5. THE PIANIST, Roman Polanski (2002). With the character of Roman Polanski under fire anew due to his recent arrest for his decades-old crime, I am willing to remember him for this...a film that not only stands among the finest of his illustrious career but deserves a place next to "Schindler's List" as one of the finest cinematic documents of the Holocaust. I love how this film complements Spielberg's film almost without overlap. Spielberg's scope was wider, more panoramic. Polanski brilliantly humanizes "six million Jews" by focusing on just one, Wladyslaw Szpilman. Anchored by a breakout Adrien Brody performance so stunning that it's now comical to have been so surprised by his Academy Award win, the film is a prologue of sorts to "Schindler's List," and, by focusing on the ghettos that preceded the concentration camps, fills in the gaps left by Elie Wiesel's "Night." The juxtaposition of Szpilman's beatiful musical abilities up against Polanski's blunt depiction of violence (remember the wheelchair sequence?) creates a terrifying and unsettling swirl of emotions. Ultimately, the film is to be remembered for taking a now-sadly mundane statistic and breathing it back to shocking life by focusing on just one man. Less was more, and this was a stunner.
4. A.I.: ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, Steven Spielberg (2001). A.I. always had the respect of film lovers, but not necessarily their praise. When Spielberg agreed to complete what was said to be the next project of legend Stanley Kubrick, everyone wanted a look. The film became the oddest movie experiment since Gus Van Sant's head-scratching, shot-for-shot remake of "Psycho" a few years before. And, indeed, the criticism of A.I. has been that there is an "oil and water" quality to the movie - that sections of the film are so clearly "Spielbergian" or "Kubreckian" and the blend never really happens. For me, these criticisms are but additional strengths. I suspected at the time and still maintain that A.I. will eventually be regarded as one of Spielberg's true masterpieces, a non-commercial film because of its bleakness and philosophical importance. I think it's significant to note that Spielberg had not written a screenplay since 1982's "Poltergiest," and not one of his own since "Close Encounters." And yet, here, (and certainly thanks to Kubrick's notes), he writes a story that could stand along side works like "1984" and "Fahrenheit 451" as a cautionary tale of the over-mechanization of our lives, the dehumanization caused by electronic convenience, and the emotional displacement of our age of technology. I am so sold on the brilliance of this film that, even as I write this, I wonder if ranking it at #4 is even good enough. It is certainly Spielberg's greatest film of the 2000s. And its lenthy, tone-shifting tale brilliantly displays the three-act structure of film, the bleak chill of Kubrick and the fairytale warmth and hope of a master at the top of his game.
3. PAN'S LABYRINTH, Guillermo del Toro (2006). It's a compliment when I say that this is not the kind of film that would usually attract my attention, much less merit such a high ranking on a list such as this. But that's what "Pan's Labyrinth" did to me. The film stands at a cinematic crossroad as precarious as the crossroads faced by Ofelia, del Toro's Alice. It is a fantasy film and a horror film, a World War II film set in the unusual location of Spain and a psychotic children's film that teaches morals with terror. It is, quite frankly, unlike anything we've ever seen. And so fun to dig into! Del Toro loads the film with symbolism as thick as a classic work of literature, from his use of threes (three fairies, three tests from the faun, three main characters, etc.) to grander themes about imagination and believing, childhood innocence and adult cruelty. This film was brilliantly conceived and created and magically produced, with some of the most memorable art direction I can think of. And while it deserved far greater rewards from awards contests that year, its reward will be the extent to which this film is loved, re-watched, and talked about as a modern masterpiece for years and years to come.
2. CITY OF GOD, Fernando Meirelles (2002). Have you noticed that three of my top 5 films were created outside of the United States? This one is "Goodfellas" for the 2000s, set in the slums of Rio. With an ironic, misleading title, "City of God" is a brutal, graphic film of gang violence that shocks audiences with the reality of the young ages at which kids become involved in gun play and the drug trade and a tense tale of hope as one boy attempts, against all odds, to turn a negative into a positive and survive his life, much less make something of it. There was a big uproar when the film was not nominated for Best Foreign Film, but the resilient film was also the recipient of the greatest revenge at the Oscars this past decade, taking nominations for Director, cinematography, editing and screenplay: all more than worthy. Newcomer Meirelles instantly added himself to the list of directors to look out for, and his follow-up, "The Constant Gardener," cemented his promise. But if you've not seen this film yet, you are missing out. And that's not just my opinion. At the moment, "City of God" is in the top 20 on the Internet Movie Database's all-time list, ahead of movies like "Rear Window" and, ironically, just behind "Goodfellas." And while there is much to compare between the two films, starting with the main character's voiceover narration, I daresay that I like this one even better.
1. IN AMERICA, Jim Sheridan (2003). Written and directed by master storyteller Jim Sheridan, no movie in the 2000s had the emotional impact on me as did "In America." A tiny, quiet film, it stands out as the film that haunts me the most...that moved me the most...that filled me up the most. A more modern immigration story, "In America" follows the struggles of a young Irish couple (played memorably and hearbreakingly by Paddy Considine and Samantha Morton) and their two daughters who illegally relocate to New York City so that father Johnny can have a shot at an acting career. The film is all about pursuing the thin possibilities of hope without losing hope completely, and an element of magic and mystery is injected by Mateo, an enigmatic neighbor played by Djimon Honsou. The relationship between Mateo and the girls is powerful, and the struggles demonstrated by Johnny to provide for his family against all odds left me feeling stronger emotions than everything else I've seen these past ten years. And Sheridan does it in small and quietly-profound ways. I dare you to watch the scene where Johnny attempts to carry a heavy air conditioner up to the family's apartment and not have your heart broken - and not be able to see that in this one small moment, you are witnessing the extent to which a father who truly loves his family is willing to go. "In America" might not have been a technical or cinematic masterpiece, but for me, it was perfect.
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