My 2018 in Movies: Top Ten

2018 was a great year for film: I don’t see everything that comes out, so if even I can say that, and have to make tough choices to narrow my favorites down to a top ten, while still having missed out on some of the most acclaimed films of the year, then it must have been good. Still, I did see more contemporary films than in previous years, nearly fifty from 2018, a third or so of them in the last month alone as I played catch-up. As always, the rankings given below are so subjective that even I may not agree with them tomorrow, but at least they give me a chance to organize my thoughts and explore common themes that run through the year’s cinema. You will also note that I am sometimes using a film’s entry to draw comparisons with a similar or complementary film: this isn’t necessarily to say that one is “better” than the other, even if I make clear why I prefer one over the other. Perhaps it is simply an opportunity to write about more than the arbitrary limit of ten films during this rich year. (My selection of films is based on U.S. release dates; some of these films were released earlier in other countries or sat on the shelf for a while.)

10. Sorry to Bother You (Boots Riley)

Oakland native Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield) rockets to the top of his telemarketing job when an older African-American colleague advises him to use his “white voice” to connect with potential marks. From this already whimsical conceit (Green’s nasal “white voice” is dubbed in by comic David Cross), Sorry to Bother You goes in increasingly bizarre directions as Green is admitted to the “Power Callers,” where he cold calls dictators and corporate CEOs to sell them weapons, indentured labor, and other unsavory products, while struggling to keep it real with his performance-artist girlfriend Detroit (Tessa Thompson) and working-class friends. Not everything works in this scattershot comedy, but the righteous anger at the dehumanizing elements of our society and economy are refreshing and necessary, and the Gondryesque production design is a delight.

9. Mom and Dad (Brian Taylor)

I’m as surprised as you to find this on my top ten instead of the year’s other big Nicolas Cage vehicle, Panos Cosmatos’ instant cult favorite Mandy: Mandy has a lot going for it, and I would have liked to have seen it on the big screen, but it ultimately felt a little hollow beneath its fog- and synth-drenched surface. Mom and Dad is a lot messier, and its premise–a mania of unknown origin causes parents all over the world to turn violently on their own children, setting up a confrontation between Cage and wife Selma Blair and their two kids in their suburban home–is so ugly that I almost didn’t watch it. The seams frequently show, and Cage seems unhinged from the get-go, making his turn to homicidal maniac less than surprising, but there’s some honest examination of the frustrations of aging and parenthood beneath the provocation. A sense of clever gallows humor pervades the action, with some of the film’s biggest laughs courtesy of Zackary Arthur, who plays the couple’s young son. A gauzy soft-focus opening-credit sequence set to a maudlin ballad suggests an homage to issue-driven ’70s horror, but that’s a stylistic feint, and the film proper has a hyperkinetic, chronology-twisting sensibility that is clearly contemporary; it has gotten under my skin and stayed with me in the weeks since I saw it.

8. Teen Titans Go! to the Movies (Aaron Horvath and Peter Rida Michail)

The animated series Teen Titans Go! is essentially the Looney Tunes of superhero media, treating its heroes as the punchlines to absurd jokes and extended gags: putting the emphasis on “Teen,” the Titans would rather hang out and play video games or eat pizza than fight crime, much to the chagrin of their ambitious leader, Robin. In their first cinematic outing, the Titans deflate the rest of the DC universe–and superhero cinema in general–in similar fashion, setting their sights on the current crop of big-screen comic book adaptations. Robin’s insecurity as a leader is a natural peg to hang the story on, and with seemingly every other character getting a movie, his ambition gets the better of him. Teen Titans Go! to the Movies is one of the flat-out funniest movies of the year, with both broad slapstick and wordplay and jokes targeting the glut of superhero movies and jabs at specific characters and bits of DC mythology (a sequence in which the Titans use time travel to clear the field of competing heroes is a high point).

7. Cam (Daniel Goldhaber)

Alice (Madeline Brewer) earns money as a cam girl online, putting on an edgy live sex show as “Lola.” While lucrative, it has risks, from stalkers who can’t separate online fantasy from real life to the possibility of her family and friends discovering what she really does for a living. Things get weird, however, when “Lola” takes on a life of her own, locking Alice out of her own website and crossing lines that Alice swore she never would. Has she been hacked? Is it one of her fellow cam girls messing with her, taking professional rivalry too far? Cam isn’t quite a horror movie, except in the existential sense that it updates the classic fear of the doppelganger for an age of identity theft and online sex work. The line between representation and reality is one of my favorite themes, and some of the best scenes in Cam are those that put Alice on the opposite side of the screen, watching the character she created come to life and trying to figure out just what’s real and what’s an act like any other john. Like Sorry to Bother You, Cam trades in the unsettling feeling–frequently pushed down so we can get on with our day–that you never really know who’s on the other end of the line.

6. Colette (Wash Westmoreland)

The creative process can be difficult to portray on film, particularly something as private and relatively quiet as writing, but as the title character in Colette, Keira Knightley makes it seem both urgent and sensual. (Between this and The Nutcracker and the Four Realms, it’s been quite a year for Knightley to play characters who get off on their work.) The film begins with Colette’s marriage to the older, already-successful writer Willy (Dominic West), whose factory-like output is produced by a cadre of ghostwriters. While coming to terms with his profligate, philandering lifestyle, Colette writes the first of her books about the precocious schoolgirl Claudine, which she allows Willy to publish under his name. A few books later, Claudine is a national sensation, inspiring fashion and style trends and bushels of tie-in products, as well as a line of wannabe Claudines lined up to satisfy Willy’s sexual fantasies. At the same time, Colette has come to terms with her attraction to women, leading to an uneasy open marriage (and an amusing sequence in which Colette and Willy trade liaisons with the same woman). The tensions inherent in such a marriage could not last forever, and Colette must choose what she wants out of life even as her older husband seems more and more used up. Knightley and West make a dynamic pair in this, and the film is charming and breezy while making room for the depth of feeling beneath the banter and fin-de-siècle Parisian style.

5. Blockers (Kay Cannon)

Blockers (as in “cock blockers”) had one of the more obnoxious marketing campaigns in recent memory, flipping the “teens set out to lose their virginity” premise of so many raunchy comedies by showing it from the perspective of the parents out to stop their fun. Perhaps no trailer could get across how thoughtful and, yes, funny, the actual film is, but I’m glad positive word-of-mouth encouraged me to give it a try. Leslie Mann, John Cena, and Ike Barinholtz are the parents of three teenage girlfriends, and when they get wind of their daughters’ prom night plans, they go into protective overdrive, each for their own reasons. (Barinholtz in particular is hilarious as a sketchy divorced dad, but his motives are actually the purest, hoping to protect his closeted lesbian daughter from what he sees as hetero peer pressure.) Through misadventures and complications, the parents come to understand their children and learn to let go, and the three girls go through their own journey of self-discovery. This year had another fantastic comedy in Game Night, but I liked Blockers a bit more: it got me in the feels as well as making me laugh.

4. Paddington 2 (Paul King)

The polite, marmalade-loving bear is back, and this time the plot centers around a pop-up book of London Paddington (voiced by Ben Whishaw) hopes to give his Aunt Lucy. When the book is stolen, Paddington is blamed and he brings his sense of good manners and good intentions to prison where he makes an unlikely friend in cook Knuckles McGinty (Brendan Gleeson). Hugh Grant, as has-been actor Phoenix Buchanan (and the real thief), makes for a more fitting villain than Nicole Kidman’s bloodthirsty taxidermist in the first movie; it’s a great star turn as he dons one disguise after another, a performance that deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Vincent Price in Theater of Blood. This charming comedy has some big laughs and a truly warm heart; Paddington’s message of civility may be simple, but it never feels cloying. And, like the Harry Potter series before it, the Paddington series is apparently dedicated to finding a place for every working actor in the British Isles.

3. Shirkers (Sandi Tan)

A captivating documentary about the nascent indie film scene in Singapore in the 1990s, Shirkers is both a retrospective and something of a mystery: Sandi Tan’s debut film, Shirkers, had completed filming when its director (and Tan’s mentor) Georges Cardona disappeared with the footage. Much of the runtime of Shirkers (the documentary) sets the scene, using clips of the original film (the reels were finally recovered after Cardona’s death a few years ago) and describing the fallout of the film’s disappearance in the lives of Tan and her collaborators. One doesn’t have to buy the doc’s implication that Shirkers would have been a great film to appreciate the injustice Tan suffered, although the parallels between Tan’s film and later indie darlings, especially Ghost World, are eerie, to say the least. Cardona comes off as at best negligent and at worst predatory, and since he is no longer around to explain his actions, the enigmatic (and silent–Cardona preserved everything carefully but apparently lost the film’s audio tracks) excerpts from the original Shirkers stand as a monument for a rural Singapore that is now vanished and a promising film career that never materialized.

2. The Other Side of the Wind (Orson Welles)

Like Shirkers, The Other Side of the Wind was long considered a lost film, but one made by an established master at the end of his career. Orson Welles filmed the project patchwork-style over several years in the 1970s, struggling to secure funding and eventually losing legal access to nearly one hundred hours of footage in a tangle of claims and counterclaims. The film was finally freed from red tape and completed (“restored” seems like the wrong word) in the last few years according to detailed instructions left behind by Welles. The film portrays an aging director (John Huston) on the last night of his life (the film is framed as a documentary investigation of the director’s apparent suicide–shades of Citizen Kane!), shown through the multiple cameras of documentarians and cameramen invited into his home for an epic birthday party. At the same time, we are treated to lavish excerpts from the director’s magnum opus–also called The Other Side of the Wind–as he searches for a producer willing to invest in completing the film (and yet Welles denied the film was a self-portrait!). These excerpts, starring Welles’ muse Oja Kodar in a wordless, erotic journey that finds Welles outdoing his French New Wave competitors, are magnificent. The entire film is fragmentary and often frustrating, with many clear analogues to then-current figures in Hollywood (although I knew the general outlines of this story, the accompanying documentary They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead, detailing Welles’ final years, was illuminating and raised my opinion of The Other Side of the Wind; also recommended is the featurette A Final Cut for Orson, which describes the actual process of collecting, restoring, and assembling the footage; all three films can be seen on Netflix).

1. Thoroughbreds (Cory Finley)

Two teenage girls, Lily (Anya Taylor-Joy) and Amanda (Olivia Cooke) hatch a plot to rid themselves of Lily’s asshole stepfather, recruiting a local drug dealer (Anton Yelchin, in his last performance–this movie was made in 2017 but wasn’t released until this year) to do their dirty work. Amanda is a sociopath, so detached from her emotions that she denies having any; is Lily in Amanda’s thrall, or is something else going on? The description of the plot makes it sound similar to any number of psychological thrillers or true crime dramas, but the clinical approach and icy humor make it closer to something like The Neon Demon or one of Alexander Payne’s upper class satires. I went into this one knowing very little about it, and that’s probably the best way to appreciate its many surprises.

Worst Movie: Gotti (Kevin Connolly)

I can’t say I wasn’t warned. “Self-serving” doesn’t begin to cover it, as the John Travolta-starring biopic of late mafia boss John Gotti goes beyond apologia to hagiography, deflecting any criticism of its main character with tough questions like, “What if government prosecutors are the real gangsters, huh, didja ever think of that?” and “What are you, a pussy?” Leaving aside its heroic spin on real-life criminality–after all, there have been plenty of compelling films about morally questionable protagonists, and it’s not like we haven’t made heroes out of mobsters before–it’s a boring slog, like a series of Dateline NBC reenactments strung out to feature length, jumping from one “highlight” to another over a series of years. Even when Gotti should be sympathetic, like when his young son is killed in a car accident, the filmmakers can’t help themselves, having him heroically tell his wife to “snap out” of her understandable depression and assuming that we’ll agree the driver of the car deserved to get wacked. Aside from a few jaw-droppingly bad choices, Gotti doesn’t even have the mercy of being comically terrible: I borrowed it from the library and I still feel like I paid too much.

Dumbest Movie I Will Almost Certainly Watch Again: The Happytime Murders (Brian Henson)

The Happytime Murders first came to prominence as a screenplay by Todd Berger that made The Black List, a noirish fantasy about a washed-up puppet detective paired with a human to solve the murder of one of his own. That sounds great! Then the reviews started coming in, describing it as a labored, unfunny insult to the legacy of the Muppets. That sounds terrible! Perhaps helped by low expectations, I found The Happytime Murders to be neither a hidden masterpiece nor the complete disaster it had been made out to be. Its biggest flaw is the assumption that puppets spewing obscenities is inherently hilarious; the lack of wit becomes apparent pretty quickly, but the plot and characters are diverting, and while it’s no Who Framed Roger Rabbit, it does succeed in delivering a few laughs. The Happytime Murders wouldn’t work at all without Melissa McCarthy’s game central performance as the troubled human police detective forced to team up with disgraced puppet Phil Phillips (Bill Barretta). Actually, one of the best parts of the movie is the end credits, which includes behind-the-scenes footage showing how the puppets were filmed alongside the live actors.

The Ones That Got Away

As I mentioned, I don’t get out to see everything, and even with the options of streaming and home video there are only so many hours in the day. Of the movies that I had hoped to get to, it’s mostly films that came out in the last few months of the year that I still haven’t seen. I didn’t make Damien Chazelle’s First Man a high priority when it came out in October because I was focused on horror, even though I had enjoyed Chazelle’s previous films, and now I’m regretting that I didn’t make more of an effort. I am also kicking myself for not getting to Luca Guadagnino’s Suspiria remake, but it was difficult trying to find the time for a two-and-a-half hour film in November. I also expected to see Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse before the end of the year, but at least that (and Aquaman, which I also haven’t seen) will still be in theaters in January. As for the rest, well, I try not to beat myself up over deadlines that are entirely personal; I know that I’ll be able to catch up with films I missed, and since I’ve already made it clear that rankings don’t really mean much to me (even as I arbitrarily assign them), I don’t plan on losing sleep over the placement of a movie. There’s always next year, right?

Thanks for reading. Have a happy New Year and a great 2019!

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My 2018 in Books

This year I didn’t read as many books as in previous years, but several that I did were longer novels that took longer to get through. No matter how old I get or how many books I read, I’ll admit that I sometimes feel a bit of trepidation when I start reading a long book in earnest: will I have the time to dedicate to it, or will I get lost in it, becoming confused and leaving it unfinished? Will it be worth the time it takes to read? What if it just stinks? Oddly, the book that took me the longest to finish this year wasn’t even that long: I don’t usually read more than one book at a time, but this summer I started reading Jane Austen’s Emma at home while also carrying around a beat-up copy of F. Paul Wilson’s horror novel The Keep to read at the pool. As you can see from the log below, I limped along for months with Emma before I finished it; I’m not sure if that’s due to the book itself–I breezed through two Austen novels last year–or the circumstances under which I read it. As usual, I’m not counting single issues of comic books, magazine articles, tweets, etc. If it’s not between two covers, it’s not here.

January

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Stories That Scared Even Me, ed. Alfred Hitchcock (probably in actuality Robert Arthur; includes the novel Out of the Deeps by John Wyndham)

The Big Book of Japanese Giant Monster Movies Volume 1: 1954-1982 (Revised and Expanded 2nd Edition), John LeMay

February

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë (This was my mother’s copy, which I borrowed)

World’s Funnest, Evan Dorkin et al

Two Women in the Klondike (abridged), Mary E. Hitchcock

March

Knossos and the Prophets of Modernism, Cathy Gere

Saturn’s Children, Charles Stross

April

America vs. The Justice Society, Roy Thomas et al

Wonderful World, Javier Calvo (trans. by Mara Faye Lethem)

Japanese Tales of Mystery & Imagination, Edogawa Rampo (trans. by James B. Harris)

Talking ‘Bout Your Mama: The Dozens, Snaps, and the Deep Roots of Rap, Elijah Wald

May

The Terror, Dan Simmons

I haven’t watched AMC’s television adaptation, but the chatter around it reminded me that I’d had this book on my shelves for some time–enough years that it still had a Borders price sticker on it–and hadn’t read it. Its length and historical detail reminded me of something I heard about the best-sellers of yesteryear being packed with information–about the history of a place, or the details of running a particular business, like the novels of James Michener and Arthur Hailey–so that readers could feel that they were learning something, and thus putting the time spent reading to good use instead of being “merely” entertained.

Mandrake the Magician Dailies Volume 1: The Cobra, Lee Falk and Phil Davis

June

Heartburst, Rick Veitch

The Keep, F. Paul Wilson

July

Red Barry, “Undercover Man” Volume 1, Will Gould (Still waiting for Volume 2)

August

Emma, Jane Austen

Made to Kill, Adam Christopher

September

Paperbacks From Hell, Grady Hendrix

Gremlins, “A Novel by George Gipe Based on a Screenplay Written by Chris Columbus”

Dick Tracy, “A Novel by Max Allan Collins Based on the screenplay by Jim Cash & Jack Epps, Jr., and Bo Goldman & Warren Beatty”

1941: The Illustrated Story, “By Stephen Bissette and Rick Veitch, Adapted by Allan Asherman, Introduction by Stephen Spielberg”

Yes, I spent much of this month reading movie adaptations; I’ve read a few over the years, although they’ve never been a huge part of my reading, even when they were more popular and I was in the target age for movie tie-ins. I had wanted to read Gremlins for a while, having heard that the novelization had added background information and history about the mogwai; there wasn’t quite as much as I had hoped, although part of the story is told from Gizmo’s point of view, which is interesting. The novelization of Warren Beatty’s 1990 Dick Tracy adaptation also fortuitously came my way; written by longtime crime novelist and Dick Tracy writer Max Allan Collins, the book feels more like a “real” novel than you might expect.

As for the graphic novel adaptation of Stephen Spielberg’s 1941, I had noticed that original copies could still be had for just a few dollars through Heavy Metal‘s online store, so how could I resist picking one up? The graphic novel matches the movie’s irreverent (and sometimes offensive) sense of humor with a free-wheeling collage approach that pairs cut-up posters and ads from the 1940s with riotous, Mad- and National Lampoon-inspired asides and sight gags. It feels like a product of a different time, and the fact that new copies are still available makes me wonder just how big the print run must have been back in 1980.

October

Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury

A Night in the Lonesome October, Roger Zelazny (reread)

True Indie: Life and Death in Film Making, Don Coscarelli

Kraken, China Miéville

November

The Great White Space, Basil Copper

The House of Cthulhu: Tales of the Primal Land, Volume I, Brian Lumley

Secrets of the Ninja, Ashida Kim

The Ninja and Their Secret Fighting Art, Stephen K. Hayes

The last two titles listed (as well as a longer book I’ve been reading most of this month) are preparation for an upcoming theme event in January–or should I say, Ninjanuary? Stay tuned!

My 2018 in Movies: New Discoveries

As 2018 comes to a close, as usual I’m looking back at some of the movies and books I encountered in the past year. This year I continued to explore movies I hadn’t seen before, both classics and obscurities; consider the following capsule reviews a sampling of what I’ve been up to. (Usually I wait until closer to the end of the year to post this, but I’ve mostly been catching up on 2018 releases this month so I don’t expect to add much to this list.) These aren’t necessarily the best non-2018 movies I watched for the first time this year, but they’re ones that made an impression and have stayed with me.

Night Train to Munich (Carol Reed, 1940)

Margaret Lockwood plays the daughter of a Czech scientist; on the eve of the Nazi invasion, the scientist escapes to the West but she is sent to a concentration camp. With the help of another inmate, she escapes and finds her father in Britain, but when Nazi agents steal him back, she undertakes a dangerous mission to recover him with the help of the young spy who was her father’s handler (played by Rex Harrison with more life in him than I was used to seeing, being as I am mostly familiar with his later roles–he even sings in this, for real!). This was a quasi-sequel to Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes (which I also watched this year), but I liked this a bit more: the stakes are higher, and the will-they-won’t-they between Lockwood and Harrison feels genuine. I suspect that the setting, including a climactic shoot-out on gondolas suspended over the Swiss border, was an inspiration for Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel.

Whistling in the Dark (S. Sylvan Simon, 1941)

Red Skelton plays Wally Benton, alias “The Fox,” the host of a radio crime program who must turn amateur sleuth when the leader of a phony spiritualist society (played by Conrad Veidt) drafts him to concoct the “perfect crime” to secure an inheritance from one of the society ladies the group bilks. The suspenseful situation turns toward farce when Benton’s fiancée and his sponsor’s daughter are kidnapped and held hostage to guarantee his cooperation. The mixture of comedy and mystery in this (and its two sequels, which I also watched this year) was likely an influence on Woody Allen’s The Curse of the Jade Scorpion. Maybe it’s just me, but the renewed popularity of audio dramas make this a premise ripe for revisiting in a contemporary setting, and not just as a period piece like Curse.

On the Town (Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly, 1949)

I was long aware of On the Town and had seen clips from it, but I had resisted watching it because I’m a big fan of the original stage version and I knew that Leonard Bernstein’s score had been cut to the bone in making the transition to the screen, and even had new songs added at the insistence of producer Arthur Freed, who didn’t like Bernstein’s “Prokofiev stuff.” This year I decided to bite the bullet and check it out, if only to confirm the worst. I am happy to say that the numbers that are relatively true to the original, such as “New York, New York” and “Come Up to My Place,” and sequences retaining Bernstein’s score are just as joyous as I remember, and I would happily watch a more faithful adaptation made by the same cast and crew. But too much of the score, both songs and incidental music, is cut to satisfy me, and the added songs by Roger Edens are frankly dumb (sorry, “Prehistoric Man”). I can almost hear Freed bellowing, “Whaddya mean, there’s not a song called ‘On the Town’? How are people gonna remember the name of the movie if they don’t hear it in a song!?”

Eyes Without a Face (Georges Franju, 1960)

Horror films in which a surgeon or scientist kidnaps women to restore or renew the beauty of a loved one are practically a subgenre unto themselves, but few examples of this particular twist on the Frankenstein concept are as arty as Eyes Without a Face. Franju was a new director to me this year; I also checked out his reimagining of the serial Judex, and as in that film the pulpy plot serves as a framework for richly observed miniature portraits of human behavior and artful compositions with minimal dialogue. Dr. Génessier (Pierre Brasseur) kidnaps girls in hopes of perfecting a process for facial transplants: his own daughter Christiane (Edith Scob) haunts the doctor’s house like a ghost, hidden behind a mask since she was disfigured by a car accident (which the doctor caused), and believed by the outside world to be dead. Most Frankenstein stories are studies of hubris, and this one more than most; Dr. Génessier is a character so ripe for comeuppance that much of the suspense comes from wondering just which of his many crimes will return to him as a form of poetic justice. Further, the film’s reputation is an elegant argument for the importance of design in horror: long after the details of the plot have faded, the iconic image of Christiane’s eyes behind her lifeless mask haunt the memory.

Virgin Witch (Ray Austin, 1971)

Two sisters visit a lavish country estate for a modeling gig, but the assignment is a cover to lure them into the world of witchcraft. However, the older sister (Ann Michelle) is supernaturally gifted herself and turns the tables on the lesbian modeling agent/high priestess. Yes, it is pretty trashy (there is a lot of T&A and the best description of the camera’s placement is “leering”), but somebody had a lot of fun making this and the sheer energy and inventiveness of the filmmaking is infectious. This seems like it could have been a direct inspiration for The Love Witch, and it also reminded me of a Jess Franco movie but with a livelier pace.

Wizards (Ralph Bakshi, 1977)

When I was in college, the student activities group announced an evening of adult animation in the campus theater: the anthology film Heavy Metal and Ralph Bakshi’s Wizards, along with a few shorts like the classic Bambi Meets Godzilla. I was pumped for it, but when the night rolled around, for some reason it completely slipped my mind and I didn’t go. No, I wasn’t high, as I didn’t (and still don’t) partake; in fact, I’m not even sure I was aware of these films’ reputation as “stoner” cinema at the time. I was just on the lookout for weird movies, and since this was the early ’90s it wasn’t always easy to find them (around the same time I recall driving across town just to rent a copy of Fantastic Planet from Blockbuster). A few years later I saw Heavy Metal, and have even had the opportunity to see it on the big screen since; despite its flaws, it’s a film I love, probably because it ends on such a high note. As for Wizards, I finally got around to it this year, and I guess I can stop kicking myself for that long-ago missed chance. Ralph Bakshi has much to answer for in American animation, not least the equation of “adult” cartoons with sleaze, and Wizards is no exception to that pattern. A sometimes-jarring mixture of second-hand Tolkien, environmental consciousness-raising, and hip counterculture references, Wizards is an “only in the ’70s” fantasy project and a fascinating example of mixed-media animation (even if its heavy reliance on rotoscoped stock footage was primarily a money-saving strategy). Its most famous sequence, in which the big bad projects Nazi propaganda films onto the clouds to overwhelm his elvish foes, is worth the price of admission and is as eloquent an anti-war statement as anything from the Vietnam War era, and there is some interesting art direction, but as for the rest of it, I’ll stick with Heavy Metal.

Liquid Sky (Slava Tsukerman, 1982)

In this punky independent sci-fi head-trip, filmed among the avant-garde artists and fashionistas of New York’s club scene, it turns out that aliens crave heroin, too. When a miniature flying saucer lands on the roof of aspiring model Margaret’s (Anne Carlisle) building, they forge a connection to her brain, vicariously enjoying her highs and granting her incredible psychic powers to lash out at her tormentors (not least Jimmy, an aloof pretty boy also played by Carlisle in an amazing dual performance). The aliens-among-us premise draws in a circle of interrelated characters: arty bohemians, rich poseurs in search of drugs or sex, and a German UFO researcher who doesn’t quite know what to make of the eccentric characters he meets. The plot is hardly the point, however, as Liquid Sky (the title refers to a nickname for heroin) is an exercise in high style, a bold mixture of New Wave fashions, then-cutting edge video effects, and beep-boop Knitting Factory music. What really lingers is the force of Carlisle’s performance and the sense of feminine rage that comes through the film.

Cutie Honey (Hideaki Anno, 2004)

A sexy superheroine (who is also an android, played by Eriko Sato) battles the terrorist organization “Panther Claw,” but the goals of its mysterious leader “Sister Jill” go beyond the typical world domination of most comic book villains: she wants Cutie Honey’s operating system for herself to guarantee her immortality. A strange mixture of fan service, bureaucratic satire, and wild sci-fi concepts, this was based on a long-running manga (its full name is Cutie Honey: Live Action, to distinguish it from several animated installments); realizing that its director was behind the anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion and would go on to helm Shin Godzilla explained a lot.

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story (Jake Kasdan, 2007)

What most surprised me when I watched Walk Hard, the John C. Reilly-led spoof of musical biopics, was that after years of seeing and hearing the most quotable bits repeated by the film’s fans, there were still hilarious punchlines that were new to me. Walk Hard mercilessly skewers the clichés found in films about Elvis, Johnny Cash, Ray Charles, and the Beach Boys, among others, from hopelessly awkward expository dialogue (“What do you think, George Harrison of the Beatles?”), tragic backstories (“Dewey, I’m cut in half pretty bad.”), and 20/20 hindsight (“That was early Dewey. This is middle Dewey.”). Not to mention that Reilly portrays Dewey’s almost entire life, from his teen years to old age, another conceit that has tripped up supposedly more serious films. Reilly is backed up by a game cast of supporting players including Jenna Fischer, Tim Meadows, and Kristen Wiig, and Dewey’s supposed body of work, provided by songwriters Dan Bern and Mike Viola, among others, isn’t just so-bad-it’s-good; the songs are genuinely good, as both examples of pop songcraft and vehicles for jokes that move the story forward, like the double entendre-laden “Let’s Duet” (by Charlie Wadhams) Dewey shares with his flame Darlene (Fischer).

The Box (Richard Kelly, 2009)

The (so far) final feature film from Donnie Darko creator Richard Kelly (I also watched Kelly’s sprawling, ambitious satire of the George W. Bush years, Southland Tales, for the first time this year), The Box is nominally based on a short story by Richard Matheson. A scarred stranger (played by Frank Langella) delivers a box to a young couple (Cameron Diaz and James Marsden) and offers them a choice: press the button on the box within twenty-four hours and he will give them one million dollars, no strings attached, but someone somewhere else in the world will die. The story ends with a twist, of course, but Kelly spins this Twilight Zone-like premise into a dreamy meditation involving space travel and Martian intelligence, government conspiracy, and the nature of disfigurement. It’s typically enigmatic, but made memorable by Diaz’s soulful performance, a perpetually gauzy autumnal palette, and an elegiac score by Arcade Fire’s Win Butler.

Look for my Best of 2018 column to run next week!