson is Dead (Dir. Kirsten Johnson)
On its surface, Johnson’s latest documentary is farcical. The decision to make comical situations that involve her father, the titular Dick, dying seems more like a gag. Instead, she uses it to create one of the most provocative commentaries on death this century. It starts with minor regret in Kirsten’s life that she had very little documentation of her mother before her passing, realizing the value of preservation. As Dick will prove throughout the journey, the memory cannot be trusted to be held together. The fear of Alzheimer’s weighs on the story as Kirsten begins to film, finding doctors’ visits paving the way for each of the death scenarios ranging from mundane to the outright tragic.
Whether it’s being hit by a car or air conditioner, the audience comes to love Dick because he is symbolically everyone’s father, an elder parent who is growing feeble. For as much as this is a chance to watch a dark fantasy play out, it’s a commentary on the fear that comes with it. Life is so precious, and Kirsten captures it with unexpected tenderness. The comedy becomes soul searching as she reveals her fears of losing him, of not being able to express her love for him in a meaningful way. This is among the most personal works of the year, and one that reminds audiences to be thankful for the time still left with loved ones.
That’s all there is to it. The most memorable scenes in this movie aren’t the ones of lavish fantasy, but when Kirsten begins to see Dick as someone human, who has this passion. It is asking what is lost when death comes striking, realizing that it’s the most vulnerable feeling in the world. It’s a story of fear and insecurities that give way to Kirsten’s own self-reflection on her father. Luckily for her, she has found a way to make him eternal, passing this story on for future generations of Johnsons. If nothing else is taken from this story, it’s the hope to preserve something essential about a person while you can. While their lives may not be around forever, the chance to capture their exuberance and humanity can at least be documented for further endearment.
Coming Up Next: Drummers, Assistants, and Birds of Prey (The Top 5)
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