Jenna's Top Ten Movies of 2019

Goodbye 2010s! Goodbye to your doom, gloom and dread. I watched 321 movies in 2019, of which roughly 40 were new releases. Out of all of those, yet again the vast majority of my favorite films from the past year have been new-to-me viewings as opposed to new films–a lot of those favs were for Cinema60, my (other) podcast dedicated to 1960s cinema that we launched last January. (Speaking of, you should subscribe to it, we try our best to walk the line between whetting the appetites of to those who are new to these films and discuss in enough detail for those who are in the know.) However, if I learned anything from The Cinéma this year it’s that we are all ready for some healing. This was the year of reflection, purging, consequences, spiritual awakening and ownership of our pain; look no further than The Irishman, Midsommar, Marriage Story, Honey Boy, Ad Astra, The Souvenir, The Farewell, heck even frickin’ Joker. 2019 felt like a collective group therapy session, and self help was an ever present current–you’ll certainly find a lot of it on my list below.

What you won’t find in my list, unfortunately and to my own shame, is much diversity in directors. While I certainly think most of these films deserved recognition over yet another angry-white-guy film, personally I wasn’t so enamored with a lot of the films that made everybody’s hype lists this year. (Granted, I missed Little Women and Portrait of a Lady on Fire, alas.) I wanted desperately to love Queen & Slim, and while it’s full of solid performances, it mostly fell into the same ol’ pitfalls of every other Bonnie and Clyde adaptation. I fully don’t understand the Hustlers hype, even if Jennifer Lopez was genuinely great in it. Booksmart was cute but I’m not much of a teen-party type. Don’t even talk to me about High Life.

However, and in a fully contrarian move, you won’t find some of the top critic darlings on my list this year either. In fact, I almost considered putting all of these movies in one shared spot on my list, because they all sort of blended together in tone and style in memory. Moody with spikes of humor, moody with spikes of anger, moody with spikes of sadness. Parasite was beautifully shot and wonderful acted, but its neoliberal take on economic divisions didn’t cohere enough for me in the end to think of it as anything but an enjoyable ride. Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood was a pleasant surprise for Tarantino, but not much to write home about (past its perfectly spoofed Italian movie posters). I loved Joe Pesci and Al Pacino in The Irishman, but at three and a half hours long it felt bloated for its relatively simplistic story. I’ve filed them all in the ‘above average but not too special’ sand trap of my mind. As for the rest, well, lets just say I prefer my gems cut and my jokers not geriatric.

So what the heck did I like? Well, I will say that my top two films of 2019 could easily make my Best of the Decade list. Without further ado:

1) Her Smell (dir. Alex Ross Perry)

I already wrote about Her Smell back in May, and it managed to maintain its top spot status throughout the year (though it’s very closely followed by number two below). I'm fascinated by films about those sort of self-destructive Don Quixotes of Scum, floating along in cinema with the losers and the doers of Withnail and I and Il Sorpasso. Elizabeth Moss’ Becky is equally iconic, as a toxic leader who rules with emotional manipulation and a fiery passion that even she can't control. Yet people flock to her like moths because of that irresistible lure of somebody who's so seemingly in touch with her own emotions she can't turn them off. There's a great and terrible brilliance to being that unhinged. It taps into that deep, secret desire everybody has to not give a fuck–everybody wishes they could be that open, vulnerable and fierce. Moss brings the pain in her outstanding performance, and Alex Ross Perry keeps the whole thing moving dreamily along in both dialogue and direction.

2) Synonyms (dir. Nadav Lapid)

Synonymes wins as the only new-release film I watched twice this year–once as a screener and then again in the theaters because I couldn’t believe how much I loved it. The film is about Yoav (Tom Mercier), a young Israeli who decides to abandon his country and identity to become French, despite never having been to France before. Through sheer force of will, Yoav manages to teach himself (a slightly outdated form of) French and move to Paris, where he befriends a young rich couple who save him from freezing to death in a tub. Synonyms feels like the only movie adaptation of a JD Salinger novel that Salinger himself would have allowed–Yoav stalks through Paris as a modern day cousin of Holden Caulfield, lost and desperate for a sense of self and seeking out some semblance of justice in the world. Instead, he finds he can’t escape either the selfishness of others or the societally imposed prison of being a perpetual outsider.

Synonyms is based on Nadav Lapid’s own life as an expat Israeli, and I just love how this film walks the line between serious, lightly surrealist and satirical. Those who surround Yoav live somewhere in-between realism and caricature; his French friends loafing about in a permanent post-coital haze, or his hyper-aggressive Israeli coworkers who can’t stop presuming that strangers are secretly judging them. Tom Mercier as Yoav is also mesmerizing in the leading role; from how he metes out his stacatto bursts of passion, down to his physical posture, that reflects both his self confidence and his fear of the outside world. A brilliant character study with just enough detail and just enough space that its meaning changes every time you watch it–let alone the nationality of the person watching it.

3) The Lighthouse (dir. Robert Eggers)

A vicious two-character existential horror play that takes place inside of a lighthouse at the turn of the century? Sign me the hell up. While Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse suffers from a bit of “because why not,” I gotta admit I am a sucker for the gorgeous cinematography by Jarin Blaschke, the great chemistry between Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson, and the almost unknowable ending that somehow becomes more satisfying the less you dig into it. As a Pinter fan, it’s really no surprise I dug this despite its flaws; this film positively embodies Pinter’s favorite themes of menace and regret. Eggers himself claims to have been inspired primarily by Greek mythology–specifically that of Prometheus, the one who stole fire and spent the rest of eternity out chained to the rocks getting his liver pecked for it. In that way, it’s perhaps the gloomiest of my 2019 picks, but an argument can be made for this belonging in the redemption genre. Wether or not he’s actually in limbo, or perhaps one of the shallower circles of hell, Pattinson’s Thomas has certainly psychologically chained himself up in his own guilt, from which there can be no escape without self forgiveness–I won’t spoil if he manages to figure it out or not.

4) 1917 (dir. Sam Mendes)

For all of its technical wonders (or gimmicks, depending on who you ask), what 1917 does better than most war films, and even most big-budget Hollywood films, is in how it treats time. Instead of montage skipping from one big battle to the next, Sam Mendes allowed his film to simmer in those lulls of potential terror. I found myself cringing more in anticipation of what could happen than I feared when something was actually going down. The only downtime anybody is shown to have is when they’re so dazed by what’s just taken place their brains simply can’t handle the stimulation of fear any longer–even then they only have a matter of seconds, if that, before they need to get back on the ball.

Shooting a war film in real time (and with actual crowd scenes!) was a stroke of genius on Mendes’ part, and it’s also the perfect antidote to Hollywood’s typical glorification of war. By portraying the sheer mental exhaustion of trench warfare minute by minute, 1917 strips down the illusion of glory to reveal the story of impulses and dumb luck. Even when all you’re watching is scenes of walking, running, waiting, and watching there is always a lingering paranoia and anxiety that undercuts any accomplishments or gains. As Lance Corporal Schofield (George MacKay) says, valor awards are only “a bit of tin” in comparison to the horrific experiences one is subject to out in the trenches.

We need more World War I movies, people. While perhaps it’s not nearly as ‘popular’ as its sequel, it’s the most important event of modern history, with scars that run deep trough the earth to this day.

5) Pain and Glory (dir. Pedro Almodovar)

Of all of the celebrated critic’s darling films from this year, Pain and Glory wins out as my pick. This is a movie made for and about self-medicating, portraying all of the ways we flawed humans engage in it. Of course none of it gets resolved until Salvador, expertly played by Antonio Banderas, gets the half-courage to put himself out there in the form of an anonymous play. A play which then attracts, seemingly by magic, the one person in the world who could help to resolve one piece of the pain puzzle of his life–which then develops a new, non-substance addiction of getting to the root of all of his problems, both physical and mental. Pain and Glory’s mix of bluntly casual drug use with magical realism hooked me emotionally in some unexpected places, but mostly I loved how it never feels too self-serious.

PS. That apartment. SIGH. Shout out to Almodovar's $100 Sottsass art book, $260 Hermes mug and plate and $750 Dolce & Gabbana designed toaster. Anybody on his set design team wanna hire me? I got your number, man.

6) The Raft (dir. Marcus Lindeen)

I can’t stop thinking about Marcus Lindeen’s absolutely astonishing documentary, The Raft. In 1973, anthropologist Santiago Genovés decided to organize a ‘global peace experiment’ in which he put five men and six women, including himself, on a raft called the Acali and shipped everybody out from the Canary Islands to eventually land in Mexico. Nevermind the mind boggling logistics of sailing a small, engineless craft across the Atlantic with barely any backup plan–Santiago’s true experiment was to toy with each and every one of his passengers in order to attempt to prove his pet theory about the connection between sexuality and violence. This of course did not end well, as the ‘experiment’ ran into two big snags. First, that Santiago was actively manipulating situations in order to attempt to provoke violence from his unwitting subjects, a shockingly unethical, illegal and laughably unscientific situation. Secondly, Santiago’s secret theory was immediately proven wrong. Instead of dissolving into some sort of animalistic “Sex Raft,” as the media immediately labeled the project, everybody got on surprisingly well and, despite some minor personality clashes, developed a strong sense of camaraderie. In fact, the only person who grew increasingly and overtly irate to those around him was Santiago himself.

I just could not believe this film the further it went on–between Santiago’s toxic sense of masculinity and his grandiose and unfounded ideas that he justifies to himself under the catchall of “science,” it’s hard to believe this so-called experiment was ever allowed to happen. The downward spiral that Santiago mental health takes once he realizes his psychosexual manipulation game has become an actual utopian peace trip is all at once shocking and hilarious. But the best part of this film is all of the modern day interviews with the women on the ship talking about how much this trip largely helped to bring them a sense of self worth and strength. A beautiful little flower of hope that grew out of a big pile of toxic stink.

7) Dolemite Is My Name (dir. Craig Brewer)

After all of the fanfare and award nominations James Franco got for portraying egomaniac-cum-filmmaker Tommy Wiseau, I can’t tell you how angry it makes me that Eddie Murphy’s far more delightful and equally nutty retelling of Rudy Ray Moore’s filmmaking career isn’t getting equal treatment. If nothing else, Dolemite Is My Name is a delightful slice of low budget DIY cinematic history. Stacked with a great cast, Craig Brewer managed to really keep the energy up in this charmingly borderline underdog story. The film’s sense of humor mirror’s Moore’s own brand of bawdy good-time laughs, sprinkled with some more modest self-deprication to balance out the inherent sexism. But most of all, it made me realize how much I’ve missed Eddie Murphy really.

It’s also a genuinely great message about putting yourself out there. Unlike Franco’s ode to somehow-millionaire and deeply self-serious Wiseau, it’s far more satisfying to watch Rudy Ray Moore scrape together every last skill, friend and favor in order to put together something that was just so knowingly and joyfully silly. The key to getting anything done is just getting out there and doing something. It may not be the project you wished you could have made, but hey, at least you actually made something. That’s more than nothing!

8) The Souvenir (dir. Joanna Hogg)

I already wrote about The Souvenir, but I have to admit the movie really stuck with me. While I feel it’s deeply flawed in its pacing and perhaps a little too arms length in its emotions, I can’t think of a better portrait of being in your early twenties and thinking you’re now old enough enough to play with fire. While this film depicts some extremely specific circumstances, the toxic relationship at the heart of this film feels extremely universal for the type of relationship most of us go through at at least one point in our young lives. The posturing, the gas lighting, the denial of the obvious, using secrets in place of substance, embracing the unknown in your partner in place of pursuing your own life–it's the perceived threshold between one's childhood and one's adulthood. But the joke is on us, because one cannot fill the void of the other; they're two entirely different beasts, and two entirely different wounds that will quite frankly never heal.

9) The Mountain (dir. Rick Alverson)

A haunting representation of the horrors of America’s midcentury stoicism, medical practices, duality and obsession with perfection. In that way, it's kinda low-key the more coherent version of The Lighthouse? Or well, the less angry and more broadly symbolic version of a young man trying to find peace and slowly sliding into a world of pure, testosterone-fueled terror. 

The Mountain caught me by surprise as I found it to be far more intriguing than its otherwise mixed reviews reflected. Jeff Goldblum is a perfect quack of a doctor, traveling from town to town as he tries to stay ahead of headlines about how lobotomies don’t work. Tye Sheridan is equally mesmerizing as the rudderless Andy, naively in search of both a sense of purpose, love and direction after the death of his father. The film’s heaviness creeps up on you in a way that you don't notice until you're completely smothered–then it continues on for another half hour. As much as I enjoyed it in the end, The Mountain very purposefully toys with your expectations until they turn into impatience. Check it out but load up on coffee beforehand.

10) Extra Ordinary (dir. Mike Ahern, Enda Loughman)

Comedies never get enough love in top ten lists. Extra Ordinary feels like a throwback to the golden age of early 2000s’ British and Irish TV humor, with a dash of gross-out 1990s horror-comedy sensibility. Extra Ordinary is about a woman with psychic ghost-summoning abilities who’d rather be a driving instructor who ends up teaming up with a single father whose teen daughter has fallen into the clutches of an evil Satanist who’s looking to make a musical comeback. Aka, expect a lot of awkward flirting, vomiting, Ghostbusters-like possessions, dry humor and silly songs.

Genuinely laugh out loud funny in parts, leaning hard on the awkward humor of disappointed expectations and half-assed cover ups. I adored Maeve Higgins, whose comedic timing and deliveries are spot on fantastic. Her chemistry with Barry Ward is sweet and easily believable. I’m amazed she hasn’t been in more things!

Honorable Mentions: Ad Astra, Hail Satan?, Honey Boy, The Farewell